Over at the pub Amy was meeting Billy for a drink.

‘You flush again, Billy?’ said Amy after he’d refused her offer to pay for the drinks.

‘Not specially, but if a bloke can’t treat his girl to a drink or two then things have come to a pretty pass.’

‘Am I your girl then?’

‘Course you are.’

‘So we’re dating?’

Billy handed Amy a large Chardonnay. ‘What’s with all the questions, babe?’

‘Well, you know, if you and I are an item, maybe we ought to see a bit more of each other.’

Billy looked suddenly wary. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘That’ll be nine pounds twenty,’ interrupted Belinda as she handed Billy his pint of bitter.

Billy rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a wad of twenties. He peeled one off and handed it over.

Amy waited for him to get his change before she continued, ‘My Ash likes you.’ Not that she knew that for a fact but he hadn’t said he didn’t.

‘Does he? Then he’s a good kid.’

‘And I like you.’

The pair made their way across the bar to a table near the window.

‘And?’

‘So what do you think about moving in with me?’

‘You serious?’

Amy nodded and swigged her wine. ‘Why not? I mean if you’d like to, that is.’

‘I dunno, babe.’

Amy took another drink of her wine to hide her disappointment. She’d assumed Billy would leap at the chance – after all, did he really want to be still living with his mum at his age? ‘It was just a suggestion,’ she said as lightly as she could.

‘Yeah, but I like to come and go a bit.’

‘I wouldn’t stop you.’

‘But I sometimes work funny hours.’

‘What? At the garage?’

‘Moonlighting.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. But I don’t mind you being out in the evenings.’

‘Sometime I work very late.’

Amy began to lose patience. ‘Look, Billy, if you don’t want to move in, why don’t you just say so?’

‘But that’s it, babe, I do, it’s just...’

‘Just what?’

‘My mum doesn’t ask no questions.’

‘I wouldn’t either, not if you don’t want me to.’

Billy looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘And she doesn’t gossip.’

‘I...’ Amy reddened. ‘I know how to hold my tongue.’

Billy raised his eyebrows.

‘Anyway, why would I gossip about you? You’ve not got no secrets or nothing.’

Billy supped his beer and stayed shtum.

‘Well, have you?’

‘That’d be telling.’

‘So?’

‘Amy, if I told you any of my secrets they’d be all over Little Woodford in a heartbeat.’

‘That’s not...’

‘Fair?’ offered Billy.

Amy sipped her drink. ‘So... you don’t want to move in.’ She sounded petulant.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘As good as.’

‘Look, Amy, maybe we could do it on a kind of half-and-half basis.’

‘Not with you.’

‘Suppose I lived with you some days and my mum others.’

Amy brightened. ‘I’d like that. Which days?’

‘The weekends?’

‘Yeah, that’d work.’ She smiled at Billy. ‘When are you going to come on over?’

‘I could bring some things over tonight.’

‘Oh.’

‘You suggested this.’

‘Yeah, but I haven’t mentioned it to Ashley yet.’

‘What difference is that going to make?’

‘It’s his home too.’

‘So? I’m going to be sleeping in your room not his.’ Billy laughed. ‘At least, I’m assuming that’s the plan.’

‘Yeah, but even so, I think I should ask him first.’

Billy’s laughter disappeared and his face hardened. ‘Do you or don’t you want me round yours?’

‘Yeah, course I do it’s just—’

Billy leaned across the table. ‘It’s just nothing, Ames. I’m not answering to a fifteen-year old. Understand?’

‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’

‘Good. Glad that’s settled.’ Billy was back to his affable self but Amy was rattled by the side she’d witnessed. ‘Right then, drink up and let’s go and get my kit.’

Obediently, not wishing to rile Billy again, Amy knocked back her drink.

*

Bex sat in the sitting room with a glass of wine and rubbish on the TV. She had some mending to do and the ironing pile wasn’t getting any smaller but she felt shattered after the trauma of Megan’s revelation about school that day. Sightless, she looked at the pictures on the screen as her mind turned over ideas how she could best support her stepdaughter. If only Richard was here to talk to. But, if he were still here, they wouldn’t have made the memory book, Stella wouldn’t have nicked it and they wouldn’t have had to move.

Maybe moving hadn’t been the solution. Maybe they should have stayed put, ridden out the storm. Bex sighed and took another sip of her drink.

The imperious dring of the doorbell made her jump and she spilled wine down her top.

‘Bollocks,’ she muttered as she wiped the drops off with her hand before she put the glass back on the table. And who the hell would call at this time? On the other hand, it might be Heather, coming to offer more support.

She got to the door and put the chain on before she answered it. She knew, as she did it, that it was probably an overreaction in a sleepy market town but years of living in London had made her wary.

She cracked open the door.

‘Miles! Hang on.’ She shut the door, released the chain and opened it wide and as she did she wondered what she’d done that he felt he had to come and talk to her about it now, away from the pub. Was he cross that she’d buggered off early from her shift? Was he annoyed that her daughter had appeared in the pub? ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, feeling she had to apologise for the faff with the chain. ‘And sorry I look such a mess,’ she said pointing to the mark on her top. ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘It’s me who should be apologising for disturbing you.’

‘No, you’re not. What can I do for you?’

‘I just popped round to see how you are.’

Really? Maybe he wanted to make sure that her domestic crisis wasn’t going to affect her work. ‘Come in, come in.’ She led the way into the sitting room. ‘And, yes... well, Megan had a bit of an upset at school today but the head is on the case.’

‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. Belinda and I were worried.’

