Present Day.

Susannah kicked the door closed behind her, and went straight to the kitchen with the two heavy shopping bags she had carried home. She should put things in the refrigerator first, she knew, but her feet hurt in the three-inch heels she'd worn and her suit felt too tight she wanted nothing more than to change into the fancy cashmere-blend lounging pyjamas Mum had given her for her birthday, and just slob out in front of Holby City, or whatever was on. Doug was away overnight, with work, and she'd been planning an orgy of finger food and soap operas all day, relieved at the thought of his absence. Maybe a long, bubbly bath and definitely a blissfully early night. It was exactly what she needed a bit of space and a bit of selfishness. She'd blown off the rest of the afternoon at work the meeting at Canary Wharf she'd been to after lunch had ended at 3 p.m., and she had just not gone back. She'd called Amelia, but she was tired, she said, and planning to go straight to bed. Poor thing. She said she wasn't sleeping properly, for the first time in her adult life, and she looked like she wasn't, too. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes. She was so indignant about the insomnia that she made Susannah laugh. By contrast, she was no stranger to 2 a.m. They had always been different that way. Susannah remembered watching, with something like irritation, as Amelia slept sitting up, her head leaning against her rucksack, on a bumpy, noisy train somewhere in Europe, while she sat there, wide awake and lonely.

There were a hundred things she should go back to work to do, but not this afternoon ... She'd called her assistant, Megan, and established that there was nothing that couldn't wait until the morning. Now, slipping out of her shoes and putting her jacket on the back of a chair, Susannah climbed the stairs in her stockinged feet, pulling her silk blouse out of her skirt.

She was halfway up when she heard the noise coming from above, along the landing, and instantly a jolt of pure adrenalin ran through her. Someone was in the house. She stood, frozen on the stairs, her mind racing with what she should do. Who the hell was here? The door hadn't been unlocked. It was broad daylight outside she could hear cars passing in the street, and a child's voice laughing. There was no sign of anyone here in the hall, on the stairs. Through the open door to the sitting room she could see the television, the i-Pod dock, with Doug's i-Touch still in it. She could see her handbag, on the pew in the hallway. Her phone was in it.

'Who's there?' Probably not the smartest choice, but it was instinct.

'Shit.'

She recognized Daisy's voice immediately, and the worst of her fears immediately subsided.

'Daisy?' What on earth was Daisy doing here on a Wednesday afternoon? She called her name again, hearing her own irritation in her voice this time.

There was no response, but now Susannah continued up the stairs. The door to the bedroom Daisy shared with Rose was wide open, but Daisy wasn't in there. Across the landing, Fin's bedroom was empty, too. The door to the master bedroom was the only one closed.

'Daisy?' She turned the handle, and pushed the door ajar, mystified and tense.

'Don't come in!'

But she was already in.

Daisy was in her bed. She had the sheet held up tight against her, but beneath it she was clearly naked, or, at the very least, topless. The curve of her youthful breasts escaped the cotton cover. Her hair was all messy, like it had been backcombed, and her cheeks were bright red. Next to the bed Daisy's boyfriend, Seth, was hurriedly pulling on boxer shorts, breathing fast. She'd never seen him without clothes on. Let's face it, she and Doug had barely seen him dressed either Daisy was never keen to bring him round or even to discuss him and his muscled, hairless back, the underwear coming up over a smooth, high behind, was somehow shocking to her. She was amazed, in the moment, that she noticed how he looked, that she registered him on that basic level. The sexuality in the room at that moment was palpable, and she felt like a voyeur. These two beautiful young people had been, up until a minute or so ago, making love in here that much was perfectly obvious. In the middle of the day, in her bed, under her sheets. Where she slept with Doug, Daisy's father.

Christ.

The two of them she and Doug hadn't had sex, here or anywhere else, in a couple of weeks, she realized. And then, it had been in the dark. With older, less lovely bodies, and probably considerably less enthusiasm, and athleticism.

