William said rather airily that they’d been persuaded to do it: he didn’t add that he’d been pretty evasive about the implications, had sold it to them as a charity concert, which sounded rather charming; he knew they’d be totally opposed to the idea of a festival, with all its unfortunate implications of deafening noise, drugs, and general squalor…

“No, they’re fine about it,” he said now.

“Well, that’s great,” Abi said. “Let’s just hope they stay on that side, because they won’t be able to switch very easily. Now, you need a sponsor. To make it financially viable. Put up something like a couple of grand, say, in return for publicity. You might start thinking who to approach.”

“What, like one of the TV companies or something?”

“Well, more of a commercial concern, some local manufacturing company or other. I’ll think too. Anyway… what do you think? Now’s the time to say no.”

Georgia emitted a sort of squeak. Abi looked at her. Her eyes were shining and her hands were clasped together, making a sort of fist. Abi was to get to know that gesture well in the months to come.

“I think it sounds wonderful,” she said. “We’ve absolutely got to do it. If… well, that is if William… Mr. Grainger’s really up for it. It’s… it’s obviously a very big undertaking.”

“Please call me William,” said William. “Mr. Grainger makes me feel like I’m my dad.”

He looked at the pair of them, two sassy, sexy girls, girls he would never have known a year ago, and thought of spending a lot of time with them over the next six months or so. It made him feel dizzy. “I’m up for it,” he said. “Yeah, course.”

It was just as well, Georgia thought, that she had the concert to distract her. She viewed the inquest with absolute terror. At the thought of having to stand up in a courtroom, in front of a crowd of people, several of whom were still grieving, and describe under oath how she had abandoned Patrick Connell in his cab and disappeared, failing to provide the evidence that only she could and that had been so crucial to him, she felt violently sick.

She knew there was no way out of it-it had to be got through-but it was still there, driving her back into her guilt and remorse.

Moving Away was in the final stages of filming, and the first episode was to be screened in the spring.

It was awful to think she wouldn’t be seeing Merlin more or less every day; it had been such an incredibly exciting element in the whole thing, just getting ready in the morning, wondering what to wear, whether he’d be there, what he’d say to her. She was still slightly baffled as to what his feelings about her were: nonexistent, she thought on her bad days, but then she would think, on the good ones… Why ask her to go for a drink so often after they’d finished for the day; why spend so much time with her; why make sure she was all right in Jazz’s house?

He’d even-once or twice-asked her to the cinema, to see some incredibly intellectual foreign films at what he called his local, the Hampstead Everyman, which she hadn’t understood at all, let alone enjoyed-although she’d pretended to, of course-and one wonderful Saturday he’d called her and said he was going to do some Christmas shopping in the Portobello, and if she was around, would she like to join him? She’d loved that, wandering along the stalls, and when they’d finished he asked her if she’d like to have lunch at Camden Lock-“I can’t believe you haven’t been there yet, all this time in London”-and she’d said, trying to sound totally cool, that she’d like that, and had sat in one of the bars alongside the canal, convinced this was really it, that he was going to say he really liked her. But he didn’t; he said he had to get back quite soon after lunch: “The parents are having a party tonight; I have to go back and help.”

“Will it… will it be a big party?” she said, trying to sound casual, half wondering if he might be going to ask her.

“About a hundred. Anyone else would have proper help, but Mummy won’t-against her principles, like not having a cleaner, so she’s run herself ragged cooking for weeks, and Pa just hides in his study and pretends he hasn’t noticed.”

“And lots of famous people there?” she said.

And, “Yeah, lot of Beeb types, Humphreys, Paxman, Benn, I imagine, the Millibands, possibly Charlie Falconer, but not the Blairs.”

“God,” she said, “I call that pretty impressive.”

“Not really. You’re so sweet, Georgia,” he added, smiling at her, “so totally unspoilt still. Stay like it, for goodness’ sake. Don’t get spoilt. I must dash; can you find your own way back?”

“Yes, of course. I want to look in some of those shops anyway,” she said quickly.

And that was how their relationship-or rather their non -relationship-proceeded: two steps forward, two steps back. Exasperating, frustrating, baffling.

Most of the time she managed to think it was just luvvie stuff, no more than that, along with the hugs and the brotherly kisses; but she still found grounds for thinking it was more.

She had never talked about him to anyone involved in the production-deliberately. There was no way she was going to risk being laughed at for having an unrequited crush on him. And in any case she wasn’t on those sorts of terms with any of them, except for Anna.

She tried to find out a bit about him from Linda, who always knew all the gossip about everybody, but she just said vaguely that she really didn’t know much about him except that he was incredibly talented and would soon be a first assistant, probably in the next production he worked on. “You don’t fancy him, darling, do you?”

“God, no,” said Georgia.

“Good. Because the words little and shit do come rather to mind.”

Georgia ignored this; it was such a typical Linda comment.

And then the mystery was solved-painfully.

The wrap party was taking place just a week before Christmas; Georgia had bought a sequinned dress that was virtually nonexistent, so short and low-cut it was, and some incredibly long, sequinned fake eyelashes to go with it.

The party was at Bryn’s house in Putney, a wonderful glass-fronted place on the river. He’d been incredibly generous, provided champagne by the crateful, and Mrs. Bryn, who was a glamorous actress called Jan Lloyd, provided fantastic food. Particularly generous, as she then went out for the evening: “She says no one should be at the wrap parties of other people’s productions,” Bryn said, laughing, when he made his little speech, and actually, as Anna said to Georgia, it really wasn’t very pleasant; you felt like a complete outsider, understood none of the in-jokes, and were deeply wary of discovering any illicit relationships.

Georgia could feel herself going over the top, flirting with everyone, including Bryn-and Merlin, of course-making people dance with her, but it was the last time she’d see most of them, and she was enjoying herself so much.

Merlin was a fantastic dancer, and he was looking absolutely amazing, all in black-black skinny jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket. She thought he must be rather hot in the jacket, and suggested he take it off more than once, but he said he liked it, and he liked being hot. She hoped he meant what she thought by that.

And then suddenly the front doorbell went off, and Georgia, who was in the hall, opened it. A girl stood there, a really beautiful girl, tall, with long blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes; she was wearing a short black dress and black knee boots with very high heels. She smiled at Georgia just slightly dismissively and looked her up and down and said, “Hi. Is Merlin here?”

Georgia said he was and that she’d go and find him-the girl was the sort who inspired such behaviour-and had just turned to go into the party when Bryn appeared and said, “Ticky! Darling! What a surprise. Merlin didn’t warn us.”