Bea envied Ellen's breezy chat-among-equals approach, not to mention her ability to ignore the expression of non-cooperation that was making itself plain on Ben's face.

'Yeah. All right,' he muttered, avoiding Ellen's eye by keeping his own fixed on the floor. He put the plate and cup on the side, before opening the fridge to take a beer.

'Darling! Not on a week night,' said Bea.

Ben returned the can with a grunt, exchanging it for a carton of milk and a yoghurt. He lifted the carton and tipped it towards his mouth.

'Ben! How many times have I-'

'Bea,' hissed Ellen.

'Sorry,' she muttered. 'But, honestly, I-'

Ellen silenced her with a glare. As Ben opened a cupboard and started piling biscuits on his plate, she tried again: 'Which subjects have you gone for?'

'Haven't decided yet.' Ben shook his fringe out of his eyes. 'Maybe English, history, media studies. Maybe I'll just leave school and get a job.'

Don't rise to it, Bea said to herself. Don't rise to it. Simultaneously, she heard her own intake of breath and her sharp 'Ben! Don't be so bloody ridiculous.'

'Well, I might.'

'Perhaps now isn't quite the right moment to discuss it.' Ellen was the epitome of family conciliation as Ben disappeared, armed with his supplies, his thunderous mood adequately communicated by the hunch of his shoulders, the slam of the door and the increase in the music's volume. Bea took a swig of wine. 'Bloody child! Sometimes I think I can't get through to him any more.'

'He's only saying it because he knows exactly the reaction he'll get,' said Ellen. 'And you know nagging never works.'

'I can't help it. He drives me mad.'

'He's just at that age,' Ellen reassured her. 'You've got to ignore it. He's still a great kid underneath all that.'

'You think so?'

'I know so. Give him a couple of years and you'll see.' Ellen got up to put the kettle on. 'Now, where were we? I think it's your turn.'

'How long have you got?' So saying, Bea launched into her latest news from the work and dating front, giggling about Mark and bemoaning Tony Castle. For the next couple of hours, they would go back and forth over the same well-trodden ground, as they examined and re-examined their lives, loves (or lack of them) and children. They had spent countless similar evenings in each other's company, enjoying the friendship, discretion, support and advice. Even if Bea's feathers were ruffled from time to time, Ellen took that in her stride. That was what friendship was about, thought Bea. Ultimately, nothing was strong enough to break the bond between them.

Before she went to bed, Bea made herself a cup of hot chocolate and took it to the sitting room, ignoring the debris that was evidence of Ben's earlier occupation. Mothers and children who'd have 'em? She opened the box Ellen had brought and took out the distinctive brown tub of pink and black pepper caramels. As the fusion of sweet and savoury flavours melted in her mouth, she thought with affection of Adele and with some sadness of the last conversation they'd had together when she'd dropped her mother at home.

They had sorted out the shopping and sat down with a cup of tea before Bea had touched on the subject of Adele moving house. To her surprise, an uncertain look crossed Adele's face and she said what she must have been bursting to say all day.

'I've got something to tell you, Bea. I've been putting it off because I don't know how you'll react. Janey Blythe has asked me to move to Bournemouth with her. There.' She sat back, looking pleased but apprehensive, waiting to see the effect her announcement would have on her daughter. Janey Blythe was Adele's near neighbour, a sprightly, slightly younger woman who, like Adele, was widowed, with her children long established in their own lives. The two had grown particularly close after the deaths of their husbands and Bea knew they spent hours talking about their own and their children's lives. Janey was always keen to try new things. Her last idea had been to encourage Adele to go to the local pottery class with her. The three wonky vases on top of the old upright piano suggested lots of enthusiasm but little skill.

'Ye-es.' Bea was hesitant, worried she'd been wrong in her assessment of her mother's state of mind. She'd clearly completely lost her marbles. 'But where? And what about the house?'

'I'm going to sell it. I've been rattling around it for years. We've found two flats actually, Janey has in a new development principally for old crocks like us very close to the sea front.' Adele was beaming at the prospect of something so different.

'Mum! You can't do this without talking to us.'

'But that's what I'm doing talking to you. I've always wanted to live by the sea . . .'

'Have you? You've never said anything.'

'Bea, I hardly see you. And when I do, we mostly talk about you or Ben.'

