It was very quiet on the trading floor. He didn’t often see it like this. It looked and sounded dead, the screens blank, the phones silent.

He went over to his desk; his phone was still there. Well, it would have been; it was hardly state-of-the-art anymore. He was getting one of the new generation of iPhones, but it was taking a time to arrive.

He sat looking at it, hearing Tamara’s voice: “It’s crazy what you’re not doing.”

He scrolled down the numbers, found her name, took a deep breath, as if he was about to do something physically difficult, and pressed the button. And listened. Listened for her voice. Her pretty, slightly breathless voice.

It came. “Hi, this is Emma. Sorry I’m not around; just leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Shit. He hadn’t expected that. And why not? Had he really thought she’d just be sitting there, waiting patiently for him to call? Of course not. She was probably out somewhere; or maybe she was working. Yes, that’d be it; she was at the hospital. He called the number, asked for the doctor’s station in A &E. A female, rather bored voice said, “Accident and Emergency.”

“Oh,” said Barney. “Ah. Yes. Er… is… that is, is Dr. King there? Dr. Emma King?”

“No, she’s not on duty tonight.”

“Ah. Well… well, what about tomorrow?”

“Not sure. Do you want me to find out?”

No, thought Barney, of course not, that’s why I asked.

“That’d be great.”

“Just hold on.”

She was a long time; when she came back, she said, “Yes, she’s on duty from six a.m.”

“Right. Fine. OK. Er… thank you. Thank you very much.”

He felt quite differently now. Charged, up and running.

He sat for a moment thinking. If she was on duty from six, she was unlikely to be anywhere but in that flat of hers. That rather dreary flat, where he had spent those few extremely happy hours. OK, he’d go there. He’d drive down right now… No, maybe not, he’d had far too much to drink. Well, never mind. He’d take the train. And then get a cab. Easy. And if… well, if she told him to get lost, he could… well, he didn’t know quite what he’d do then. Best not to think about it. Live for now. As Tamara would have done. Of all the advice from all the people in the world… It was very ironic.

He called Emma again; it was still switched off. He left a message this time.

“Emma, it’s me. I’m coming down to Swindon.”

That was all.

He left the building, hailed a cab.

“Now, you must tell us about this concert, Abigail.” Mr. Grainger clearly felt he and William had been talking about GM crops long enough. “We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we?” he added to his wife. She gave him one of her pained smiles.

“July, isn’t it? July eighth?”

“And ninth,” said Abi.

“The ninth as well? There are two?”

“No,” said Abi, looking at William in bewilderment, “it’s running over two days. It’s a… well, it’s a… a music festival. People will be staying, camping…”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Grainger, “that won’t be possible.”

William looked at her, startled.

“What do you mean, Mother, it won’t be possible?”

“I mean exactly that. I… we can’t have strangers camping on the farm. It’s ridiculous. I had no idea. We shall have people breaking into the house, frightening the animals, letting them out onto the roads, quite possibly. Peter, did you realise this was happening?”

“I… Not exactly,” said Mr. Grainger. He was looking very uncomfortable.

“Dad!” said William. “Come on! I did explain.”

“Perhaps you did. I… don’t remember.”

“Well, whether you remember or not, it’s not going to happen,” said Mrs. Grainger. “It must be cancelled.”

“It can’t be,” said Abi, “not now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said it can’t be cancelled. Tickets have been sold, bands have been booked, there’s a Web site, people will come anyway.”

“This is appalling,” said Mrs. Grainger, “absolutely appalling. Well, you’ll just have to return the tickets, and say on the Web site that it’s been cancelled. I’ve never heard of anything quite so… so highhanded. Or so rude,” she added.

“Mother!”

“Well, it is.”

“Honestly,” said Abi, endeavouring to ease the atmosphere a little, “there’ll be no trouble with break-ins or letting the cattle out. We’ve got a very good firm handling the security…”

“You’ve got a very good firm handling the security! With whose permission, may I ask? I’m sorry, but I’m finding this completely incomprehensible. I absolutely refuse to agree to any of it. I was opposed even to what I thought was a small concert in the first place; I was afraid it would get out of hand. But a… a campsite. On our land. With bands!” Her tone implied unspeakable connotations. “No doubt there’ll be drugs, knives probably, all sorts of undesirables…”

“They’ll be searched for drugs and knives,” said Abi.

“They won’t. Because none of it will take place. I’m sorry if you’ve been under a misapprehension, but I do assure you, so have I. William, I’m astonished at you.”

William, William, thought Abi, stand up to her; fight back. But he didn’t. He just sat there, flushed, wretched, pushing his hands through his hair.

She stood up, pushed her chair back, enjoying the ugly, harsh sound it made on the flagged floor, and left.

“I… think I’ll go,” said Emma. The evening was turning into hard work; her head ached, and she wanted to be home. Home alone. Again. “Sorry… Just feeling a bit… tired. Hard week. And I’m on duty at six. In the morning.”

“You party pooper!” said Mark. “OK. We understand. Want me to get you a cab?”

“No, it’s OK.” She stood up. “I’ll get the bus.”

“Emma, you are not getting the bus. Not the nicest place, Swindon, this time of night. I’ll do it. Finish your drink…” He looked up at her. “It’ll be about half an hour, OK?”

“OK.”

She felt the bus might have been quicker, but she was too tired to argue.

Abi was crying so hard, she could hardly see; she stopped at the end of the road, sat there sobbing for what seemed ages, trying to pull herself together. How could he be so pathetic, so cowardly: how could he? Thank God she’d found out. How awful if she’d gone ahead and married him. Sylvie was right: she’d have married the mother as well. It could never, ever have worked.

God, she was a bitch. But she was allowed to be. That was the worst thing. William and his father just allowed her to get away with everything. They were obviously both terrified of her. All those brave words of William’s, and they hadn’t meant a thing. He was… he was…

She suddenly realised a car had pulled up behind her. It was flashing at her. Someone was getting out. It was William. He was running over to her; she wound down the window and put her head out. She realised it was pouring rain.

“Fuck off. Just fuck off. You’re a wimp and a coward and I never, ever want to see you again. Ever.”

“Abi, I-”

“No, just shut the fuck up. I can’t believe how you behaved in there. How you let her behave. It was pitiful. Pathetic. I’m going home, and I never, ever want to see you again. Mummy’s boy! Thirty-four-year-old mummy’s boy. You make me feel sick.”

“Abi, please. Listen. Just for one second. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s my fault and-”

“It’s not your fault she’s so… so rude and vile and snobbish. I know her sort. She thinks I’m common, so she can treat me exactly how she likes. Well, I may be common-I am actually, very common-but that’s for me to decide, not her. Please get out of my way, William. I want to go home. At least I won’t have to sleep in the guest room.”