Elliot opened his door to go after her. But he didn't get out of the car. It wasn't fair to chase after her. To say what? There wasn't anything he could say. He looked at her back; her head was hunched low on her neck, and her hands were thrust into her pockets. She was probably crying; he couldn't tell. She didn't need him. She needed her mum. Still, though, he sat in the car, in the lay-by, and watched her walking.

A sort of shivery fear started to rise in him. What had he done? He had told Clare, which Cressida had specifically asked him not to do. Wasn't it the right thing to do? Wasn't it his right?

But he hadn't thought about his rights: he had just been overwhelmed by the need for it to be known. Cressida hadn't told Polly because Clare hadn't known. That was it, he was sure. He hated it being a secret, them and the baby. He was frightened now, of Cressida, and he would be afraid, later, of Reg and Mary, and Polly. But his spirit soared in the freedom of revelation.

Clare told her mum that night, and Mary told Susan the next morning, and Susan told Polly straight away. She called her at the office, asked her to take a coffee break, drove straight down from her beautiful, peaceful hill, and told her dearest friend that her daughter was pregnant, not by her childhood sweetheart, a boy barely out of his teens known to Polly almost all of his life, but by a man she had never met. A man who was twelve years older than Cressida. A man who was married to a friend of theirs. It was the hardest conversation she had ever had with Polly. Maybe with anyone.

Polly couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why hadn't Cressida told her? This, when they had just got themselves back on an even keel, when she thought she had heard everything that she was going to have to get used to. Yesterday she had felt unshockable. The baby wasn't a secret any more, not at college or out in the world hardly could be, now that Cressida's tummy was taking on that telltale swell that started right under her bust. On her slender frame it was more obvious than it would have been on a curvier girl. Cressida loved her new belly (Polly was interested to see how long that would last, once the swollen ankles, backache and crippling indigestion set in) and wore the same short T-shirts she always wore in the summer: the expanse of flesh between T-shirt hem and trouser waistband was swelling almost weekly. Polly had watched her last week, from the doorway of the living room: she had been stroking her b.u.mp absent-mindedly while she watched television, in a pose so reminiscent of Polly, twenty years ago, that it brought back a tranche of memories so vivid she could almost smell them.

But what in h.e.l.l was she supposed to do with this?

She felt a surge of total rage against this Elliot. How dare he? What was he playing at? An older man, married, in a position of responsibility in an academic inst.i.tution. This wasn't okay. As soon as Susan had left, and before she knew what she was doing, she had punched the number for directory enquiries into her mobile phone, had the number of the college's administration office texted back to her, and called it. She asked for him by name. The quiet girl who answered said he was in a meeting. She left her name and number, and hung up.

Half an hour later she was home, and wishing she hadn't. It was Cressida she needed to talk to. Most of the anger had drained out of her, along with the energy it had generated, and she slumped on to a kitchen chair. Daniel had football practice, and was going home with another boy from the squad, and Cressida wasn't home either she had left a note on the table saying she was out with a friend and that she might drop in on Dan and Tina for supper. She had signed her name with two crosses and an 'o' for hug. Polly didn't reach for the phone to demand an audience: she wanted to sit with the information for a little while. She wanted to talk to Jack too, but she daren't call him, not when she was feeling like this.

She was almost asleep in the living room, a large whisky tumbler empty beside her, when the doorbell rang.

It was Elliot. He put out his left hand politely, and introduced himself. 'I got your message. I thought it might be better if we met face to face. Is Cressida here?'

'No, just me. You'd better come in.' She stood against the wall to let him pa.s.s. He was brave, at least, this man who was about to make a grandmother of her.

'I suppose Cressida doesn't know you're here?'

'No.'

'And does she have any idea that you were planning to drop your little bombsh.e.l.l last night?'

'No,' he admitted.

Anger rose in Polly on Cressida's behalf. With this news he had put himself, in the clumsiest way, directly between them and she was sure that Cressida would be furious.

Her silence egged him on. 'I didn't want it to be a secret any more. I didn't want us to have to hide away.'

'Cressida's not hiding away. I'm incredibly proud of the way she's coping. I'm just not sure what role you have to play in the whole business, apart from the obvious one...'

That was mean. They both knew it.

'Don't say it like that. It wasn't like that at all.'

'Like what?'

'You think it was just an affair to me. You say it like I'm some college Lothario who picked her up and used her.'

'I don't know how it was, do I?' Polly said. 'Yesterday you were a guy Cressida had met once or twice at college, married to a friend of mine. Now you're telling me my daughter's pregnant with your baby. How in h.e.l.l do you think that makes you sound? Not good, from where I'm sitting.'

Elliot was surprised to find himself getting angry. She knew nothing about him, yet she was judging him. He was suddenly desperate to prove to her, and through her to Cressida, what kind of man he was. The words tumbled out of him, too fast. They hadn't even been properly formed thoughts in his head until now.

