"Don't ever do that to me again," she whispered. "It was worse than anything else that's happened in the last three years. Miles worse."

"Come on, come in, your letters are in the kitchen. I've no time for chat, I'm in the middle of watching-"

Softly, Oleksander Shevchenko asked, "And do you find my bed comfortable?"

Lydia had almost turned away, but at this impertinence she twisted back to him, a sharp put-down in her mouth. The neck of him. Nothing but men being necky recently.

"My bed . . .?" he insisted, his expression full of sauciness. "To your likingk?"

"Actually," Lydia stared him right in the eye, "your bed is to my liking." She could more than hold her own with random sauce-merchants.

Wait a minute! Their heart currents are going berserk, right here on the doorstep, with flashing lights and the sound of applause, like a fruit machine when someone hits the jackpot.

But is it enough? Is there time? Can they fall in love and have sex in the next twenty-two minutes? Because that's all I have left.

Then-no, no, don't-Lydia remembered the girl who had come looking for Oleksander, she remembered the promise she had made that if Oleksander ever showed up she was to give him her phone number. As far as Lydia was concerned, a promise was a promise. "Someone came here looking for you."

Fear shot across Oleksander's face. "Big mens with guns?"

"No, a girl."

"I vos jokingk." He sighed with abrupt gloom. "Ukrainians are a joke-loving people. Like you Ireesh, we, as you say, love the craic, but the language barrier . . . I joke, joke, joke all the day long but Ireesh do not understand."

"Come on, do you want the letters or not?"

He followed her into the kitchen, where she hunted for the pile of post.

"The girl who came?" he asked. "It was Viktoriya?"

"No," Lydia said thoughtfully. "Not Viktoriya, nothing like Viktoriya. Siobhan, I think her name was, an Irish debt-collector, looking to give you a court order."

He looked terrified. "But I hev not . . . I did not . . ."

Lydia let three seconds pass. Four. Five. Then she said sweetly, "I vos jokingk."

"Ah! Having the craic with me!"

"Having the craic, just as you say. I heard you love it."

Oh, this pair are perfect for each other, simply perfect! Eyebrow-raising and defiant expressions and much sexy eye contact. If I could just steer them toward the bedroom . . . Lydia wouldn't give me any crap about not sleeping with a man less than ten minutes after they'd first met. For spontaneity, for catching life by the balls, she's my girl.

"Yes, it was Viktoriya who came."

Never mind Viktoriya! Forget her, forget her!

Oleksander's face lit up. And promptly fell. "I do not hev phone number."

"It's okay, she wrote it down. And she said to tell you something . . ." What the hell was it? "A man. The man-"

"From Department of Egriculture?"

"That's the one. She said to tell you he smelled of cows."

Oleksander laughed softly to himself. "Bed smell, huh?"

"Unless you like the smell of cows, I suppose. Here it is." Lydia had located Viktoriya's note. "And here's your mail."

20 minutes The only sound in the room was the ticking of a big wooden clock. Jemima's eyes were closed in peaceful silence and Katie, Conall and Grudge lovingly watched over her. Katie had let go of any thoughts of making an escape and, from the calmness she could feel off Conall, she knew he'd obviously given up on his frantic notions of life-saving surgery and last-minute chemo. The room was so still and tranquil that Katie began to eddy down into a pre-sleep state and was brought back to the now when Jemima spoke.

"I've had a good and happy time on earth," she said.

"What more can you ask for, really?" Conall said.

"Death is only sad if one hasn't lived one's life."

Death? Death? Katie and Conall looked at each other.

"I'm entirely ready to go."

Did she mean she was planning to die now?

"Yes, dears."

Right now? Right here?

"In the next few minutes. And I want to be here, in my own home, with both of you here with me." Katie and Conall shared another look.

I say we should let her have her way, Conall's eyes said.

So do I.

Will we forget about ambulances and all of that?

Let's just do what she's asking and . . .

. . . Let's just go where this takes us.

But how did it get so serious so quickly?

"This hasn't come upon me suddenly," Jemima said. "The presence of death has been in this house for weeks."