She was furious, yes. What on earth was Daisy thinking of? It was utterly unacceptable, and it was revolting. But there was definitely something else. Something much worse, and much less expected. Was she jealous? Not of Seth. Of course not. She knew she was old enough to be the kid's mother. But of the two of them, so desperate to have each other that they'd sneak around, come here in the afternoon? That they were so young, and so beautiful, and so in love, or lust, or on heat, or whatever it was that had brought them here this afternoon, to do this extraordinary thing?

She tried to push those uncomfortable, inappropriate thoughts to one side. Tried to think like a parent. 'What the hell is going on here?' She heard her own voice, shrill and shocked.

'I'm sorry, Susannah ... I ...'

She put a hand up to stop Daisy's sputtering. She didn't know which one of them was more in shock. She just wanted to get out of the room. 'Actually, forget the explanation. I think I can see exactly what's going on here it seems pretty obvious. I don't need to have it spelt out to me.'

Backing out of the door, concentrating on controlling her breathing, Susannah looked hard at the lines in the sand-coloured carpet, like a ploughed field, willing herself to stay calm. What she most wanted to do, at this precise moment, was to stride across the room and smack Daisy hard in her face.

But she kept her tone as even as she could, and her voice quiet and calm. 'Seth I think it would be a great idea if you'd get dressed now, and just go, please.'

She didn't look at either of them. She closed the door behind them, and went downstairs, straight into the sitting room, where she poured herself a stiff measure of bourbon, and drained her glass. She refilled her glass and went to sit at the kitchen table. It was still and silent in the house. She could see through the house to the front door, and she waited ...

It took Seth about three minutes to finish dressing, come down, and let himself out of the front door, which he closed quietly behind him without a backward glance. He couldn't get away quick enough. She didn't blame him.

It took Daisy about five minutes after that to appear in the kitchen. Susannah had thought it might take longer. She wouldn't even have been surprised if Daisy had gone straight to her room, and she'd heard the familiar slam of the door. But she came down to face the music. Susannah had to give her points for that, at least, although she was still extremely angry. She had put her jeans and sweatshirt back on, and pulled her tousled hair back into a loose ponytail, but her cheeks were still red, grazed by kissing, and with embarrassment. Susannah's own face was hot, too, she knew.

Without saying anything, Daisy pulled out the chair opposite Susannah and sat down. Susannah couldn't bear to look at her for a moment, but when she brought her eyes up to meet Daisy's, Daisy's face crumpled into sudden, unexpected tears. Susannah didn't remember the last time she'd seen Daisy cry. Had she ever seen her cry?

'Susannah, I'm so, so sorry.' The words were hard to hear through the sobbing.

'What were you thinking, Daisy?'

'We ... we weren't thinking ... we weren't thinking at all. We just ... we wanted to be alone so ... so ... much, you know. Just be on our own. I didn't plan it, Susannah ... I didn't ... honestly. I just thought we'd come here ... you know ... while you and Dad were at work ... and that we could ... you know ... that we could just be together. It just ... it just happened. Honestly ...' Her breathing was shallow and uncontrolled. She'd worked herself up into a complete state.

'It just happened in my bed?'

'I couldn't ... we couldn't ... not where Rose and I ... or Fin ...'

'So, you knew it was wrong to do it there, but somehow my room, your father's room that seemed okay?'

Daisy hung her head. 'No.'

'Damn right, Daisy. None of it's okay. You were in my house without permission. I presume you're bunking off school. You scared the shit out of me, for starters. I thought ... I don't know what I thought ... I can't believe you've done this, you stupid, careless, thoughtless girl.'

Daisy bowed her head at the words, as though they were blows being rained down on her. She looked about ten years old, sitting there in her school sweatshirt, with her hair all over the place. She wiped at her snotty nose and her eyes with her sleeves.

The tears finally undid Susannah. She'd never seen Daisy so vulnerable. She might have expected rage, or defiance, or attitude. But she hadn't expected this. She couldn't quite believe she was doing it, but Susannah slowly pushed the chair back from the table, and walked round to Daisy. She stood next to her for a moment, then put an arm around Daisy's shoulder. As soon as she did, Daisy leant into her, putting both arms awkwardly around Susannah's legs, and sobbed anew into her skirt. Susannah could see no point right now in doing anything but holding her while she cried.

