"You're a very beautiful woman, Georgina. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I wanted to believe him. I almost believed him; but a cool whisper in my head reminded me that he probably slept with dozens of women, and said that to all of them. Then something from another age stirred in my mind, Rip's voice, husky against my cheek: "If ever any beauty I did see, which I desired and got, 'twas but a dream of thee." How long ago was that?

"You'd better go now. It's nearly four o'clock."

"What happens at four o'clock? D'you turn into a pumpkin?"

"No, I turn into a mother."

Just after four, the key turned in the latch, and I did turn into a mother.

"Hi, Mum."

Ben flung his bag down and let me hug him, turning his head to one side. He looked tense and pale.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine. Cool."

He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the window.

"Do you want a sandwich? Some Choco-Puffs?"

"Nah. I'll just have water."

He drank resting both elbows on the table, his brown curls falling across his eyes.

"I've been feeling a bit sort of...weird."

I kicked Mr Diabello right out of my mind and sat down opposite him.

"How do you mean, weird?"

"I've been having these weird feelings."

I could feel my pulses starting to pound, but I kept my voice soft and easy.

"What feelings, Ben?"

"Sort of...liminal."

"Liminal?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. I waited, listening.

"Like we're living in liminal times. You can see it in the light, Mum-look-it's like it's seeping in from the edges of another world."

He pointed at the window. I looked round. Between the houses, a low shaft of pinky sunlight was lighting up a bank of purple c.u.mulus from below. The brick buildings and leafless trees were all backlit, cast in shadow, despite the vivid light. I could see what he meant-it did look unearthly.

"It's winter, Ben. The sun's always low in the sky at this time of year. Further north, in Scandinavia, they don't have any daytime at all."

He looked up with a flicker of a smile.

"You're so literal-minded, Mum."

The clouds rearranged themselves and the shaft of light disappeared, but still there was a fiery glow on the underbelly of the sky.

"I keep having these feelings, like the world's going to end soon." He paused, gulping a mouthful of water. "Like we're coming to the end of time?"

"Ben, you should have said..."

"So I Googled End of Time End of Time. And that's when I realised it wasn't just me?"

That's what they do, his generation, I thought. They don't talk to their parents or friends like we did-they look on the internet.

"There's like all these signs-predictions in the Bible about the end of time? Wars, earthquakes, floods, plagues and that-it's all starting to come true?" His voice was strained and crackly.

"But you don't believe all that stuff about prophecies, do you, Ben?"

"No, but...well, yes...I just think, like, if that many people believe it, there could be something in it?"

"But those things-wars, earthquakes, floods, plagues-they've been happening since the beginning of recorded history."

"Yeah, I know, but it's all speeded up now. Floods and earthquakes-like there's one every year. And AIDS, SARS, avian flu-all these new diseases. It's all started coming true. Like in the Bible, it's predicted the Jews'll return to Israel, and they did. You know, in 1948. After the Holocaust and that? That was the beginning of all the wars in the Middle East. The invasion of Lebanon. You can read it for yourself, Mum-it's all there in the Bible. And it's not just Jews and Christians? A lot of Muslims think their great prophet is coming? Like they call him the Last Imam?" The rising inflection in his voice seemed to challenge me to disagree.

How could I explain without sounding pompous that just because millions of people believe something doesn't make it true.

"Why didn't you tell me, Ben, that you were having these feelings? Or Rip?"

"I thought you'd think it was mad? You wouldn't listen? You and Dad-you never listen to anybody." He dropped his voice to a mumble. "Like, you're so sure you know everything already?"

He didn't say it as an accusation, but it stung like one. We were so preoccupied with our own lives and problems that we'd failed to hear our own son's cry for help.

"I'm sorry, Ben. You're right-we don't always listen. D'you want to talk about it now?"

"Nah, it's all right, Mum." He grinned sheepishly, swallowing the rest of his water. "I feel all right now. I think I'll have some Choco-Puffs."

After he'd gone upstairs, I sat in the kitchen with a gla.s.s of wine wondering where we'd gone wrong. We'd brought him up to respect difference-diversity. To disrespect someone's faith would cause offence. At his primary school in Leeds, Rip and I, like good middle-cla.s.s parents, had cheered enthusiastically as the children celebrated Christmas and Eid and Diwali. All belief was equally valid. Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, astrology, astronomy, relativity, evolution, creationism, socialism, monetarism, global warming, damage to the ozone layer, crystal healing, Darwin, Hawking, Dawkins, Nostradamus, Mystic Meg, they were all out there vying with each other in the marketplace of ideas. How was anyone to know which was true and which wasn't?

25.

The attraction between adhesives and adherends Sometime in the night it started to snow. When I pulled back my curtains in the morning everything was white, and I felt a sudden burst of happiness, like I'd felt as a child waking up on a snowy day. No school; s...o...b..ll fights with my brother; tobogganing on a tea tray down the slag heaps. In those days, before the invention of four-wheel drives and working online, snow meant holiday, anarchy, delight.

In the garden, even the horrible yellow-spotted laurel bush was touched with magic, the leaves and branches bowing gracefully under their overcoat of snow. I noticed a movement-it seemed like three small black creatures hopping along, then I realised they were black feet attached to a white body. Wonder Boy prowled along the edge of the garden, tiptoed across the lawn, and took up his position under the laurel tree, staring up at the house. He was reminding me, I should drop in on Mrs Shapiro today.

