The question hung unanswered in the air, its rhetorical answer floating beyond it in the steamy atmosphere as Susannah walked out without another word into the cooler, clearer air of the bedroom.

On the Friday morning of Amelia's first chemotherapy session, Susannah sat in her car outside her friend's house, unable to park, and honked until Amelia came rushing out, hurriedly pulling on a coat and fishing in her capacious bag for a front-door key to lock up with. 'Alright. Keep your hair on.' She didn't apparently realize the irony of her rejoinder.

'Don't want to be late. I'm in charge of the Chemo Express, and we're bloody well going to run to time, if it kills me.'

'Or me.'

For a moment, Susannah thought her friend was serious, but when she looked over, Amelia was smiling.

'Black humour. I intend to rely on it a lot in the next few months, so you had better get over it.'

'Okay, okay. You keep your hair on. While you can.'

'Ha, ha. That's better. Touche.' She laughed. 'Speaking of which, I was Googling wigs last night. We're definitely going to need a sense of humour for that part. You definitely get what you pay for, in wig world. And you pay a lot ... if you don't want to look like a drag queen. Has to be human hair, I reckon.'

'As opposed to what?'

'Fake hair, you daft bugger.'

'Like dolls have, you mean?'

'Exactly. I found this place in Shoreditch that's supposed to be really good we have to go ... You'll come, will you?'

'Only if I can get one, too ... I always fancied a short bob like the one Julia Roberts wears in Pretty Woman.'

'Like you need one. If you were any kind of a friend you'd chop off that mane of yours and we could have that made into a wig for me.'

'Not a chance. I've always thought that the artful scarf was the way to go myself ... so don't go getting any ideas about a sympathy shave. I'll drive you the length and breadth, but that's not going to happen. Apart from anything else, I just know I haven't got the head shape for it.'

'What about me?'

'I think you've got a beautiful head, Meels. You're going to be gorgeous bald. And it goes from all over, doesn't it? Just think of the money you'll save not having to wax ...'

'Oh God.' Amelia was grimacing. 'I never thought about that. How's that for a silver lining?' She giggled. 'Gave up waxing when Jonathan moved out, anyhow. It's been rather liberating, growing a pelt for winter.'

'That smacks of defeatism, doesn't it? Wasn't it part of the plan finding someone else?'

'I'm not you, Susannah. You're the serial monogamist who's terrified of being alone.'

'Ouch.' She was thinking of Douglas and what an arse he'd been the other night.

'Sorry. That was harsh. But you know what I mean. I'll wax, when the time comes, believe me.'

Susannah did.

At Amelia's suggestion, and to her relief, Susannah explored the gift shop, and the coffee place, and bought magazines and coffee while Amelia went upstairs to oncology and was 'hooked up'. When Susannah found her, armed with large lattes and a stack of magazines and newspapers, she was sitting, still fully dressed, in a high-backed, upholstered chair. She had her head back and her eyes closed. There was a thin tube going into her arm, taped around a cannula that had obviously been inserted into a vein, connected to a drip that stood beside the chair on a sort of metal coat stand. A utilitarian curtain separated them from the other patients sharing the space. She had this weird thing on her head, a bit like an old-fashioned hairdryer.

'God, I wish I had my camera!'

'Don't you dare!'

'Does it hurt?'

Amelia opened her eyes and smiled faintly. 'What? The drip or having to wear this on my head?'

'Both, since you ask ... what's that for, anyhow?'

'They think it slows down hair loss.'

Susannah nodded.

'And no it doesn't hurt. I wouldn't have it done for fun, but no, it doesn't, really. Just feels a bit weird. And cold a bit cold. But this is the easy part, really, I think. It's how I'll feel after this, when the stuff kicks in that's what's going to be tough. It's freaking me out a bit, to be honest, thinking about what I'm putting into myself.'