Bea was ashamed to admit that she was right. She'd imagined she knew all that there was to know about Adele's life. She had got into the habit of assuming that her mother's days and weeks followed the same inevitable pattern and that Adele was quite happy with that. Bea had never bothered trying to put herself into her mother's shoes to see how the world looked from her vantage-point. Of course, a woman of seventy-something (there she didn't even know exactly how old Adele was) had the right to expect more out of life and still have ambitions, however modest. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, that's not what I meant. I love hearing all your news. But Janey and I have had more cups of coffee together than either of us can count, discussing what we might do with the rest of our lives. At the moment we're both relatively fit and healthy so it's not too late for us to start a new chapter.' Her eyes were bright with excitement.

'Why didn't you say something earlier?'

'Because I was enjoying hearing about you and Ellen. And I was nervous. I didn't want to spoil our outing, which I would have done if you don't like the plan.'

'But, Mum . . . the house.' Now that the idea of Adele's moving had suddenly become a reality, getting rid of the family home was unthinkable. Or was it? After all, she was the only one of Adele's children who visited with any regularity any more. Why should her mother have to live there alone, just so her children could revisit their memories every now and then?

'It's only a house, dear. It's given us plenty of good years but I like the idea of another family taking it over now. And I'd like a change while I can still enjoy it. If I move with Janey, we'll have each other for company as neighbours again. What could be better? And you won't need to worry about me.'

Selling the old place would be a huge wrench, not to say a logistical nightmare as they disposed of all those years' worth of accumulated belongings, but was that a reason to prevent Adele having one last shot at life? Bea looked around the room. She had grown up with everything in it: the faded furniture, the pictures on the walls, the green and white Penguin crime novels that Adele had collected so many years ago. Where would it all go? She turned to her mother, who was leaning forward in her chair, looking anxious for Bea's approval. In that moment, Bea grasped that whatever her feelings about her childhood home, she couldn't use it to deny her mother's right to her much-cherished independence. That Adele was embracing her future with another woman close to her age should be a relief, a way of taking some of the load off her shoulders. Adele was right. The house had done them well and at last the time had come to move on.

'You know what, Mum? I think it's a great idea. Go for it.'

The relief she saw in Adele's face told her all she needed to know. Adele's mind might have been made up but what she really wanted was her daughter's blessing. Though saddened by the nostalgia provoked at the idea of selling the old house, Bea was able to enthuse over the estate agent's details of the new flats. Soon she and her mother were making plans to travel down to inspect them as soon as they could.

By the time she left for home, she was almost as excited as Adele by the imminent change. She was confident Will wouldn't mind. He'd said goodbye to his childhood home long ago when he'd set off for Australia. As for Jess, she had no right to protest. She only ever visited when she felt she absolutely had to and spent much of her time eyeing up the furniture, as if mentally marking the pieces she liked with red stickers. No, this was a positive thing to do and Bea was going to support Adele all the way. Life would be easier for everyone.

Unable to resist another chocolate, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the sofa as a feeling of relaxation stole over her. She wasn't sorry that Tony Castle hadn't turned up this evening. Having the opportunity to talk to Ellen was much more important to her. After so many years coming to terms with Simon's death, Ellen deserved her shot at happiness. Her obvious pleasure in her new man brought home to Bea how much she wanted the best for her friend. Besides, she admitted a small afterthought, if Ellen had found someone, then maybe there was still hope for her too.

Chapter 10.

'I'm not going. No way.'

They had reached stalemate already. The conversation that Ellen had rehearsed in her head a hundred times was proving far more difficult than she had envisaged. After she'd got back from Bea's the previous night, she'd lain awake going through exactly what she wanted to say to Oliver and the best way to put it. However much his temporary absence was going to hurt, she knew Bea's advice was right. He had to go, and for a short while they would have to pretend a different relationship in front of the children. Once Emma and Matt liked and accepted him, they could start their future together. All day at the gallery, she had been busy planning a new exhibition, speaking to two painters whose work she hoped to show and to customers, but her thoughts had kept running ahead to the conversation she must have. Dreading Oliver's reaction, she hadn't been able to broach the subject immediately. He'd welcomed her home as if he hadn't seen her for days, not hours, and she hadn't wanted to spoil the mood. His attention made her feel alive.

Eventually, as they sat down for supper, she'd told him that she was planning to go alone to Cornwall and began to spell out as gently and reasonably as she could what she felt was the best way of introducing him to the children. His response was as negative as she'd feared. As she talked, his expression had hardened. A barely perceptible steeliness slid into place behind his eyes. But she saw it. He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, folded his arms and waited, motionless until she'd finished. Then he spoke. Those five non-cooperative words.