That's when I realize that, actually, she hasn't got the wrong end of the stick; there has been a presence here. Other than mine, I mean. Those times when I was so good I scared myself-that wasn't me at all. That was our friend, the Grim Reaper, the old buzz-wrecker himself.

It's often the policy: one in and one out.

In quiet harmony, Maeve and Matt filled the suitcase with Matt's clothes. Oddly, the longer they packed, the less likely it seemed that he was leaving.

"I'll be back in a second," he said to Maeve.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm a bit cold."

"If you will go cutting your wrists . . ."

"I'll never do it again."

"You'd better bloody well not."

"I know it's August but do you mind if I put on the heat?"

She thought about it. "Let's get into the bed for a while. It's probably warmer there."

They shoved the suitcase to the floor and most of the things they'd packed fell out, then they lay fully clothed on the bed and threw the duvet up in the air, letting it fall and wrap itself softly about them. Maeve twined her legs tightly around Matt and briskly rubbed his back, his shoulders, his arms. "Any warmer?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Listen, I've an idea!" Matt said suddenly.

"What is it?"

"We could get a kitten. Or a puppy."

"A puppy?" Maeve said slowly. "No, it would be jealous."

Lydia handed Oleksander a small bundle of envelopes. "Tell me where you live now, give me your address."

He tilted his head and gazed at her with quite naked sauce. "So you can visit and see my new sleeping place?"

Lydia wore an expression of polite irritation. I' ll see your naked sauce, her look said. And I'll raise you a provocative stare.

"So I can send your stuff on," she said. "And stop you calling around, interrupting me watching Michael Palin."

Now, now! Do it now, get on with it now! Sex and plenty of it! My life depends on it!

15 minutes "Be kind to each other," Jemima murmured, closing her eyes.

"Who?" Conall asked. He just wanted to be sure.

"You two. You and Katie."

"Okay."

Jemima's breathing became quieter and the fall and rise of her chest softer and weaker until it became invisible. Conall was-well, he didn't know exactly how he felt, except that he was no longer scared, the way he had been a while ago when Jemima had revealed how sick she was. He no longer needed to make phone calls or organize the unorganizable or run away. He was prepared to sit on this violently patterned rug, sit here for as long as it took, holding the hand of a dying woman.

How weirdly coincidental that, for the second time in a day, he was right up against the thin membrane that divided life and death. But this time was different, this time felt strangely beautiful.

Oleksander leans closer to accept the letters. His face is so close to Lydia's that he'd barely have to move to kiss her.

I'm telling you, the air is hopping with sex! One kiss and they'd be overtaken by passion; there's so much of it fizzing and popping between them. One kiss, that's all I'm asking for and the rest will take care of itself.

But Oleksander laughs softly, then lounges out through the door and down the stairs.

He'll be back. But not in time for me. Bollocks.

"So your man Conall actually broke down the door?" Matt asked.

"And took complete charge. Shouting orders left, right and center and everyone hopping to it. Are you warm yet?"

"No. Keep rubbing."

"We'll have to do something to thank him."

"We will. Any ideas?"

"Yes."

". . . Ah, feel like sharing them with me?"

"We'll call our baby after him."

"What baby?"

"We're going to have a baby."

"Are we?" Matt pulled back from Maeve, in order to look properly into her face.

"The wise old woman upstairs says we are."

"But . . . how are we going to manage that?"

"Like this." Maeve wrenched her T-shirt over her head and wriggled out of her cords and knickers. "Will you . . .?"

His eyes locked on to hers and, wearing an expression almost of panic, as if he was afraid she'd change her mind, Matt pulled off his clothes, then slid his arms around her and carefully gathered her fullness to him. For the first time in three years, he felt her soft naked body next to his, thigh against thigh, chest against chest, the bliss of his hand on the smoothness of her hip bone.

Tears spilled down her face and he kissed them away.

"Will I stop?" he asked.

"No, no, no."

"Is this okay?" Gently, he touched her.

She nodded.

"And this?"