Susannah had wanted to go and stay in her house, but Amelia said her mum was going to come up to stay for a few nights this first time, while they all waited to see how horrid it was. She'd collect Victoria and Sam from school, she said, and feed them their tea and help with their homework. Amelia loved her mum, but as an adult herself she'd found her increasingly irritating to be around knowing she needed help must have taken some adjustment. Susannah couldn't imagine how Mrs Lloyd felt, knowing her only child had to go through all this. She was glad Amelia had let her come. Turns out, she hadn't needed to call her she'd promised herself she would, if Amelia couldn't, or wouldn't. Amelia was still doing the tough-guy thing, but there was no doubt the penny had dropped at least part of the way. Jonathan's reaction, and her mum's they'd forced her, Susannah supposed, to confront it to a degree.

She'd been there with her when Amelia had told the kids. She'd listened to reason at last let herself be convinced that the children needed to know before the side effects of the treatment threw them in at the deep end. Susannah had gone round one evening last week after work, and Amelia had sat them all down in the sitting room, delivering the news more bluntly than Susannah might have recommended, or chosen for herself. They'd all burst into tears immediately, long before Amelia had finished her speech about success rates and early detection. It was such a heinous word. Even children knew to be paralysed with fear when they heard it. Elizabeth had run out of the room, as was her teenage way, to shed her tears in private with a Snow Patrol soundtrack, and so Susannah and Amelia had taken a sobbing youngster each on to their laps, staring wide-eyed at each other over the children's heaving shoulders. When Susannah's own eyes had filled with tears, Amelia had wagged an admonishing finger at her from around Victoria's waist.

'So, I'm coffeed up and I have trashy mags. How long's this going to take?'

'This bit an hour or so, the nurse said. Then we can pretty much go. They've given me a prescription for the anti-nausea medicine we can fill it in the pharmacy downstairs before we leave.'

'Then?'

'Then we go home and see what happens. Maybe nothing this time. Mr Swift says I'll get more and more tired as this goes on, but this time I might feel okay. I'm not going to wake up bald tomorrow or anything. It's more gradual than that. Like I say, we'll just see what happens. I haven't got any big plans to go climbing Everest or anything ... And then I guess we come back next time and do it all over again.'

Susannah nodded quietly. It seemed, to her, like an unremittingly grim plan.

'At least, I shouldn't say "we". There's no need for you to come every time. Really.'

'Who else would bring you?'

'Mum. Jonathan. And I could actually come all by myself, you know.'

'No way is that happening.' Susannah shook her head. 'That would be horrid.'

'But you have to work.'

'It's two hours, every couple of weeks. They can manage without me. Despite what I may have said in the past, I'm not completely indispensable, you know.'

Amelia put out her hand, the one that wasn't connected to the drip, and squeezed Susannah's in her lap. 'You are to me. Thank you, Susannah. Really.'

Susannah squeezed back. This was unusually soppy for Amelia, and she found it disconcerting. 'You're welcome.'

'There should be friendship vows. Did you ever think that? When you get married, you promise all that stuff in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer ... But you do that when you're friends, too, don't you? The thick and thin stuff.'

'Are you stoned already? Are you sure they're putting the right stuff in?'

'I'm just thinking, that's all.' She paused. 'You're the best friend I ever had.' Amelia's eyes filled with sudden tears.

Susannah couldn't bear it. This was the most frightening moment so far. 'Stop it. Right now. Please, Meels. Don't cry.' She put an arm around her friend's shoulder. 'You're going to be fine. You've been saying it yourself. Mr Swift said it. Just fine. But I won't be, if you carry on like this.'

Amelia released her friend's hand, sniffed violently and ran her fingers under her lower lashes impatiently, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill over and down on to her cheeks. 'Sorry. Momentary lapse. Won't happen again. It's the needles. Did I mention that I hate needles?'

'I know you do.' Keen to distract her, Susannah opened the current OK! magazine at the pages detailing the OTT wedding of a soap celebrity star. 'Look at this proof positive that money doesn't buy you class, even if it buys you a five-thousand-quid dress. Blimey. Check out those knockers!'

Amelia gave the proffered page a brief glance. 'Actually, I've got real-life gossip. I've been saving it for now. Figured it would help the time pass a little quicker. Besides, it wasn't gossip of the phone variety I needed to see the whites of your eyes when I told you this ...'