For a second, Ellen's panic was eradicated by the fleeting thought of how sweet he looked, like a frustrated child about to stamp his foot. She swiftly brought herself back to the moment. 'Darling, at least try to understand.'

He reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio and refilled his glass without offering any to her. 'I am trying. But what's so ridiculous is that I know deep down you don't want me to go either.' How true that was. 'Why do you think meeting me will be so difficult for them? I love you and I'll love them. It'll all work out.'

But will they love you? She pushed the thought away, annoyed that it had burrowed in through her defences. How lucky they were that she'd met a man so ready to take on her children as well as her. To find someone so big-hearted was a blessing. Of course they'd love him just as she did. She remembered the conversations she'd had with Bea over the years since Colin had left her. Bea had been convinced that any potential partner would run a mile once they'd got wind of Ben's existence. She could hear her now: 'Why would they take on a middle-aged woman at all, let alone one with a child? Look at me. I'm like a leftover from a designer sale! Once a desirable bit of shmutter but still on the rail and no longer fashionable, desirable or even fitting.' Ellen was no different. But she mustn't waver.

Looking over Oliver's shoulder to the wall behind him, she could see one of the large picture frames that, over the years, she'd filled with collages of family photos and hung all over the house. A grinning Matt stared out at her, snapped just after he'd triumphed with a winning goal in a school football match. Higher in the frame was Emma, two years older with a pretty, elfin face, her grip tight round Bonkers, her silver-grey flop-eared rabbit. She seemed to be looking straight at Ellen as if she was trying to say something to her. Ellen strengthened her resolve. 'You don't know them.'

'I feel as if I do. You've told me so much about them. Everything you've said makes me sure we'll get on.' He clicked the middle and thumb nails on his right hand, again and again.

'But coming back to find your mother has moved a strange man into your home is a lot to take on board. They've been used to everything being the way it's been for so long that they're bound to resent you at first. Surely you see that.'

'Of course. But they'll get over it and be pleased to see you happy again. Think of that.'

'Not to mention the discovery that their mother's enjoying a sex life all of a sudden! I should think they'll be horrified, poor things.' Ellen laughed. 'But, most importantly, I don't want them to think they've lost me to someone else. They've lost one parent that's enough. If we're going to be together for ever, I want it all to be right from the start.'

But Oliver was not going to give in that easily. They carried on the discussion over the mushroom omelettes, the apple pie, the washing-up, the coffee. They took their mugs to the end of the garden where they sat in the near-dark on the bench, the summer smell of other people's barbecues drifting round them as they tried to reach a resolution that suited them both. Lights from neighbouring windows cast a glow over the gardens while the sound of voices travelled across fences with the last gasps of barbecue smoke. Over the previous years, Ellen had always drawn comfort from the proximity of her neighbours but now she wished they would hurry inside so she and Oliver could have the night to themselves.

They talked round and round in circles, until finally she invoked the one person she had hoped not to involve. 'I have to do this for Simon. I have to make sure that Em and Matt understand that I'm not writing him out of their lives or them out of mine. I know he'd want me to be happy but he'd want them to be happy too, so I've got to do this in the way I think will make that happen.'

They sat for a moment, neither speaking. Then Oliver took her hand and kissed it, pulling her towards him until she leaned against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

'I think you're the most wonderful selfless person I've ever met.' He bent to kiss the top of her head.

'I'm just their mother, that's all. I-'

'Sssh!' He stopped her saying any more. 'OK. I'll do whatever you want.' He ruffled her hair.

'You will?' His sudden agreement shocked her.

'Yes.' He took a deep breath. 'I don't want to, but I will.'

'Thank you so, so much.' She sat up to face him, taking both his hands in hers. 'Where will you go?' Now she was anxious at the idea of being separated from him again.

'I've no idea.'

'But you must have. What have you done with all the stuff you must have brought back from France?' She pulled her pashmina tighter round her shoulders, aware of a chill in the night breeze.

'I've stored it all at a friend's place near Cardiff. Yes, I could go there.'

'Near Cardiff! You never said.'

'You never asked and it didn't seem important.'

'But you must have friends in London?' This wasn't what Ellen had imagined at all. She had imagined him nearby, in easy reach, so that he could call in regularly and gradually become more of a fixture in their lives without the children really noticing.

'None. Not close enough to bum a bed from anyway and I couldn't afford a hotel, not for that length of time. No. I'll have to see if Dan and Alice can have me for a few months. Do you think that'll be long enough to sort this out?'