Daisy cried for maybe four or five minutes, while Susannah found herself murmuring softly to her, as though she was a baby. Gradually, her breathing slowed and her shoulders stopped heaving. Gently Susannah pulled herself away from the girl, and went to put the kettle on. She took two of the Penguin Classics mugs from the hooks under the cabinet and put a tea bag in each, adding a spoonful of sugar to both. She put a box of tissues from the window sill on the table, and Daisy took one and blew her nose noisily.

Neither of them spoke until the tea was made. It seemed like they were both listening intently to the kettle as it boiled in the stillness.

'Come and sit down with me.' Susannah led Daisy into the sitting room, carrying the two mugs. She undid the top two buttons of her pencil skirt, before sitting down on the floor. Daisy slid to the ground next to her, close but not touching, and picked up her mug of tea from the coffee table, nursing it against her chest, her hands still covered by the sweatshirt.

'So, do you want to tell me what happened?' The anger was gone. She didn't honestly expect that Daisy would want to, but Daisy started talking, stopping to take small sips of her tea, and to sniff.

'I really love Seth, Susannah. I know you probably don't believe that you probably think we're too young to even know what that means.'

Rob's face flashed into Susannah's mind. The shy smile. The first time he said the words to her. Daisy was wrong. 'I don't think that, Daisy.'

Daisy harrumphed, just a little.

How old and desiccated I must seem to her, Susannah thought.

'Well, everyone else does. You've heard how Dad talks about him. Mum won't let him come in the house, and she gets really uptight when I go out with him. She hasn't given him a chance at all.'

'And we haven't either, right?'

Daisy gave a little smile. 'Not much of one, no.'

'You haven't done a lot to encourage us, Daisy. You've kept him pretty much under wraps. I didn't know it had got so serious.'

'It hadn't. I mean, this afternoon it was the first time. Honest.'

'Did you ... I mean were you ... ?' Susannah was a little surprised at the parental question that sprang to her lips.

'Careful?'

Susannah nodded.

'We were. He had ... things ... you know.' She caught herself sounding childish and forced herself to use the word. 'Condoms. He had some with him.'

'So, he'd planned it, even if you hadn't.'

Maybe Daisy hadn't thought of it that way. It stopped her from talking for a moment. 'I think he loves me, Susannah. He says he does.'

'Has he had other girlfriends?'

'A few, I think. But he said it was his first time, too.'

'And do you believe him?'

'Yeah.' Daisy nodded slowly, and even smiled. 'I think so.'

She remembered Amelia, all those years ago on the bus, talking about her first time with Tristan, the boy on the Amalfi Coast. She was amazed to realize that she remembered his name. How perfect it had been. She thought about her own first time for a moment, and then pushed the moment away. Far from perfect, as it turned out. Had it been perfect for Seth and Daisy? It would always be connected to this now. To being caught. To the excruciating scene. Seth dressing with his back to the bed.

This was what Douglas meant. She wasn't Daisy's mother. She might be angry about the bed, about the violation of trust, but she couldn't feel the mother's indignation she was sure she should. She realized she wasn't overwhelmed by this. Or hurt, or confused about how to handle it. She found she was thinking clearly.

'Have you talked to your mum or your dad about this?'

'No way.' Daisy shook her head vociferously. 'I can't. And you can't either. You have to promise you won't tell him, Susannah. Please. Please.'

'Because?'

'Because Dad's Dad. I couldn't talk to him about stuff like this. And he'd go mad if you told him, too.'

Susannah could never have talked to her dad either. If he knew anything about that part of her life, he knew it from Mum, and not from her. 'And your mum?'

'No. Mum still treats me like I'm ten. She doesn't want to think I'm getting older I think that just makes her feel older. And that's her biggest fear. If she keeps me a kid, she doesn't have to admit she's getting older. It isn't just boys and sex. She doesn't want me to have driving lessons. She won't talk about university either.'