'What?' Had she relented and let Jonathan move back in? Susannah felt a flash of excitement. She hoped so. She closed the magazine and waited.

'Rob Rossi.' Amelia was, indeed, staring at the whites of her eyes as she said the name.

'What about him?' Susannah felt her heart beat dangerously fast in her chest, and heard her voice, a little higher than normal. She sounded brittle, even to herself.

'He just got married.'

The beating stopped. For a moment, Susannah thought she might not be able to exhale. 'What?'

'Married. He got married. A couple of weeks ago.' Amelia was watching her closely.

'Who?' She couldn't manage more than a one-word question.

'We don't know her she's not local. Mum says she thinks she's in the RAF, too. That must be how they met. She's much younger than him, apparently. That's all I know, pretty much.'

'Who told you?'

'Mum. Of course. You know how she likes to be in the loop. She heard it from someone else in the village. It was abroad the ceremony Cyprus or somewhere like that, I think. Or was it Vegas? Can't remember. Somewhere abroad. Lois and Frank didn't even go, I heard. Not that it would have been easy for Frank to go, I suppose, if he's sick. They sort of just did it, apparently I don't know whether it was a spur of the moment thing, or whether they planned to keep it a secret. I'd kill my lot, if they did that to me ... Anyhow, they drove down the two of them, after the event and told his parents. Someone saw Rob in the village, asked Lois about it, and she told them, in the butcher's. It was a friend of Mum's in the queue behind her, listening to all this, who told Mum. Who told me. Last night, when she arrived. I mean, she was just doing her usual litany of village news, you know, the births, deaths, weddings, who's building a two-storey extension or a conservatory that sort of stuff. The crucial updates! In between wailing and gnashing her teeth about all this ... you know.' Amelia gestured towards the drip.

Susannah knew she was supposed to say something. She couldn't.

Married. He was just married.

He'd married since he'd seen her. Had he already decided, was he engaged, when they'd met? What was it? Four months ago? Four months ago, had he been with this person, this much younger woman? Had he known, when he'd stood and smiled at her, and said her name Susie that he was going to marry her?

'So?' Amelia was still watching her face.

'So, what?'

'So, how does that make you feel?'

It made her feel like she'd been physically assaulted. It was like a swift, sudden, unexpected punch in the pit of her stomach. Something was very, very wrong. It shouldn't do this to her. She didn't answer Amelia.

'So, I guess "hit by a tank" would be your answer, if you were actually forming words at this point ... ?'

She moved her mouth, by force of will. She could feel her cheeks pinking up. 'No! You're so dramatic. I mean, I'm surprised, that's all. I just saw Lois last month, and she didn't say anything about a wedding ...'

'You saw Lois?' Amelia sounded incredulous. 'You didn't tell me that!'

'Well, yes, I did see Lois it was no big deal. I didn't not tell you. Don't make that face. I was home, for lunch with Mum and Dad, I'd seen her at the wedding, I'd been feeling bad because I never said anything, or wrote, or anything, about Frank. I just went for tea.' She was ranting, she knew.

Amelia nodded. 'You went for tea. Okay. Nothing weird there. You went for tea with your old ex-boyfriend's parents, out of the blue, just after you'd seen him for the first time in a gazillion years. Perfectly normal behaviour.'

'You're making it sound weird. It wasn't strange.'

'Okay.' Amelia drew out the word into two slow syllables, the implication that she thought it was utterly strange very clear.

Susannah ignored her. 'And she didn't say anything, that's all.' She thought of Frank, and what he'd said, and Lois shushing him.

She hadn't told Amelia how much daydreaming she'd been doing about Rob these last few months. Not just going over the past, not just remembering things they'd done, things he'd said, how he'd been then. Present-tense daydreaming. How he was now. How they might be. On the underground. At work. In the shower. Lying next to Doug in bed, in the dark. Barbara Cartland-esque, heart-pounding, Fabio-type daydreaming. Acting out scenes between them in her imagination. She couldn't tell Amelia she'd die of embarrassment. It made her sound foolish. The daydreams had been precious and delightful to her, and to Amelia they'd seem ridiculous. She'd say she was in denial. She'd say she was hiding from her real problems. She'd try and make her face them. That's what she always did.