Hmm – she believed Belinda might be... She saw Miles clock the bottle of wine on the table. ‘Look, as you can see, I’ve got a bottle of wine open; can I tempt you to a glass?’

‘I’d love one.’

Bex killed the TV with the remote before she went to fetch a glass.

‘I am disturbing you,’ said Miles on her return.

Bex shook her head. ‘I was watching rubbish. I’m glad you disturbed me.’ She poured Miles a glass of the Rioja she was drinking. ‘But doesn’t Belinda mind – you coming here?’

‘Mind? Mind? Why on earth would she?’

‘Being abandoned to run the pub on her own.’

‘I do the kitchen, she does the bar, and anyway, she said I should pop over to see how you are now the dinner service is over. She said she thought you might need someone to cheer you up.’

She imagined Belinda telling Miles that she’d go if she could but that, as she was far too busy with Friday night customers, he’d have to. And she imagined Miles huffing and puffing and Belinda insisting...

‘Cheers,’ she said, taking the seat opposite him. They clinked glasses and sipped.

Miles put his glass on the table and twiddled the stem. ‘So, apart from poor Megan’s problems at school, how is it all going?’

‘Oh, you know, mostly OK.’

‘Curate’s egg?’

Bex nodded. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love my job’ – she slid a look at him – ‘even if I’m not very experienced.’

‘Yeah, well, you’ll learn.’

At least he hadn’t wholeheartedly agreed with her. Maybe now she’d learnt to change a barrel and hadn’t dropped any more food she was considered to be less useless than previously. ‘And I love this house, the boys seem to be settling down well, but I’m still worried that I made the wrong decision in leaving London.’

‘These things take time.’

‘I know. Even with kids at the local school so I have to stand in the playground twice a day, it’s tough making new friends. Everyone has their own circle and it’s difficult breaking in.’

‘You’ll get there. Although, that said, there’s people who’ve lived here for thirty years and more and they’re still treated as incomers.’

Bex, who was sipping her drink, almost choked as a giggle escaped. ‘I thought you came here to cheer me up!’

‘As soon as those houses get built there’ll be a big influx of newbies. It’ll make you seem like the oldest inhabitant in comparison.’ Miles’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘I didn’t mean it like that! I mean not the oldest... Shit, I mean...’ He saw the look on Bex’s face and laughed with her.

‘I should hope not,’ said Bex with mock indignation. ‘I may look ancient and raddled but I’m nowhere near my pension.’ She grinned at him.

‘You don’t look ancient or raddled – well, not yet.’

Not yet? Oh well.

‘Mum, Mum,’ yelled a small boy’s voice from upstairs. ‘I feel sick.’

Oh gawd. ‘Coming,’ she said out loud.

‘I’ll go,’ said Miles. He drained his drink. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, anyway – just a neighbourly call.’

As he got to the front door the sound of retching reverberated down the stairwell followed by a wail. Miles fled.

*

When Heather woke up on Saturday morning, Brian was already up and dressed. Or she assumed he was, as his side of the bed was empty. Heather yawned and stretched and checked the time on the clock radio beside the bed. Nine o’clock! How on earth had she slept so late? But maybe it wasn’t so surprising given that half the night her head had seemed to be filled with worries about her own husband and Olivia’s. Galvanised, she scrambled out of bed, threw on her dressing gown and ran down the stairs.

‘Brian! Brian?’ Silence. Oh, dear Lord, now where was he? This was getting ridiculous. She would normally have made herself a cup of tea but Brian’s recent absences were becoming far from normal so, instead, she went back upstairs, had a quick shower before she dressed and went out. He’d spend a large part of yesterday at the church; maybe that was where he was again.

Outside, the May morning was sunny but chilly and the grass in the shadows was still damp with dew. It promised to be a glorious day but Heather wasn’t in a mood to appreciate the weather. She walked swiftly across the garden to the lane that led to the church and then almost ran through the lytchgate and to the front door of the church.

She turned the heavy ring that formed the outside handle. The deep, cool quiet of the church was disturbed by the grating of the latch being raised. Heather pushed open the door and went in, her footsteps muffled by the massive coir mat by the entrance.

‘Hello, Heather,’ said Brian from a seat in the choir stalls.

‘Brian. What on earth are you doing here?’ she said as she made her way down the aisle, through pools of coloured light that the morning sun was spilling across the ancient flags.

‘Praying.’

Heather went up the two steps by the pulpit and then perched next to him. ‘You’ve been doing that a lot recently.’

‘It’s the day job.’

‘How’s the parishioner you were worried about?’

‘Much the same, maybe a touch better.’

‘That’s good then – I mean, as against the alternative of things getting worse?’

Brian gave her a wan smile. ‘I suppose.’

‘Oh.’ Heather looked at her hands and then at the motes of dust floating in the blue and red and green beams of sunshine. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then why don’t you come home with me and I’ll make us both scrambled eggs.’

‘I know you mean well, Heather, but don’t fuss.’ He sounded irritated. ‘This is something I need to deal with myself. And I am. It’s going to be OK, I promise.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I am. We... everything... the situation will work out.’

We? thought Heather. ‘Are you sure this is something you can’t tell me about?’

‘No.’ Brian said the single word with total finality.’

‘Fine.’ Hurt, Heather stood up. She wasn’t wanted; Brian was shutting her out. She could take a hint. ‘I may have to go into town later – just so you know.’ She left him to it. As she walked back down the aisle she remembered when she’d walked down a different aisle, over thirty years ago, the organ blaring out Pachebel’s Canon, family members smiling or dabbing happy tears. For better, for worse... With a heavy heart, Heather thought that things couldn’t be much worse than they seemed at the moment. She trailed home.