Poor kid. What she was saying made sense. Sylvie was one of those women for whom ageing was an agony you could tell just from looking at her. She wore her hair too long, her clothes too young. She was too thin, and always at a yoga or a pilates class. The pursuit of youth. It had occasionally given Susannah a flicker of pleasure, knowing that what most aggravated Sylvie about her was the one thing she was powerless to change Susannah was ten years younger. But she'd never considered the impact all of that might have had on her elder daughter.

Daisy had never, in the seven years since they'd known each other, talked to her like this. It was both strange and somehow a huge relief to be sitting here on the rug speaking this way. For the first time, she could see a place for herself in Daisy's life. She didn't have to judge. She didn't have to lay down rules. She had to listen, and she had to treat Daisy like she was sixteen, going on seventeen. Because someone had to.

At last it was the weekend, and Susannah was at her parents' home. Mum had issued a three-line whip for lunch. She'd popped in to see Amelia's mum on the way this morning, for a coffee. She couldn't get used to the fact that Amelia's dad wasn't there any more. They'd finally divorced ten years earlier. Her mum had redecorated much of the house a more feminine style with pastels, florals and lace trim proliferating. It didn't really suit the style of the house, but it was very her. Mrs Lloyd, still handsome, still well dressed, had started crying as soon as she'd seen her but balled-up tissues in each hand, and red-rimmed eyes told Susannah she was crying a lot, and not just because she was there. Amelia had driven down a couple of days earlier, she knew, and told her about the cancer.

She stayed for half an hour, sitting in the kitchen that was, these days, a Cath Kidston showroom, drinking chamomile tea, telling her it would be okay, promising to keep an eye on Amelia, and to call her if she thought Amelia needed her.

'Because she won't say so herself. You know her better than most, and you know I'm right.'

Her own mum knew about Amelia, too. Susannah had told her on the phone the week they'd heard the diagnosis together, swearing her to secrecy, but knowing that Mum would turn the air at St Gabriel's thick with prayers while she dusted. Which couldn't hurt. She'd hugged her extra tight when she'd arrived.

Douglas wasn't here with her today either. He was with the kids. Of course. Sunday lunchtime. They'd gone down to the harbour, to clear the boat out for the winter, before it was taken into dry dock, and God knows she hadn't wanted to do that any more than the three kids had. She hadn't especially wanted to come, but she hadn't had a great reason not to. And she thought it would be good to see Al. The sun had been shining earlier and she'd thought that the drive, at least, would be good.

Alastair had volunteered himself and her to wash up after lunch, which meant he had an agenda. He never volunteered to wash up. In the kitchen, while she ran a sink of hot, soapy water, the two of them made small talk about work, weather and politics. They were almost finished and she'd almost got away with it when he raised the subject of Douglas.

'So ... he's not here ... again.'

'Nope. Kids.' She kept her tone light.

'I'm beginning to think he's your imaginary live-in significant other.'

She flicked him with the corner of the tea towel.

'Although, presumably, if you were going to make one up, he'd be younger. And hunkier. And childless ...'

'Ouch. Now you're just mean.'

'Come on, Susannah he never shows up for these things. What's that all about? Does he hate us? Because if he does, I just want to go on the record as saying I don't think he knows me well enough to hate me. Let him decide that after a few more Sunday lunches ... hey?'

She started to say something about the children, but Alastair wasn't in the mood, and he interrupted her crossly. 'That's bullshit. He could bring the kids, for God's sake. We don't bite. Mum would love it. My kids would love it. Those kids are like his human shield. Besides, it isn't really about us. I can take the fact that he obviously doesn't want to be with us.'

She started to demur, but he fixed her with a hard, cynical stare. 'But why doesn't he want to be with you? Everyone else might be happy to let it ride, but you're not fooling me. It's not right, Suze. Either you guys are a family, or you're not.'

Susannah leant back against the kitchen counter. 'You're a nosy bugger, you know that?'

'I know. And you're my sister. Know that?' He leant beside her, so close their hips were touching.

