The Best Of Times

EPILOGUE

Abi woke to the sound of rain. Not just a light shower, but proper, torrential rain. Mud-making, wheel-sticking, tent-soaking, barbecue-quenching, spirit-sapping, off-putting rain. Well, she’d said it would. Only she’d kind of thought if she said it enough, allowed for it sufficiently, it wouldn’t happen. Wrong. It had happened.

Well, a little rain had never hurt Glastonbury But then, Glastonbury was… well, Glastonbury. People would go if it snowed. Just to say they’d been there. In Good Company wasn’t famous. This was its first year. Its only year, if Mrs. Grainger Senior had anything to do with it. Mrs. Grainger Junior had more ambitious plans for it.

There had been a Mrs. Grainger Junior for three months now. Three pretty good months. They had got married, very quietly really, on a brilliantly dappled April day, when the sun had shone one minute, and the clouds had regathered the next; when they had walked into the registry office leaving a doomily dark world behind them and come out an hour later into a radiantly blue-and-gold one. Which, as Georgia said, was an absolutely fitting portent.

They had agreed, William and she, that there was no point waiting for very long at all, since there was absolutely nothing to wait for. No complex family to worry about-none at all, in Abi’s case, and while William’s was worrying, it wasn’t complex-no one’s permission to be sought, no need to find somewhere to live. Abi had no desire, she said, for a big wedding; she didn’t want to walk down the aisle in a meringue; indeed she didn’t want to walk down any aisle in anything. She was a staunch atheist. The only thing she believed in, she said, was William, and how much she loved him… which she repeated in her wedding speech-she had insisted on making a speech-and which reduced almost everyone in the room-with a few notable and predictable exceptions-to misty-eyed and foolish laughter.

She said she’d quite like a good party, but not so big she couldn’t dance with everyone in the room; she and William had very few friends in common, and she didn’t want anyone there who didn’t understand what they were doing together.

So there had been about thirty altogether-for a late lunch and then dancing at the Royal Crescent Hotel in Bath, which Mr. Grainger insisted on paying for. Abi had wanted to pay for it herself, and not be any further beholden to the Graingers, but:

“Let him,” William said. “It’s his way of apologising for my mother’s behaviour.”

Sylvie was there, of course, with a new boyfriend. He was called Alan Wallis and he worked in the men’s department of Marks & Spencer. When Abi first met him, she told Sylvie she must need her hormones examined, that he was bound to be gay, but Sylvie assured her he was most definitely not; he was brilliant at the business, and in fact so demanding that she was quite worn out by it all. Abi, in a spirit of pure mischief, made him go and ask Mrs. Grainger to dance, but in fact, Alan Wallis had the most beautiful formal manners and had done an advanced ballroom dancing course and steered Mrs. Grainger most expertly round the room, and she was later heard to tell William that he was rather a charming young man and that they had had a very interesting discussion about the rise and fall in the Marks & Spencer share price, and the reasons behind it.

Mr. Grainger was in his turn very taken with Sylvie. “Maybe they could set up a maison à quatre,” Abi remarked cheerfully to William. “That would solve an awful lot of problems.”

William’s brother and sister and their respective families came; Abi quite liked Martin, who was not unlike William to look at, but a lot smoother, but she thought his sister was frightful and was almost moved to feel pity for Mrs. Grainger when she saw her being snubbed repeatedly by her daughter and even more frequently by her son-in-law.

Georgia was there, of course, and so was Merlin; Georgia was interestingly and rather overtly impatient with Merlin, Abi noticed. He was at his most charming and kept paying everyone very lavish compliments; he told Abi she made his heart stop, she looked so lovely, and William that he was the luckiest man in the universe-that really annoyed Georgia-and Sylvie that she danced like the proverbial angel. In the end, Georgia actually snapped at him and told him to stop behaving as if he was in front of-or behind-the cameras. He looked quite hurt, and Sylvie, bored by now with Mr. Grainger, took it upon herself to comfort him, which made Georgia crosser still.

Emma was there with Barney; they were officially engaged now, and Emma had a rock quite as big as Abi’s on her finger. She told Abi privately that she would have given anything to have a quiet wedding too, but her mother had gone into overdrive over the whole thing, and her rating on the nightmare bride’s mother scale of nought to ten was about eleven and a half.

“It’s a bit like you, in a way: Barney and his family are so posh, and me and my family aren’t, and I just can see it all ending in tears.” Abi had told her to elope with Barney, or run away and get married on a beach somewhere, but Emma said she couldn’t possibly do that to her mother. She also, Abi suspected, wanted very much to walk down the aisle in a meringue.

William had invited a few of his farming friends, and their wives, jolly, horsey girls for the most part, who danced energetically long after everyone else had given up, and Abi invited a small number-three, to be precise-of her better-behaved girlfriends, who would be an adornment to the company and could be more or less relied upon not to get so drunk that they were sick or to bring any drugs onto the premises… and that was that.

“And you know what?” she said to William as they undressed late that night in their suite of the Radisson Edwardian hotel at Heathrow, prior to a six a.m. flight to Barbados, “it was exactly how I hoped: everyone seemed happy, most people got on with most people, and even your mother smiled quite a lot.”

