Quite distressed. What an extraordinary thing to say. God, she was a strange woman. Was it really going to be worth it? Living next-door to her?

Then she looked at William, grinning at her, lounging back in his chair, dressed up for the occasion in clean jeans and a pair of suspiciously new-looking boots, and knew it was.

“You must tell us about your job,” said Mr. Grainger. “I don’t really understand it, I’m afraid. I think William said you were involved in photography…”

“Well… sort of. But I’m hoping to set up my own company.”

“Taking photographs?”

“No, no, organising events. You know, like for companies. Conferences and so on.”

“Will it be worth it, starting something now?” said Mrs. Grainger. She was looking very determinedly puzzled. “I mean, surely once you’re married, you’ll be needed by William up here.”

“Well… I’m not sure…” She looked at William helplessly.

“Well, of course you will. You marry a farmer, you marry the farm.”

“She could organise some shoots for us,” said Mr. Grainger, and this time she knew he winked.

“I… don’t know anything about shooting. Yet. I’m sure William can teach me.”

“You won’t be going out with the guns,” said Mrs. Grainger. “Wives don’t, for the most part. Unless you do some picking up.”

Picking up? Picking up what? The farmers? Well, there were a few she could fancy…

“It’s the lunches, coffees, all that sort of thing. I… well, I…” She appeared to be struggling to get some words out; finally she managed it: “I shall certainly appreciate some help with it all. It’s very hard work, and I’m beginning to find it very tiring.” She actually managed a smile. Abi smiled determinedly back.

“I’m not much of a cook,” she said carefully, “but of course I’d like to help. You can guide me, I’m sure.”

“Indeed. Melanie did wonderful lunches, didn’t she, William? I remember once I was ill and she produced lunch for twenty-eight without turning a hair. Melanie was one of William’s former girlfriends,” she added.

OK, you old witch. So it’s to be war. In spite of the low heels. She might as well have saved the money. But: “Still, as I say, I’m sure we’ll get along very well.”

That was a concession. A big one. She was at least trying.

“More sherry, Abi?” said Mr. Grainger.

“That would be lovely. And then I’m so looking forward to my scruffy supper…”

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. She’d look so pathetic; he’d be so embarrassed; it was ridiculous. Totally, totally a bad idea. She deleted the text, switched her phone off, and walked into the restaurant.

God, he needed to get out of here. He’d drunk far too much. And stayed far too long. He’d reckoned on half an hour. It was… God, nearly nine.

He’d just retrieve his phone and-

“Barney! Oh, Barney, I’m going to miss you!”

Tamara’s arms were round his neck, her lips on his cheek, her thick scent everywhere.

“Well… I’ll miss you too. But Darwood’s isn’t exactly in another country. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

“Yeah, of course. Isn’t Micky sweet? Aren’t I lucky?”

“You are, yes,” said Barney, adding dutifully, “And he’s lucky too.”

He suddenly saw himself as he must seem to her: rather pathetic, a none-too-successful relic of their old life. While she… she’d got everything perfectly sorted: looked at that life, rejected it, and ordered a new one rather more to her satisfaction. Sleek, sassy, winner-takes-all Tamara.

“Sweet of you to say so. It does all seem terribly meant. Just think, if there hadn’t been that crash, Toby and I would have been an old married couple by now.”

“Indeed.”

“And so might you and Amanda.”

“Possibly.”

“And… Emma? You with her?”

“Oh… no, no.”

“No! Why not? I thought that was why-”

“You thought wrong,” said Barney briskly.

“Barney! So what happened? Come on, you can tell me.”

“I…” How could he possibly tell her-Tamara, of all people-about his broken heart? That most definitely wasn’t a cliché, he thought; his heart did indeed feel as if it was snapped in two. Or, no, more like dead and crumbling to dust. But then…

“It was all a terrible mistake,” he said finally. “We’d… I’d got it wrong.”

“In what way?” She looked round, took his hand. “Come on, Barney, let’s go outside; I can’t hear you in this.”

“But-”

“No, I insist. It sounds important.”

Outside, in the cold, she listened as he gave her a brief résumé, her dark eyes fixed on his face… Then she said, “Barney, you absolutely have to call her.”

“Tamara, why? She finished it.”

“Only because she thought you were still with Amanda.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Well…” He digested this for a moment; then he said, “Well, she knows I’m not anymore. So she could have rung me.”

“Oh, Barney, please! Girls do not make those sorts of phone calls. That’s a bloke’s prerogative. Is she with anyone else?”

“Don’t think so. No. No she’s not. At least-”

“Then, for God’s sake, what are you doing? Look, you don’t have anything to lose. Do you? It’s crazy, what you’re not doing. Just get out your phone and give her a call. It is so, so obvious. I can’t believe it. Anyway, I’d better get back; Micky will think I’ve run away with you.”

“I don’t think so,” said Barney, “loser like me.”

“Barney, you are so not a loser. You’re just great. Never tell anyone, but I really, really fancied you for ages. If you’d asked me first, I’d have married you, not Toby. Anyway, just as well; I’d have made your life a complete misery. Bye, darling. And just make that call. Otherwise I will.”

“You don’t have her number,” said Barney. He was smiling now, thinking how wrong he’d been about her. Or partly wrong, anyway.

“I can ring the hospital. I mean it. Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Barney. He leaned forward, gave her a kiss. “Thanks, Tamara. And thanks for the party. And have a great wedding.”

“I will.”

She would. She got everything she wanted. But… she knew how to get it.

No possible doubt about that.

The food was great. She had to admit that. A wonderful chicken pie, and before that, tiny salmon parcels. Followed by a gooseberry mousse. And thick, thick cream. If this was scruffy supper, what would the full-blown dinner party be like? And if this was the sort of food William was used to, he was going to be popping home from cottage number one pretty often.

The wine was very nice too, and Mr. Grainger had made a great thing of letting her taste it, to make sure she liked it, but… God! One bottle between the four of them. She finished her two small glasses, made a great thing of lifting it and looking in it, and then at William, but he was studiously ignoring her. In more ways than one; he and his father had started talking about GM crops and whether they might consider a trial.

Finally, as she sipped at her empty glass for about the tenth time, Mrs. Grainger said, “Would you like a soft drink, Abi? I thought, as you were driving…”

“Oh, but…” She looked at William. “William, I thought… well, I thought I was staying here tonight.”

“Really? I wish you’d said something to me, William,” said Mrs. Grainger. “I would have made up the spare room bed.”

Abi waited for William to say something that would indicate she wouldn’t be needing the spare room, but he smiled rather awkwardly at her, passed her the bottle of red he was sharing with his father, and returned to the discussion.

Abi poured herself a large glass, smiled at Mrs. Grainger, and wondered what on earth she could find to say to her; in the end she just sat and ate and learnt a lot about GM crops.