I have no idea whether she likes candyfloss or not. It's a punt. Suddenly, she looks exhausted. I hope she's tired of resisting me.

'How come you remember things like that? It's unfair. You being here is unfair.'

She stares at her feet. The gra.s.s has been trodden to mud, she's in heels and her boots are caked. I find her inappropriate footwear pleasing. She's not ubersensible, despite what she wants me to believe.

We are at the front of the queue now. 'Can I buy your tea?'

'I have money.'

I ignore her and order. 'Two of your finest polystyrene cups, mate.'

The spotty teenager who is serving scalds my hand as he pa.s.ses me the tea. I offer one to Connie. She hesitates.

'Come on Con, it's freezing. It will taste like cat's p.i.s.s but you can wrap your fingers around it at least and get a bit of warmth.'

She looks over her shoulder and finally takes one from me. Then she allows me to splash in some whisky from my hip flask.

'Do not let a member of the PA see you doing that,'she giggles, relaxing slightly after only a sip. She's such a lightweight when it comes to boozing.

'Good turnout,'I say, looking over towards the crowd around the bonfire.

'Yes, but I haven't seen your special friend, Diane.'

I keep my eyes in front of me and consider the situation. Ah, so Diane is a gossip. I knew she had a big mouth, a fact I appreciated when she was giving head, but it may prove to be a nuisance now. She's clearly told people of our interlude. It might not be a bad thing, it has at least piqued Connie's interest and it's introduced the topic of s.e.x. s.e.x is something neither of us has alluded to since we re-met. Before, we shared the most explicit relationship ever. Now, I pretend to be as interested in s.e.x as a spayed dog but the truth is, whenever I look at Connie, I envisage her with her legs or her mouth wide open.

'Is it true? Did you have s.e.x with Diane?'

'Yes.'

'Why? Why did you do that?'she demands.

Connie sucks on her top lip when she's angry. Oh c.r.a.p, the session with the yummy mummy might make her bounce. Jealousy is useful, disappointment is not. I lead her away from the crowds and the caravan selling tea and move towards the thickets of trees that surround the field. She follows me with no resistance. It's not in her interest to be seen with me.

'I thought we were supposed to be being friends,'she says.

'We are.'

'Sleeping with someone under my nose isn't exactly friendly, is it?'

'As we are just friends, why does it matter who I sleep with?'

'Were you trying to make me jealous?'

'No, I never thought about that, although I'm thrilled to see that you are.'

'I am not,'she cries loudly, a little like a hammy pantomime dame. 'Were you trying to humiliate me? Was this about getting a reaction from me?'

'No. It was nothing to do with you.'

'You like her?'I hear panic and maybe even tears in Connie's voice. I turn to her and catch her in the full intensity of a straight-on stare.

'When I say it was nothing to do with you, I'm not being accurate. I needed to have s.e.x with her to understand something about myself, but in a way it was all about you.'She's all ears. 'I needed to see if it was you I wanted or the challenge of a married mother.'

She looks away. She's speechless. A first. That's the problem with being honest, so few people can deal with it. The rain falls like a mist between us. I watch her digest what I've said.

Eventually she steels her courage. 'And?'

'And it's you. Just you I want.'

She sighs and stays silent for about a week. Dragging her eyes to mine, she says finally, 'You are talking yourself into this. It's not real.'

'I don't agree.'I hold her gaze. I need to force us both to face this.

'We'd be like the millennium eve.'

'You've lost me.'

'Too much expectation, too much antic.i.p.ation.'

'So you are expecting me.'

'I didn't mean that.'

'And antic.i.p.ating me.'

She shakes her head, trying to clear the confusion. She never will. 'Do you get some sort of kick out of destroying my peace of mind?'

'Oh, Greenie.'

I wonder if I should tell her that she didn't used to be special, every piece of skirt was a challenge and nothing more, her included. But now the stakes are much higher, and yes, I do get a kick out of chasing her and tempting her. But the most enormous kick would be having her. Perhaps even keeping her. When did that happen? How the h.e.l.l did that happen? I'm poacher turned gamekeeper. It's a f.u.c.king disaster.

The firework display is about to start, so people amble towards the cordoned-off area. There's quite a crowd gathered. Connie is scanning it, probably looking for her family, but she doesn't leave me. There's a small bra.s.s band, which is predictably amateurish but the crowd cheer encouragingly. The English are good at encouraging mediocrity. Then there's a moment's hush when the fairground music, screaming tots, loud teens and shoddy tinny music seem to cease as we wait for the first firework.

Whoosh. The children scatter and then recollect themselves; there's the sound of applause and embarra.s.sed half-hearted oohs and ahs as the sky is momentarily illuminated by rockets and fountains that billow and vanish and flashgun flares that zoom and pop. It's magical.

'Was Diane a good s.h.a.g?'

She knows it's beneath her dignity to ask but she can't help herself. I love her weakness and vulnerability. Her hair has curled in the rain and she looks a lot like she has looked before. When before? I try to remember and slowly it dawns on me. Oh G.o.d, the first time. In the park, wherever the h.e.l.l that was. I'm having flashbacks to the first time we had s.e.x. That's serious.

'No,'I a.s.sure her. We both watch the fireworks, comfortably at one another's side.

I remember that time in the park. She rolled off me and said it was a great f.u.c.k. She set the tone. She told me she didn't want to fall in love and all I did was follow her lead. Yeah, it was convenient for me. I probably didn't want to be tied down but if she hadn't said that... If she hadn't called it a f.u.c.k. Maybe things might have been different, mightn't they? Because there is a moment where we choose. There always is. And she chose to stomp out our possibility. She might have wanted more from me later on, but it was too late. That first moment, as she rolled off, was the pivotal one.