"Look, Ben," I said, when he came down for breakfast. "It's snowing. You could take the day off school."

"It's okay, Mum. I feel better today. I've got to work on my technology project. The bus'll be running."

How did he get to be so sensible? I hugged him.

"Take care."

After he'd left, I sat down and tried to concentrate on an article for Adhesives Adhesives. "The attraction between surfaces in adhesive bonding."

"Powerful attractive forces develop between the adhesive and the adherend which may be adsorptive, electrostatic or diffusive."

There was something quite romantic, I was thinking, about those gluey time-enduring forces, bonds so strong that they could outlive the materials themselves.

Mmm. My mind started to drift. It was no good. Adhesives Adhesives would have to wait-I wanted to get outside before the snow disappeared. would have to wait-I wanted to get outside before the snow disappeared.

I phoned Mrs Shapiro, to see whether she needed anything from the shops. There was no reply, so I pulled on my wellies and my coat and went out anyway. The sun was low but brilliant, dusting every white surface with a sparkle of gold, but the snow had already started to melt and there were mini-avalanches all around as it slipped off roofs and branches. Wonder Boy followed me down the road. I lobbed a s...o...b..ll at him, but he ducked out of the way.

When I got to Canaan House, I saw that the snow had pulled an end of the gutter down, and melting snow was dripping down the porch. Maybe I would have to get Mr. Ali in again. There were footprints in the snow leading away from the house. I knocked on the door just in case but I wasn't surprised that there was no reply. She must have gone out already. Wonder Boy trotted up the path, sat down in the porch and started to yowl.

"What's the matter?"

I reached down to stroke him, but he hissed and went for me with his claws. I gave him a kick with my welly and went off to do my shopping. Later in the afternoon I phoned Mrs Shapiro again. Still no reply. This was odd. I began to get worried. Why had she gone out so early in the snow? Then Ben came back from school and I got on with cooking supper. I'll ring later, I thought.

At about seven o'clock in the evening, the phone rang.

It was an old woman's voice, hoa.r.s.e and throaty.

"She's in 'ere."

"Sorry?"

"Yer pal. She's in 'ere. But she ent got 'er dressin' gahn wiwer."

"I'm sorry, I think you've got the wrong number."

"Nah, I ent. She give it me. You're 'er what comes to 'ospital, int yer? Wiwe posh voice? She give me yer number. That lady wiwe pink dressin' gahn. She says she wants 'er dressin' gahn agin. And 'er slippers."

I realised in a flash that it must be the bonker lady.

"Oh, thank you for contacting me. I'll..."

"An' she says can yer bring some ciggies wiv yer when yer come."

The telephone beeped a few times then went dead. She must have been calling from the hospital payphone.

I glanced at the clock. There was maybe half an hour of visiting time left. I'd given back the key to her house, so I bundled together my own slippers, a nightdress and Stella's dressing gown.

"I'll see you in a bit, Ben," I called upstairs as I set off for the bus.

The snow had already melted and the air was surprisingly mild. I walked quickly, avoiding the slushy patches on the pavements. The newsagent by the bus stop was still open. Should I get some cigarettes? Or would it make me into a peddler of disease and death? Probably. But anyway, I did.

The bonker lady was hanging around in the foyer when I arrived. I saw her approach a departing visitor and cadge a cigarette off him. She was still wearing her fluffy blue mules, now more grey than blue, and her toes poking out into the cold air looked bluish-grey too, the yellow toenails crustier than ever. Feeling like a smuggler delivering contraband, I handed her the cigarettes and she pocketed them swiftly. "Tanks, sweet'eart. She's in Eyesores."

It took me a while to track Mrs Shapiro down to Isis ward. I could see at once that she was in a bad way. Her cheek was bruised, one eye almost closed up, and she had a dramatic bandage around her head. She reached out and gripped my arm.

"Georgine. Thenk Gott you come." Her voice was weak and croaky.

"What happened?"

"Fell down in the snow. Everything brokken."

"I've brought the things you asked for." I took the things out of the bag and put them in her bedside cabinet. "Your friend phoned me."

"She is not my friend. She is a bonker. All she wants is cigarettes."

"But what happened? I telephoned earlier to see whether you needed anything."

"Somebody telephoned to me in morning. Said my cat was in a tree stuck up in the park."

"Who telephoned you? Was it somebody you know?"

"I don't know who. I thought it was Wonder Boy stuck. Poor Wonder Boy is not good up the trees."

"Was he stuck?"

"Don't know. Never seen him. Somebody b.u.mped me, I slipped and fallen. They put me back in the krankie house."

Visiting time was over, and people were already making their way towards the door.

"You will feed him again, will you, Georgine? Key is in pocket, same like before. Look out for the Wonder Boy. Thenk you, Georgine. You are my angel."

I must say, I felt rather grumpy for an angel. Neighbour-liness is all very well, but there are limits. Still, I took the key out of her astrakhan coat pocket again and joined the tide of visitors flowing towards the exit. Had it really been an accident, I wondered on the way home? Or had someone lured her out into the snow and pushed her over? What was it Mrs Goodney had said? "Wouldn't want to be held responsible if she had another accident...?"

Ben was still up when I got back.

"Somebody phoned for you," he said.

"Did they leave a message?"

"He said can you call him. Mr Diabello."

"Oh yes, the estate agent." I kept my voice absolutely expressionless. "I'm trying to get him to value Mrs Shapiro's house."

"Funny name."