'I know.' She leant her head against his shoulder.

'I don't like it, that's all, Susannah. I'm not trying to interfere, I just want you to know I'm trying to look out for you.'

'I do know, and I'm glad you are. And when I need to talk, I promise, you'll be the first person I call. Today I don't want to talk about it. There's just too much else going on in my head. Stuff I can't talk about now.' She didn't want to tell him about Amelia, not today. 'Is that okay?'

He put his head down on top of hers. 'That's okay.'

Al was too close to the mark, as usual. She loved him for it, but she wished he wouldn't.

She would see the kids tonight. They wouldn't go back to Sylvie until after school on Monday. She wanted to see Daisy to make sure she was alright. She'd taken her to the GP last week, to get her put on the pill. Neither Douglas nor Sylvie knew. Daisy had asked her not to tell them, and she was happy enough to go along with that for now Daisy was right when she said Douglas would be angry. He'd be furious. She was sixteen she didn't need a parent's permission. She didn't need Susannah to go with her either, but she'd asked if she would, and Susannah, touched, and feeling a slightly surprising protectiveness, had readily agreed. Daisy had been so nervous, sitting in the grey waiting room. Susannah hadn't gone in with her she'd waited outside. Afterwards they'd gone out for a pizza they'd never done that before and chatted more easily than Susannah could ever remember.

Over ice cream, Daisy had thanked her. 'You're cool, Susannah you've been so cool about this. I'm still so sorry ... about what happened. I can't believe I did that. But I'm so ... I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me, since. I didn't deserve it. You could have behaved really differently, and I'm so glad you didn't. I feel relieved to have someone to talk to about this stuff. I told Seth, and he thinks you're amazing, too.'

Susannah was moved by Daisy's speech probably the longest one she'd ever heard her give, even as she acknowledged to herself that it shouldn't have been her that Daisy took into her confidence.

It was amazing, she'd thought earlier, sitting around the reproduction mahogany dining table, how much Douglas wasn't missed at these family occasions. He was more often absent than present. Even Chloe, a novice by his standards, and a foreigner, seemed a better fit here. Did I do that, she wondered? Did I exact revenge for him making me keep the kids at arm's length by doing that with my own family? Who exactly hasn't put any time or effort into this relationship? Him, them or me? She didn't know the answer to that one.

Lunch was ... nice. It usually was. And she was usually surprised that it was, which said more about her, she thought, than about lunch. They were her parents. The kids ran around squawking and dancing, and Mum overcooked the vegetables to a grey mush like she always did, but she beamed so with the pleasure of having 'everyone' under her roof that it was easy to forgive her (and just to make a mental note to find that day's vitamin C some other way).

Outside her mum's house on a foggy Sunday afternoon, Susannah wrapped her coat around her tightly and pulled the collar up to shield the back of her neck from the chill wind. It was getting cold out here. Alastair and his crew had left a half-hour or so ago, anxious to get the kids in the bath and into bed. Alex and Chloe were staying the night so they could meet up with some of Alex's local friends they hadn't seen since the wedding. Lunch had been the first time they'd all (almost all) been together since the wedding. Cue around 1,000 photographs, and a premiere screening of the wedding video. She'd been sent a website link by the wedding photographer, as was the modern way, but she hadn't got around to pushing the slideshow button and seeing them all. They were lovely much lovelier than you might have imagined if you'd seen how uptight and anxious the guy had been on the day. Some of them were downright arty Chloe photographed in the bedroom, through her veil, and what looked like precious little else bar her underwear, and some actually pretty nice shots of the wedding party's shoes arranged alongside their bouquets on the stairs in Mum's house.

The video had been shot by a friend of Chloe's, to save money, and was less artistic, but infinitely more informative, catching people's asides and expressions throughout the day. Susannah was in the background at one point, watching as the newly-weds danced their first dance to Louis Armstrong. She looked sad and distracted, standing watching them. She saw Alastair watching her watch herself, and poked her tongue out at him. No one else seemed to notice. Mum, it seemed, was mainly interested in how the flowers had looked.