And she didn't want to.

She couldn't believe he was married. Her chest ached. 'Hit by a tank' was closer than Amelia knew.

Afterwards, she took Amelia home, where her mother was waiting for them, and helped cook egg and chips for the kids. She could see that Amelia was tired, and she tried to get her to go up to bed, but Amelia was determined to keep things as normal as possible. She sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of some herbal tea that smelt like cat wee while Susannah served the food and the two of them helped Sam with his homework or tried to. They both reached a point with the maths where Victoria had to be recruited to explain something they couldn't remember how to do.

'We used to be clever, you know, didn't we, Suze?'

Sam rolled his eyes indulgently. 'You used to be young, too, Mum. Nothing lasts for ever.'

Amelia laughed and slapped him playfully. 'Cheeky beggar.'

Susannah stayed until Sam was in bed. She folded his uniform and laid it over the chair in his room, balling his dirty socks up and throwing them in the hamper.

'Go home, Suze,' Amelia said at last, watching her from the landing. 'You're not planning on tucking me in, too, are you?'

'I was thinking of it.'

'Stop fussing. Vic and Libby will be up for hours yet. And Mum's here, if I need anything. Which I won't.'

'Are you sure?'

'I love you for being here, and I really love you for cooking. But yes, I'm sure. I'm going to curl up and watch crap TV. So far so fine. I promise. Mum'll make sure I get plenty of rest ...'

At home, there was evidence of Doug his shoes and jacket but no sign of him. Doubtless he was at the top of the house. The kids were there, too their coats and backpacks were strewn on the chair nearest the front door. This was to be a full weekend Friday night until Monday morning. Sometimes they were delivered home to Sylvie by their dad on Sunday evenings, but this time Sylvie was going to be at a yoga retreat in the Cotswolds, and they were staying all weekend. Doug had a conference next week, too he'd reminded her earlier in the week so Susannah would have to take them to school on Monday morning. She wouldn't mind a yoga retreat, she thought sniffily. Actually she caught herself she'd hate a yoga retreat.

Daisy's stuff hadn't exploded all over the downstairs: Susannah remembered that she was sleeping over with her friend Natalie. There was some concert or other they had tickets to, and Natalie's mum had said she'd keep her overnight rather than drag both of them out to pick her up in the small hours. Fin was asleep with his hand down the front of his pyjamas and his pillow over his face, as usual. Susannah lifted it off. She knew he was too old to suffocate, but she didn't like it anyway.

She was on her way to the top of the house to find Doug when she heard something. She was pretty sure it was the sound of Rosie crying. She knocked quietly, but there was no answer, so she gently opened the door and poked her head round. Rosie was lying in her bed, still fully dressed, staring at the ceiling, emitting what were by now quite loud, snotty sobs. She took no notice, at first, when Susannah went in. She'd lost all her colour, Susannah realized, and her eyes suddenly looked sunken in grey shadows. Wondering if she was sickening for something, and thinking, just briefly, how typical it would be of Sylvie to swan off for two days of downward dogs knowingly leaving a sick child with her for the weekend, Susannah went to her, put her palm under Rosie's thick fringe, checking for a fever. Rosie felt clammy and cool, not feverish.

'What's wrong, sweetheart?'

Rosie didn't answer, turning her head into her pillow.

Susannah sat down on the bed, feeling Rosie's legs under the duvet beside her. Lying here, she seemed smaller and less substantial than she did sprawled on the sofa downstairs, where Susannah was used to seeing her these days.

'Don't want to tell me?' She felt a familiar ache in her ribcage. She should know. The ache was followed immediately, as it always was, by a small stab of irritation at Doug. He had fostered these sterile, frustrating little relationships. And now Rosie was crying in her bed and neither her mother nor her father was here to help her just this distant, awkward woman who'd known her and not known her all these years.

'Do you want me to get your dad?'