The note lay on the hall table when Barney got in.

“Sorry, darling, tried to ring you, but your phone was switched off. Left a message, but in case you didn’t get it, I’ve gone to see that Keira Knightley film with Nicola. Hope that’s OK, knew you’d hate it. Lots of salady stuff in fridge, back about ten. Love you.”

Oh, God, Barney thought. Oh, shit. Well, it bought him some time.

Maybe he should do it tonight. It wasn’t fair on Amanda, the lying. The cheating wasn’t fair either, but it was the lying that was so awful. Pretending all the time, smiling at her when he didn’t feel like smiling, saying he loved her when she’d said she loved him, because that really was the only thing to say.

Returning her kisses, pretending he was too tired for sex; it was all horrible. When she knew, she’d hate that, hate thinking that was what he’d been doing.

Yes, he would, he’d tell Amanda tonight. Get it over.

He poured himself a beer, sat there thinking about her, about Amanda, his Amanda, whom he had once thought he loved…

The landline rang sharply, cutting into his thoughts. Who could that be, who used the landline anymore, except parents, of course…?

He picked it up.

Amanda arrived home two hours later. He heard the taxi door slam, heard her pretty, light voice saying, “Thank you so much, good night.”

He sat there thinking of what he must tell her, feeling like an executioner, waiting to do his dreadful deed.

She came in, smiling, kissed him, said, “Hello, darling, it was such a lovely film; I really think you might have liked it. Barney, what is it, what’s the matter?”

And: “I’m sorry, Amanda,” he said, “so, so sorry. It’s… it’s bad news, I’m afraid. It’s your father, Amanda, he’s… Oh God, I’m so sorry; he’s had a heart attack; he’s… well, he’s dead.”

And then he stood there, holding her as she sobbed and shook with grief, and thought how cruel, how doubly cruel was fate, mostly to her, of course, robbing her of her beloved father, but also in a small part to him, robbing him for the foreseeable future, of the chance to set his life straight and to do the right thing and be with the person he really loved.

And hating himself for finding room even to think it.

CHAPTER 39

“Toby?”

“Yes, Tamara.”

“Toby, I really want to talk to you about something.”

“Darling, if it’s the date, next May’s fine by me.”

“Good. But it’s not. It’s about the wedding: the one that didn’t happen.”

“Ye-es?”

“Toby, I really need to know… why did you leave so late? You’ve waffled away about your being ill and the police stopping you and then the crash. The fact remains, you should have left literally hours earlier. Why didn’t you?”

“Well… Look, do we really have to do this?”

“Yes, we really do. Because however much I try to believe all that stuff about your being ill, I somehow can’t. And if you weren’t ill and you didn’t leave in time, there was clearly some other very good reason. What was it, Toby; I really have to know.”

Toby looked at her, took a large sip of the wine he was drinking, and sat up very straight in his chair.

“Well, I suppose I’d better tell you. I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t have to come out…”

“What wouldn’t have to come out?”

“It was… well, it was Barney, Tamara, I’m afraid. He… well, he got terribly drunk the night before the wedding. I tried to stop him, but he kept saying it was my last night of freedom and we should enjoy it. He must have drunk the best part of two bottles of wine and at least half a bottle of whisky. Honestly, he could hardly walk. I got him to bed somehow. And then in the morning… well, you can imagine the state he was in. Kept throwing up, completely unfit to drive, of course… I just had to sit it out. And… adding insult to injury, if you like, he’d forgotten to fill the car up with petrol. Which actually was why we came on the motorway, nearest petrol station. I could have killed him… if he hadn’t been my best friend. So… there you have it. I’m sorry, darling, really I am. But… non mea culpa.”

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me before? Instead of fobbing me off with this stomach bug nonsense?”

“Oh, Tamara, how could I? He’s my best buddy. I couldn’t rat on him, could I?”

“Quite easily, I’d have thought. To make me feel better about the whole thing. Who’s more important to you, Toby, Barney or me? Seems like it’s Barney.”

“Darling, of course it’s not. I mean, what good would it have done, splitting on him? And don’t, please don’t tell him I told you. He’d be so… so horrified. He feels quite bad enough as it is. Let’s just put it behind us, eh? Next May, you’ll be Mrs. Toby Weston and this whole thing’ll be like a bad dream…”

“Now, Maeve, please don’t laugh, but I would be very honoured if you would be my bridesmaid.”

Mary’s face was rather pink as she looked at Maeve across the table in the café: the same café that had provided so fateful a meeting place two months earlier. She had come in to see Patrick, alerted of the wonderful news of his recovery by Maeve.

“It’s like a miracle, Mary, every day a little more sensation. He can feel almost the whole of one foot now, and the toes of the other. I can’t believe it, and he is so happy. And… oh, Mary, I’d love to be your bridesmaid; it would be the greatest honour, but what about your daughter-isn’t that her place?”

“I’m afraid Christine will want to play a very minor role,” she said, “if she comes at all. I just keep hoping she’ll come round. There’s nothing I can say that will make things better, but my son seems delighted… They’re all coming over from Canada, for the wedding, and my son-in-law, Gerry, he’s very happy about it, and my grandson too. Timothy wants to give me away; I was very touched by that.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. Very well, but if Christine changes her mind, you must tell me at once, and I’ll resign the offer. Now, what are you going to wear, will it be white?”

“Well… it will. Do you think that’s terribly foolish?”

“Of course it’s not foolish; it’s delightful. You’ll look beautiful, Mary.”

“It’s a two-piece, quite a straight skirt and a beaded jacket, very pretty. And I’m going to carry just a very small bunch of flowers… I thought white roses; what do you think?”

“I’d say pink would be better,” said Maeve thoughtfully. “White will hardly show up against your dress. And… what in your hair?”

“Oh, a long veil, of course,” said Mary, and they both started to laugh: two women, joyfully engrossed as they went about the centuries-old female business of planning a wedding, and it was of no consequence whatsoever that the bride was three times the age of her bridesmaid and her bridegroom four times the age of the man who was to give her away.

Anything might happen now, Emma thought: it was all horribly dangerous. Tamara might tell Amanda… although Barney had told her that he didn’t think she would.

“I told her, if she did, I would personally wring her neck. I think she believed me, and I think she’ll keep her mouth shut. God, she’s a cow. God, I dislike her.”

Tamara did sound like a cow, but Emma actually thought that if Toby was really the wonderful person Barney said, then he wouldn’t be about to marry someone who was absolutely the reverse.

Emma felt very bad about Amanda herself; but the great fear that was consuming her now was that with Barney being so necessarily close to Amanda, supporting her, comforting her, helping her through the awful days and their awful demands-her mother was in bits, he said-he might find himself drawn back irrevocably into their relationship. Grief was a powerful weapon; Amanda would not only be expecting Barney’s presence one hundred per cent in her life; she had an absolute right to it…