“Nuts?” Abi said with a grin.

And yes, Georgia said, she supposed that was right.

“I’d so love to be cool like you, Abi, cool and sorted. I can’t see it ever happening. Maybe I need a husband.”

Abi said she thought a husband was the last thing Georgia needed. “Who could cope with you anyway, all famous like you are; you’d have to find another luvvie, and anyway, how about Merlin; what’s wrong with him?”

Whereupon Georgia sighed and said nothing.

“Yes, there is, I can tell,” said Abi. “What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise?”

“Yes. Merlin told me being with you was total paradise. I thought it was sweet.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Georgia said. “I can’t bear it when he says things like that.”

“I wouldn’t mind. The best William could manage was that life’s got a lot better since we got married, but he’s not so sure about this week.”

“Yes, but he means it. Merlin doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh… it’s all so corny. I swear he practises it in front of a mirror. And he’s sooo vain. I don’t know, Abi; I’d much rather have someone all lovely and steady like William. I’d love to be a farmer’s wife.”

“Georgia,” said Abi, “you couldn’t possibly marry a farmer; you’d be crying all the time-think about the lambs going off to market, or the poor little bull calves…”

“Why, what happens to them?”

“I’m not even going to tell you,” said Abi; but Georgia was intrigued and asked William, and then, as Abi had predicted, sat with tears rolling down her face at the plight of the poor things, off to market to be turned into veal.

Anyway, the festival looked like it was going to be great; a cautiously optimistic call from Abi at midday had reported a “huge queue” at the gates. “I just drove along the road, saw them from there, a great line of them, straggling between the cornfields, you know, the ones leading across to the end of the farm. Just get here, Linley you’ve got work to do. And where’s your friend?”

“She should be there,” said Georgia. “I spoke to them about an hour ago; they were at Swindon or thereabouts. I hope nothing’s happened to them.”

“No, not them, they’re here and absolutely great. We managed to get them a plug on the radio. And a couple of blokes with beards and prehistoric sandals said they couldn’t believe they were going to hear Sim Foster’s wife and daughter. They were well pleased. No, I mean the CD guy. No sign of him.”

“Oh, Jazz. He’s coming down with Merlin; they’re only about twenty minutes behind me.”

Anna and Lila were doing a half-hour set at six: Lila on saxophone, Anna on piano. They’d turned out to be a big draw with both what Abi called the Boden lot as well as the fanatics.

“It adds a bit of class, such a lovely story for the publicity, tying in with you and the TV series and everything. He was huge in his day, her husband; I Googled him, wonderful for us to talk about. And Lila is just totally gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Georgia arrived just as the sun came out in earnest; she parked at the top of the hill and looked down, smiling. The sky was a rather uncertain blue, but the clouds had gone, and the tents were going up now, hundreds of them, filling the first field-they’d obviously need the second; Abi had been wrong-all different colours, small igloos for the couples, and bigger frame jobs for the families. She could hear the sound of thousands of pegs being hammered into the ground, of children laughing and shrieking as they ran about, of people calling to one another, the hurdy-gurdy music of the little roundabouts; it was all so lovely, their dream almost unbelievably coming true. A few people had already lit barbecues, and she could smell the smoke drifting into the moist air; and across on the other side of the valley, the seemingly endless line of people, queuing in the sunshine.

“Hello, sweetheart. How you doing?”

“Jazz! How lovely. Fine, yes.”

“Pretty good, isn’t it? Your friend’s done a great job.”

“Have you seen her? She was worrying about you being late.”

“Yeah, I’ve left Merl talking to her. And some bird in white trousers. Well, they were white. Pretty muddy now. She had a microphone. Well, I mean, show Merlin a microphone and he’s off, isn’t he. I mean, he’s a great guy, but he don’t half love the sound of his own voice. You and him a permanent item now, Georgia?”

“No!” said Georgia, and was horrified with the fervour with which her reply came out. “No, we’re just… well, you know.”

“Yeah, think so. Well, you’re a big improvement on the last one, I’ll give you that.”

“I thought you’d have liked Ticky” said Georgia.

“No, not for me, love. All fur coat and no knickers, she was. Not my type at all.”

“And what is your type?” said Georgia, genuinely curious.

“Oh… it varies. I know it when I see it. Look at old Merl, working the field. He do love a fresh audience.”

She looked; it was true. He was moving amongst the tents, talking to people. He looked amazing-of course-wearing jeans and brown riding boots and a white collarless shirt. He was such a sweetheart; she should appreciate him more, stop complaining about him being irritating.

She parked her car and went to find Anna and Lila. Anna was down by the arena, checking everything out.

“Great piano,” she said, “Japanese job. Just what I hoped for. And really well wired up. Lila’s just been sick for the fourth time. She can do stage fright better than anyone.”

“Oh, poor darling.” It was Merlin. “Nothing worse. She’ll be fine. I’ll go and talk to her, see what I can do.”

“That won’t help,” said Georgia tartly to Anna as he hurried off. “Enough to make her sick again, I should think,” and then realised she had already broken her resolution to be nicer about him. How could she do this? When six months ago, she would have killed to have Merlin at her side, marked out as her boyfriend. What was the matter with her?

Lila staggered over from behind the arena, where she’d been throwing up. Merlin had obviously been unable to find her.

“Mum, I can’t do this.”

“Course you can,” said Georgia, putting her arm round her. “You’ve got to, anyway. Come on, let’s go and talk to Merlin.”

Merlin was now sitting on the ground, sharing a bottle of water with a little girl wearing a long skirt, wellies, and a patchwork hat. Her forehead wore a rainbow.

“Hi, Georgia, Lila. This is Milly This is her fourth festival this year.”

“Goodness,” said Georgia. “That’s impressive. Hi, Milly. You having fun?”

“So fun, yes.”

“I like your hat.”

“My mummy bought it for me. From over there.” She pointed at the hat stall. “She got one too.”

“Very nice.” Georgia smiled at Milly’s mum, a pretty dark-haired girl who was wearing an identical hat to her daughter’s. “I want you to know, that stall was my idea.”

“Well, it was a great one,” said Milly’s mum.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so lovely. We’re great festival people. We always feel they’re like miniholidays. No stress, such freedom for the kids, and this is such a wonderful place. We’ve never been to one here before.”

“That’s because there hasn’t been one here before,” said Georgia. “I know what you mean about festivals, though. You’re all together, and everyone’s sort of the same kind of person; nobody sort of jars; it’s really cool.”

“Really cool! You look familiar; have I met you somewhere before?”

“Er… don’t think so,” said Georgia. These small sudden signs of her fame, which had initially seemed so exciting, had become swiftly burdensome. She had imagined she would love it, being recognised, feeling important, but it was actually incredibly tedious; everyone asked the same questions: about the production, what various other people in it were like, how she’d got into acting, and-if the questioners were young-how she thought they might get into it.