'I love your daughter.' He said each word slowly and distinctly. It was wonderful to say it. 'I love Cressida, I do. I'm sorry it's been a mess and I'm sorry we haven't done things in the right order, but I love her and we both want this baby. I want to do the right thing, not because it's the right thing but because it's what I want. To be a family. The three of us.'

Polly didn't doubt his sentiments or his intent fervour and excitement were in every line of his face. He had one of those faces, mostly seen in children, that wore every emotion candidly: it made him seem vulnerable. Now he looked more handsome than he had only a few minutes before that smile and those wide eyes were so eloquent.

'And what about Cressida? What does she want?'

Elliot realised too late that he didn't really know. He knew she wanted the baby, but he hadn't asked her if she wanted him too. She had said she loved him shown it too, many times. And she was carrying his baby. Surely, she felt the same way as he did. She had to.

Polly saw that confusion and panic just as clearly. Her anger gave way to something like pity. This guy was a mess. He seemed to her like a drowning man who'd found something to cling to and whom he might pull under with him: Cressida. She felt tired. This was another maternal battle, waiting to be fought. First there had been the baby and its fate, and now there was Cressida's future with this man. Six months ago she would have thought that Cressida getting pregnant at twenty while still at college was the worst scenario she could envisage. She wasn't sure now if that was true.

'I don't know.' He couldn't give any other answer. He was utterly deflated.

The courage that had surged through him in the past twenty-four hours had fled. No more confrontations. Not tonight. 'Do you want to wait here for her? She'll be back later.'

'Perhaps I should come back.'

'You're probably right.' She wanted to sleep (or rather lie awake) on it herself. 'But tomorrow? I have to talk to her tomorrow. Now that people know.'

'Okay. Talk to her. I'll be at home if she needs me.'

'No way.' She put her hand on his shoulder. 'You'd better be here. If you love my daughter you'll be here in the morning to explain what you've done, and to tell her how you feel. That, Elliot, is the least you can do.'

Cressida Cressida and Polly sat together, ate cereal, drank tea, and talked about the forms she was filling in for the DSS income support, child benefit, lone-parent benefit, and about Cressida needing a few 'enormous' shirts for the next couple of months. When the doorbell rang, Polly answered it, ushered Elliot into the kitchen and stood beside him. Cressida was stunned to see who had come, she had been expecting Susan, or some friend of Daniel. 'What are you doing here?'

She was too shocked, Polly thought, to bl.u.s.ter, or try to lie.

'Your mum knows about us, Cress. I told Clare, and she told her mum, and she told her boss, evidently, who told your mum. It sounds like a b.l.o.o.d.y game of Chinese whispers, I know. I came round and talked to your mum last night, as soon as I found out she knew.'

'You did what? But you promised!' she screamed, looking at Polly. 'What did he say to you, Mum?'

'That you and he had been seeing each other for a few months now. That you'd been sleeping together.'

Cressida coloured.

'And that the baby is his.'

'She had to know some time, Cressida.'

'It wasn't for you to do. It wasn't up to you.'

'And I didn't. I didn't tell your mum, Cress. I told my wife.' The word was hard. 'I had to I owed her that, at the very least.'

Cressida didn't answer.

'But I'm not sorry that everyone knows. I'm not. I knew you'd find it hard-'

'Get out of here.'

Polly and Elliot both said, 'Cressida-'

She was shaking now, standing up, steadying herself on the back of her chair. Her whole body was shaking, and her voice shook. 'You had no right to do that, Elliot. No right at all. Get out.'

'It's not about rights, Cress,' Elliot implored her. 'It's about us not having to hide any more I've had enough of that. Haven't you? Don't you see? I want everyone to know.'

'But she's my mum.' She was crying now. 'I'm sorry, Mum.'

Polly opened her arms, but Cressida shook herself again, rubbed her hand angrily across her face and turned back to Elliot. 'I can't believe you've done this.'

Elliot hung his head. 'I love you, Cressida. I love the baby.' The words were m.u.f.fled now, spoken into his chest. They had seemed so much the reason, but now, in this anger and in his fear, they came out small.

She couldn't take that, not in front of Polly, not now. This didn't feel like love. 'If you won't go, then I'll have to.' She swept past them, ignoring their pleas to stop, grabbed a cardigan from the hooks by the front door, and left, slamming it behind her. She could tell Elliot wanted to leave. And she didn't want him to stay.

A couple of hours later Polly was still waiting in the kitchen for Cressida when she came home. She had calmed down: she'd been walking around the neighbourhood, she said. She smiled weakly at her own daftness. She'd forgotten to take her purse so she'd come home for a cup of tea. 'I'm not any good at flouncing, that's the truth.'

'And that's strange, because it was one of your dad's party pieces.' Polly hugged her.

'I'm sorry, Mum. Again. Am I ever going to stop saying that to you?'

'I do hope so.'

Cressida smiled again.

'It was a bit of a shocker, though, Cress.' What a triumph of understatement.

'I know I should have told you. But you see why I didn't, don't you?'

'It wasn't going to go away, though, honey, any more than the baby was. You didn't think you could go on pretending Joe was the father, did you?'