The fireworks crash and zoom around us. The black sky is alive with blue, pink, white and red showers. The colours zap and are then followed by smoke trails that languidly float into nothingness. The crowds become more confident in their encouragement and enthusiastically yell out their delight.

'We never talk about it,'she says. She makes the comment and then lets it float with the smoke into the blackness. I can't be certain but I get the sense that she was thinking about our first time too. I feign ignorance.

'What do you mean?'

'We never talk about us. About what I did. What we did. How cruel and terrible I was. Or how exciting it was. Or even how sad it was.'I shrug. What can I say? 'I don't know how you felt about it. You don't know how you felt about it. Don't you think that's a bit odd?'

She calls us 'it'because it's easier if things are impersonalized. She doesn't need to tell me that.

'We were together for hours the other week and we talked about Big Brother, tiles in your bathroom, the best place to eat jellied eels and I hate jellied eels but we did not talk about Andrea, or Luke, or you or me.'

Or love.

Of course we didn't. I might have done if we'd got into the sack. I might have managed to answer some of her questions then, fill in the odd gap. I have been giving it some thought and I have questions of my own.

For example, could we have fallen in love? Might I have married her and not Andrea? Yeah, all right, it wouldn't have been straightforward. What is? She'd have had to have left St Luke and all, but that was a possibility, wasn't it? At one point, I'm sure it was. Could there have been a world where we'd have stood together, with a couple of sprogs of our own, and watched fireworks? Would I have liked that world?

Is she thinking what I'm thinking?

They keep the best till last, a bouquet of colourful rockets, fountains and spinning wheels that make the night look starry when in fact the clouds and rain dominate. I roar with the rest of the crowd. I like my thrills cheap and I don't mind illusions. Applause patters across the field.

'I think we need to talk,'she says. She sounds breathless. Nervous. She stares at me. Her mouth is inviting.

I lean closer. A little closer. A fraction nearer still. Our lips are an inch away. I wait. She'll have to come to me. She'll have to choose when because if I get it wrong she'll never forgive me. This is a one-shot game.

'Well, well, well. You two look very cosy. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.'

Connie and I jump apart and land with a crash face to face with Diane. I don't hesitate. In a seamless swerve I turn, I lean forward and kiss Diane on the cheek. The move is so swift that everyone could choose to believe that was always the direction I was heading. If they need to believe that.

'You're not interrupting anything at all,'says Connie. 'He's all yours.'

She turns and stalks off, instantly dissolving back into the crowds.

The fireworks are over. f.u.c.k it. I turn to Diane.

'Are you having fun?'

'Not really. Muddy fields aren't my thing but who knows? The night is young,'she says with a smile. She really needs to see a decent dentist.

33.

Sat.u.r.day 4 November

Rose

The fireworks were splendid. There was nothing amateur about the show at all. Craig and the headteachers from the other schools must be really pleased with themselves. The vast majority of the crowds are now contentedly shuffling towards the gate. Some teenagers are heading back towards the funfair stalls.

I did an early shift on the toffee-apple stall and so am now free to enjoy the festivities with the twins, Daisy and Simon and Connie, Luke and the girls. Connie and Luke have also brought along Auriol and she's a welcome addition. I'd rather she join us than I b.u.mp into Lucy and Peter. Although it's unlikely they'd bring Auriol here, a family bonfire is not Lucy or Peter's idea of a good way to spend a Sat.u.r.day night. More fool them. I buy candyfloss for all the kids and present them with a flourish.

'What about sugar content?'asks Daisy.

She's having a gentle pop because normally I'm pretty fascist when it comes to the children's eating habits. Daisy finds this particularly amusing, as we were brought up on a diet of pick-and-mix penny sweets and she reasons it never did us any harm besides the cavities and my lifelong membership of Weight Watchers, that is.

I grin at her. 'It's firework night even I accept that treats are in order.'

'You seem in really good spirits.'

'I am.'

'Dating is really working out for you, isn't it?'she says as she links my arm. She's joyful.

In fact, it's not, but why burst her bubble? The reason I'm so happy tonight is that I'm surrounded by my family and friends and I'm doing a traditional family and friends activity. Just like a normal, non-divorced mother. Dating is more or less something I'm doing so that my friends and family don't despair of me.

I avoid answering her question. 'There's Mr Walker, the headmaster. I think I'll go and congratulate him on such a successful evening. Don't lose me.'

'OK, we'll be around the bonfire. I think Luke and Simon want to try the toasted marshmallows.'

Craig beams at me as he sees me approach.

'h.e.l.lo, Rose. Are you having a good evening?'

'Very much so.'

'Here with your family?'

'Yes and some friends, everyone's having a super night.'

'Wonderful.'Craig's beam is so wide, it's almost painful. I fear his skin might tear. It's rather special to come across someone who gets so much from creating pleasure for others. I can't help but beam back at him.

'How are the takings?'

'We've done splendidly, Rose. In fact, all but sold out. I was thinking of shutting up shop and finding my friends.'

'Yes, you should take the rest of the night off. Have some fun,'I enthuse. 'You could come and meet my sister, if you like.'

The offer is out before I think what I'm doing. Unintentionally I've put Craig in an awkward position. He probably wanted to catch up with his own pals. Now his good manners will dictate that he has to spend time with me. I blush. Craig is unperturbed, in fact he is so polite he manages to appear delighted and agrees at once.

He leaves the toffee-apple store in the charge of Wendy Pickering, a dubious decision in my opinion, but Craig doesn't seem unduly worried and we set off together to find my gang.

'The sports masters are not going to be happy with this churned field,'I comment as we make our way across the mud.