And now she’d never be eight, never grow up, never change, always stay thus in his memory, Daisy, whom he’d loved so much, who loved him so much… “My daddy,” she used to say, putting the emphasis on the my. “My special daddy.”

Who’d also, just by the way, betrayed her; her and her sister and her brother and her mother… How could he have done that: failed them all, shattered their security, broken the faith?

“Oh, God,” he said, and for the first time since it had happened, his calm broke; he felt the tears, hot, fierce tears, filling his eyes, a sob rising in his throat. He stepped forward, took her hand-no longer hot, cool even, smoothed back her hair…

“Mr. Gilliatt, she’s-”

“Yes, yes, I know…” he said, and felt a tear drop onto their hands, their two joined hands. It would never be in his again, that hand, that small, trusting hand, letting him lead her, running with her, skipping with her-she loved him to skip; it made her giggle. He would haul her off the ground as he took great bounds, laughing too… “I know. I understand.”

“No, you don’t know. She’s better. Really, she is. Her temperature’s down; she’s peaceful. I’m just going to call Dr. Armstrong to discuss removing the tube.”

“Oh, God. Dear God. I…” And then he really started to weep, bent over Daisy, kissed her cheek and then her hand, over and over again, and then said, “Stay there, my darling,” as if she could do anything else, and went out to find Laura and Charlie, who were in the parents’ room.

Laura looked up as he went in, saw the tears streaming down his face, and just for a moment thought as he had, what he had; and then saw that he was smiling, laughing even, as he cried, and she said only, “Is she?”

And he said, “Yes, yes, she’s better; she’s going to be all right; her temperature’s right down. Charlie, come here-give me a hug; your sister’s better; she’s going to be fine.” And they stood there, their arms around one another, the three of them, laughing and crying, bound together not only physically but by their relief and joy and their love of the small, precious being they had thought was lost to them forever and who, by some miracle worked by either God or science, or even her small, determined self, and quite possibly all three, had been given back safely to them once more.

CHAPTER 50

Barney was horribly depressed. He might have fallen out of love with Amanda, but he missed her, missed her sweetness and her thoughtfulness, the way she cared for him, the sense of order she had created in their lives. She was so efficient; she ran the house and their life so well, and she was so happy always, so optimistic, distracting him when he was stressed about work, always ready with some new plan or idea for a holiday or a weekend or a dinner party.

He had moved out of the house and into a flat. His life seemed to be disintegrating into a dismal chaos. He didn’t want to see anyone; he couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself or even get his laundry organised; he spent a fortune on new shirts, as the dirty ones piled up in the bathroom and washing them seemed more difficult than simply buying a whole lot more. It wasn’t just Amanda, of course; it was Toby-he had lost both of them, both his best friends; nobody else seemed worth spending time on. It involved too many explanations, too much effort. He just drifted along aimlessly, working absurdly long hours… and dreading the inquest. He’d be under oath and therefore surely required to recount what happened over the tyre, and worse, he would obviously have to face Toby across the court. However disillusioned he was about Toby, he had no wish to see his reputation blackened, and possibly for him to face legal redress.

It wasn’t the best of times…

He spent a lot of time now wondering what Emma was doing.

Back with the boyfriend, maybe, which quite hurt. Or with someone new, which hurt more; or with no one at all, which hurt more than anything. Of course, she didn’t know that it was over with Amanda; but somehow, some odd sense of pride kept him from telling her. She had finished it; she had decided it wasn’t to be, that she didn’t want to wait until Amanda could cope with her engagement being broken off-and he could hardly blame her; it did slightly cast her in the role of understudy-and she had obviously decided she couldn’t cope with any of it. What price love then? Barney thought, remembering those fierce few weeks when the world had changed and him with it: when he had looked at a relationship he had thought was forever and found it wanting, and found another that had seemed not to want for anything at all.

Alex had been called as a witness at the inquest; he and Linda had settled into an uneasy peace, or, as Alex called it, an easy war. Their relationship was never going to be comfortable; they continued to argue, to compete, to fight and reunite, and to enjoy each other physically and emotionally with a passion that still half surprised them. Their latest battleground was where they would live: they had agreed that they wanted to live together; that had been the easy part. Where was proving impossible. Clearly Linda was not going to settle down in Swindon, nor Alex move to NWI. Various compromises like Windsor, Beaconsfield, and even Ealing had been scrutinised and dismissed as too suburban, too far out, and just too horrible. Currently he was looking at Gloucestershire and Wiltshire cottages where they could weekend together, at least; it was a compromise, and like all compromises provided the worst as well as the best of both worlds.

Linda was going to the inquest too, partly as support for Alex, which he said was very nice but hardly essential-he’d attended thousands of the bloody things-but mainly as support for Georgia. Georgia was absolutely terrified at having the whole thing relived, and her own behaviour-and what she saw as her cowardice-publicly recorded. She dreamt about it night after night, couldn’t eat, was irritable and tearful. None of which, as Linda remarked to Alex, was unusual.

The only good thing was that she had got a part in another production. It wasn’t quite such a good one-in fact, nothing probably ever would be again, she thought, so perfect for her-but it was pretty nice, a comedy about a threesome, two girls and a boy, living together supposedly platonically; both the girls were secretly in love with the boy, and he was meanwhile hopelessly-and also secretly-in love with someone else entirely.

“It’s a marvellous script,” Linda said to Georgia, “shades of Noel Coward. You’re a lucky girl.”

It wasn’t until she turned up for a preproduction meeting that she discovered the first assistant director was Merlin Gerard…

“ Georgia, hi. Lovely to see you. And wonderful to be working with you again.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s great.” Thinking, thank God, thank God she had never let him know how hurt she’d been, how deceived she’d felt. “Er… how’s Ticky?”

“She’s great, thanks. Yeah. Gone back to New York, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Want to come for a drink tonight?”

“I’m sorry, Merlin, I can’t. Not tonight. Another time, maybe.” She’d even managed to smile at him.

She’d never felt more proud of herself than she had at that moment.

“You total star,” Lila said, when she told her. Lila had become just about her best friend. They spent a lot of time together, shopping, going to the cinema, and to clubs when they could afford it, sometimes jazz clubs-Lila and Anna had introduced Georgia to jazz, and she was slightly surprised by how much she loved it-but mostly just talking, often late into the night.