“Don’t. Don’t say it.”

She knew what he meant. If Daisy got worse, if they had to say good-bye, then Lily must be there too.

“Right. Well, I think that’s about it. Well done, everybody.”

God, this was an effort. It was hard to think the wretched festival mattered. While that poor little girl…

“We’ll go firm on the date then?”

“Yup. Sure. And the dates for the play-offs. No news on a sponsor, I s’pose, Fred?”

“Nope. Sorry. They like higher-profile causes, most of them.”

“Surely not local ones?”

“Well… maybe.”

“Fred, haven’t you tried locally at all? Georgia?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, why not, for fuck’s sake? Jesus, I thought you were going to take all that off us. I suppose I’ll have to do it, like I do everything else.”

“Abi…” said Georgia, “I’m sure Fred’s doing his best; we all are. But everyone’s busy…”

“You’re not.”

“Well, thanks for that. I am, actually-got three auditions this week. Look, I know this was all my idea, but it seems to be getting everyone down; it’s running away with us. Maybe we should rethink-”

“No,” said Abi, “sorry, I shouldn’t have lost it. Sorry, Fred.”

“That’s OK. I should have done more; you’re right.”

“No, you’ve got a lot going on. And you’re not even personally involved like the rest of us. I’ll take that over.”

“Well… if you can pull a few things out of the bag…”

“Sure.”

“I might go then, if that’s all right. Got a lot going on at home this weekend.”

“Sure. Sorry again, I’m… well, I’m a bit worried about something.”

“I’ll see you out,” said Sylvie, standing up. “Georgia, William, want a coffee or anything?”

“I should go too,” said Georgia. “Promised my mum I’d be back for this evening. Thanks, everyone, so much. Fred, wait for me.”

She was going to apologise to him again, on her behalf, Abi thought; perversely, it annoyed her.

“I’ll have a coffee, please, Sylvie,” said William, smiling at her. He quite clearly fancied her, Abi thought. And she played up to it. Bit annoying.

“I’ll have some wine, Sylvie, please,” she said tartly. “Oh, dear.” She looked at William. “I’m a prize cow, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think you’d get many prizes,” he said. “Not at the shows I go to.”

“Don’t joke. I am. I shouldn’t have said that to Fred.”

“Maybe not. What are you worried about?”

“Oh… doesn’t matter.” Of all the things William wouldn’t want to hear about, or be reminded of, it was the Gilliatt family.

“It obviously does. Come on, Abi, tell me.”

“I… That is… Oh, God, William, Jonathan Gilliatt’s little girl’s been run over. She’s in the hospital. In intensive care.”

“That’s very sad.”

“I know. It’s worse than sad. It’s terrible. They don’t deserve that, do they?”

“Well… no. Life isn’t about what you deserve, though, is it? Not always.” There was a pause; then he said, obviously with difficulty, “How… how do you know?”

Jesus, she thought, fuck, he thinks I’m still in touch with Jonathan. How awful is that; he mustn’t, no, no…

“I read it in the paper,” she said, “this morning.” She looked at him; his large brown eyes were thoughtful, doubtful even. “William, I swear to you, I have not spoken to Jonathan, not since that night. You really can’t think that.”

“No. No, of course not. No.”

But he didn’t sound completely sure.

“Look…” she said, reaching for the paper, “it’s here. See? William, please believe me.”

“I… do,” he said, “yes, of course I do. Well… this was yesterday’s news. How is she today?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “How could I?”

“You could ring the hospital.”

“William, it doesn’t say what hospital she’s in even. And anyway, they wouldn’t tell me; they never do unless you’re family.”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

Shock at his clearly still not quite trusting her, combined with anxiety and guilt, suddenly got the better of her, and she started to cry.

“I feel so bad about it,” she said, “so bad.”

“But why?”

“Why? Because maybe what I did-having the affair with Jonathan, going to the house that night-maybe that contributed in some way. I don’t know. Maybe the little girl was upset, maybe her mother was upset, maybe she wasn’t looking after her properly…”

“Abi, Abi,” he said, and he came round the table to where she was sitting, put his arm rather awkwardly round her shoulders. “You can’t go on blaming yourself for what you might or might not have done to that family. It’s a while ago now…”

“Yes, I know, I know,” she said, looking up, trying to smile, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Sylvie had come in with the drinks, and stood looking awkward.

“Thanks,” he said, withdrawing his arm. “Here, Abi, have a hankie.”

“No, it’s OK,” she said. “I’ve got some tissues in the kitchen; excuse me…”

“It’s all right,” he said, grinning suddenly. “It hasn’t been up some cow’s bottom or anything, if that’s what you think. Clean out of my drawer when I left. Where my mother put it.”

“Your mother spoils you, obviously,” said Sylvie. “Abs, I’m off now. See you later.”

“OK. Cheers. William,” she said when the door had shut, “you don’t really think I’m still in touch with Jonathan, do you?”

“No,” he said, and this time he managed to smile back. “No, I suppose not. But I can’t help wondering… well, you know, sometimes…”

“William, I’m not. I swear to you. I still hate him. I just… well, I feel bad for the little girl. And Laura.”

“Of course. Right… well, I’d better go. Milking to do. And the ewes’ feeding to sort out.”

“The ewes?”

“Yes. About this time of year we scan them. See how many lambs they’re having.”

“You scan them?”

“Yup.”

“What, like you scan pregnant women?”

“Well… pretty much. Of course, they don’t lie on their backs, but…”

“And then what?”

“Well, then we separate out the ones who are having triplets and twins from the singletons.”

“Why?”

“Well, to adjust their feeds. So that the ones having more lambs get more food.”

“How clever.”

“Not really. Just common sense.”

“I s’pose so. Well, thanks, William. Thanks for coming. It’s such a long way.”

A long way, William thought, starting up the truck. If only she knew.

“Oh, my God. Abi, are you mental or what?”

“What do you mean?”

“William. God, he’s well fit, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, OK. What about him?”

“He’s still nuts about you. Obviously.”

“Sylvie, don’t be stupid. He never says or does anything.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, Abi. You’ve got so thick. He might not do anything, but he wants to. Blimey. It shows, all right.”

“D’you think so?”

“Yeah, course. I mean, he had his arm round you last night, for God’s sake.”

“Because I was crying. That’s all.”

“Why were you crying?”

“Oh… about that little girl.”

“Must have been nice for William to have you crying over that lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t suppose he likes thinking about him too much. About you and him, that is.”

“No,” said Abi slowly, remembering William’s hurt face, “no, I don’t think he does. But that doesn’t mean he… well, he still… still fancies me.”

“Well, it would make it worse,” said Sylvie, “make him mind worse. Don’t you think?”

“S’pose so. Yeah. Oh, shit. It’s all such a mess. Still.”

“Mr. Gilliatt! Could you come in, please? Quickly.”

This was it. She was dying. Or she’d died.

He went in, very quietly, shut the door behind him. She was lying very still, apparently sleeping. Her face was pale, her expression very peaceful. Surely, surely she hadn’t… not without him saying goodbye, sending her on her way with his love. His special love. It was special. She was his baby; he still thought of her as three or four; it made her-used to make her-cross. “I’m not a baby,” she used to say indignantly. “Don’t treat me like one. I’m seven.” She used to say; she used to say…