Long enough? It sounded like a lifetime.

'But how will we see you, if you're living there? When will we see you?'

'It's only a couple of hours on the train. Ellen, this is what you wanted. Remember?'

'But I hadn't imagined you quite so far away. I'd thought of you sneaking out in the early morning before the children were up. That kind of thing,' she said, her cheeks burning.

'I'd rent somewhere nearer, but my funds are limited and without a job . . .'

She thought of the clothes that he'd bought, guilty that he'd spent so much on her. 'Haven't you had any luck at all?' She knew how he spent his days while she was at the gallery, trawling through the jobs-vacant sites online and riffling through the papers, ringing the bigger galleries. He was doing his best.

'Nothing concrete. But I'm hoping it won't be long. I've got a couple of possibilities lined up. Once I've got an income again, things will be different, I promise.' He kissed her again, taking away her breath and her impulse to ask what the possibilities were.

'I can't bear to think of you so far away. There must be a better solution. Isn't there any way of borrowing some money till you set yourself up?'

'Who's going to lend money to someone with no obvious means of repaying it and no guarantees? Unless . . .'

She could barely see his face now the lights from the surrounding houses were going out one by one. She responded to the touch of his hand by moving closer to him. Sitting with his arm around her, their bodies tight against one another, Ellen felt she had never been more at one with another person. Even Simon. She shuddered.

'Unless what?'

'There's only one solution that I can think of.' She felt his body tense, his arm tighten round her. 'But I can hardly bring myself to ask.'

He didn't need to say more. A silence fell between them as the night grew darker.

'You'll never guess what she's done now!' Bea's shriek of indignation almost burst Kate's eardrum. She held the phone away from her ear.

'What?'

'She's only agreed to pay rent on a studio flat for Oliver until he gets a job. "It should only be for a month or two."' This last was said in a shrill imitation of Ellen's own justification to Bea only a couple of hours earlier. 'He hasn't got any money and otherwise he'd have to move out of London. Or so he says.'

On her screen, Kate saw there were no patients waiting. Her morning so far had been routine, filled with the usual minor ailments and one or two 'worried well'. She was glad of a break. Holding her phone between her shoulder and her ear, she began to straighten her room, hiding the carrier-bag of allotment vegetables given by a grateful patient, replacing the paper sheeting on the bed, pulling back the curtain surrounding it and putting away the toys that the last child had slung about in boredom while she was examining his mother. 'Where?' She held one of Sam's long-ago discarded plastic Ninja Turtles, turning it over in her hand and remembering those days when he was a small boy and would play with nothing else.

'I don't know where. Somewhere near Ellen, I suppose. There wouldn't be much point otherwise. I just can't believe she'd be so rash.'

'Why are you so against the idea? Mightn't this be the best way to get what she wants?' She sat behind her desk, picking up her pale-blue cardigan, which she'd knocked off the chair-back, and glanced at the photograph of the view from the Tuscan villa she and Paul had rented two years earlier. Looking at the rolling vineyards, distant orchards, terracotta-roofed farmhouses and yew trees standing sentinel around a distant monastery gave her the sense of relaxation she remembered from that time spent together. On her desk calendar, a caravan of camels and white-clad nomads crossed the shadowy red dunes of the Sahara. Between them they did the trick of distancing her from her immediate surroundings, reminding her there was another very different world out there. Feeling better, she turned her full attention to the conversation.

'But she's only known him a few weeks. She knows nothing about him.' Bea sounded full of righteous anger.

'And neither do we.'

'You're always so damn reasonable.'

Kate could sense Bea's indignation waning. 'And you're always so quick to judge.'

'I know, I know. But, really . . . How do we know he'll pay her back?'

'You've read too many novels!' Kate had always thought that Bea's imagination was fuelled by what she did for a living. Her own attitude was much more practical. 'Of course we don't. But she's a grown-up and we have to trust that she knows what she's doing. And we should give him the benefit of the doubt at least until we've met him.'

'But all this is so out of character. I don't want her to get hurt.'

'Neither do I. But paying someone's rent for a few months isn't the worst thing that could happen.' Kate sat in her surgery day in day out, listening to people talk about their lives, about the sometimes bizarre and extreme things that some of them experienced. She had learned long ago never to be shocked by anything. Life had a way of throwing up the unexpected. That was what happened and you just had to get on with it. There was no point in overreacting.

'What's she paying with, though? The gallery can't be bringing in that much. And she needs what she's got for the kids.'