'I never said he was. I just let you all believe it. It seemed the best option.'

'Not for Joe.'

'Joe knows everything I wrote to him. He knows I'm pregnant, and he knows it isn't his. Joe and I never even slept together, Mum.'

Polly gave a little laugh. She'd been right about that. It was almost comforting. 'Look, sweetheart, I'm not going to get all moral on you about Elliot.'

'Mum, I know he's married, and I know that's wrong, and I never in a million years thought I was the kind of girl who could go off with someone else's husband, but...' Her voice trailed off. Even at twenty, she knew all the cliches. Clare didn't understand him. He was staying with her because he felt sorry for her. It didn't feel right to use them about her and Elliot. It made everything sound cheap and nasty. It wasn't like that: she knew it and so did he. She wasn't even sure she wanted to explain it to her mum. It belonged to them.

'Hey, hey, it's okay. Honestly. I just want to say...' Polly took Cressida's hand and pressed it against her own heart '... that you can't expect him to keep a secret like that from his wife, Cress. Whatever has gone on between them, she's still his wife. He had to tell her. You mustn't be angry with him for that.'

Cressida was surprised. That was the last thing she had been expecting from her mum. 'You sound like you're defending him.'

'He doesn't need me to either defend or attack him. He's a grown man in one h.e.l.l of a mess and I think he is honestly trying to find the best way out of it. I think you must understand that.'

Cressida nodded.

'This baby is going to mean you have to grow up in lots of ways, sweetie, and not just the obvious ones either. Do you know what I mean?'

Cressida thought that maybe she did.

Elliot It was Cressida at the door. He had hoped it would be. He opened it wide, and stood with his arms by his sides. She came to him and he held her. They didn't speak. When she lifted her head to look at his face, she said, 'Sorry.'

'Me too.'

They didn't know what to say next. Then they both started speaking at the same time.

'I'd just had enough...'

'You were right, she needed to know...'

They laughed, nervously. Cressida made a sweeping gesture with her arm. 'Enough. It's done. There's no point having an endless post-mortem about it.' Elliot was relieved. 'How about a cup of tea?'

'Yeah.'

She sat at his kitchen table and crossed her hands over the b.u.mp. He thought she looked stunning. Men who didn't like the way their wives looked in pregnancy mystified him. She looked good to him now in a completely new way. Still s.e.xy, still his friend, still all of those things, but something new. Now her face was concerned, 'How did it go, anyway?' she asked.

'Not well. How I expected, I suppose.'

'It must have been awful for her.'

'Yeah, but I don't think she wanted me back. It's over for her too.'

'Really?' Cressida wondered momentarily if he was trying to protect her.

'I think so.'

'Still, even if she had made up her mind that you two were going to stay split up, I bet this was the last thing she expected to hear.'

'Probably.' Elliot was uncomfortable, talking about Clare. He couldn't bear to think of her just now. It was selfish, he knew that, but he felt that in telling her he'd closed a door. He would always care for her wasn't that what you said? and he meant that, of course he did, but that bit was over for him now. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to talk about the future to this beautiful girl sitting at his kitchen table with his baby inside her.

That was the one thing he hadn't done since she'd told him. Maybe it was because until now Clare had been in the way, or that he was frightened of the conversation.

'Can we talk about us?' he asked.

'What about us?'

'Isn't it obvious? In a couple of months you're going to have our baby, and we haven't really talked about it at all. Fair enough, it was a secret for a while, and maybe that made it difficult, but it's not now. Don't you think we should be talking about what we're going to do?'

'I don't really know what you mean.'

Elliot felt himself growing frustrated. Was she being deliberately obtuse? 'This is our baby.'

She nodded. 'Of course.'

She was leaving him no choice but to lay it on the line. 'I want us to raise him or her together. I want us to be a family. I know we can't do it now, I'm still married to Clare, the baby's not even here yet, but I would like to think of you and me, one day, being together, maybe being married to each other.'

Christ. That was smooth. He had a vivid flashback of proposing to Clare. He'd been twenty-one and he'd borrowed some money from his mum to take her to a posh restaurant. He'd spent most of his overdraft limit on a ring: nine-carat gold with a square-cut emerald and two tiny diamonds flanking it. He'd told her they were celebrating their graduation. He'd been going to ask her after the meal, but his nerves were so shredded he thought he might throw up if he didn't get it out, so he asked her before the starters had come. Went down on one knee by the side of the table and everything. Her eyes had shone, and she had flapped her hands in front of her face to stop herself crying. She'd said yes before he'd finished the question, and got down to hug him on the floor. Turned out to have been a shrewd move, doing it early, because the restaurant gave them a free bottle of champagne. The thing was, he had never considered that she might not say yes. He wouldn't have asked unless he was sure of her.

It felt very different with Cressida. No ring, no smart restaurant, no knee. He was just as sure of what he wanted, but what about her?

'Elliot... you're lovely.' She put her arms round him so that he couldn't see her face but he was pretty sure she wasn't trying not to cry.