William agreed, rather absently; he was goggle-eyed at the excesses of the hotel, with its vast atrium, its marble floors and pillars, its lush palm trees and gilded mirrors, never having seen anything like it in his life.

“I’ve only actually been away three times, twice with Nanny to Frinton and once with my dad fishing in Scotland.”

Abi told him she thought she could probably improve on that.

The honeymoon had been wonderful; they had stayed at the Glitter Bay Hotel, and done all the touristy things: parasailed, surfed, swum with dolphins, and danced to various wonderful bands night after night on various wonderful beaches. And then returned home to the reality of cottage number one.

Actually, Abi was very happy there. She was absorbed with starting her company, planning the festival, learning to ride-at which she proved rather adept: “We’ll have you out with the hounds soon… all two of them,” Mr. Grainger had said with his usual heavy wink-and struggling to cook. After a few weeks of overambitious failures, she gave up and simply served endless enormous roasts, which were easy and satisfied William’s awesome appetite. Mrs. Grainger left her alone for the most part, occasionally arriving at cottage number one with pies and puddings and chutneys and jams-“I know how busy you are; this might help a bit”-which Abi became swiftly grateful for. She knew Mrs. Grainger’s motives were not entirely good, being partly to contrast with her own efforts, but on the other hand it all tasted wonderful.

And here they were on the morning of the festival, with three thousand tickets sold. “Three thousand, I can’t believe it,” Georgia had said. “It’s amazing.”

Abi told her it wasn’t amazing enough-they needed twice that to make any real money; they were way overbudget on the bands. “But we should get loads more on the day… as long as it isn’t tipping down.”

“You said it would be tipping down,” said Georgia. “You can’t get out of it that easily.”

The best thing was that Barney’s bank, BKM, had agreed to sponsor it.

“Only a rather modest amount, I’m afraid,” Barney had told Abi. “Ten grand, piss in a pot to them, but it should help a bit. And they’ll want their pound of flesh or whatever, be credited on all the publicity and so on. They’re actually rather tickled by it. My boss said he’d bring a few friends if it’s a good day.”

Abi told him she didn’t see ten grand as either modest or a piss in a pot, and that she’d thank Barney’s boss personally in the best way she knew how.

“Best not,” said Barney, grinning at her. “He’s gay.”

She got up now, pulled on some jeans, her wellies, and her Barbour-“Who’d ever have thought I’d be seen alive in a Barbour?” she said to Georgia. “But they really do keep the water out better than anything”-and drove down to the site.

It was still only seven, but the place was already full of people. She looked at it from the top of the hill, at her creation, at the transformation of the small lush valley into something so unrecognisably different, and felt a mixture of pride and terror in more or less equal proportions. The cows had been moved out, mildly protesting, a week ago, ousted by a rival herd of huge lorries, massive power lines, tall arc lights, neat rows of portaloos and showers; the brilliant red-and-yellow-striped arena stood at the heart of the site, a flag fluttering from the top bearing the words, In Good Company, a battery of lights above the stage, a rather random array of mikes and other sound equipment standing on it, together with keyboards and drum kits, waiting to be called to order by their musician masters, and even a rather incongruous-looking piano-that would be for Georgia’s friend Anna, the jazz singer, and her daughter-and on either side of it, two huge screens. She parked her car at the site entrance; a couple of portacabins stood just inside the gate. Rosie, the site manager, waved at her and ran over, pulling the hood of her jacket up over her head.

“Hi, Abi. Lovely day.”

“Shit, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve seen worse. Good thing we persuaded William to put down that stone. You’ll need this…” She wrapped a brilliant green plastic strap round Abi’s wrist. “Being Mrs. Farmer won’t get you far today. Green is all areas, for people like us and the bands, yellow for all the stall holders, red for the punters; don’t take it off whatever you do. Security doesn’t take prisoners. They’ve arrived too; they’re in the other hut.”

“OK, thanks. What time did you get here?”

“Four,” said Rosie cheerfully. “So much to do.”

“Four!” said Abi. “I hope we’re not paying you overtime.”

“Course you are. No, it’s fine. My big worry now is Health and Safety; you know they come to do their final inspection an hour before the first band plays…”

“Yeah.”

“They called late last night to say they might be late, got another to do the other side of the M 4. Which is a total bugger; it could hold us up for hours if they find a cable they’re not happy with or something.”

“Yeah, William’s friend who does one of these every year said they once held them up till ten thirty. Oh, God. You’d think there’d be enough of them to go round, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” said Rosie. “And… oh, look, here comes food. I said they could come anytime after seven. They won’t mind the rain; they sell more.”

A small armada of trailer-towing vans was moving down the hill, into the site. “I’ll have to go, tell them where to park. Still happy with what we agreed?”

“Course,” Abi said.

She wondered what on earth Mrs. Grainger might be doing, sent up a small but fervent prayer for a brief, violent, and nonfatal illness, and walked across to a desperate-looking girl at the entrance who said she was in charge of what she called the kiddie roundabouts; one of the trailers had driven into the farmyard by mistake and been unable to turn round, and a very unhelpful woman had refused to move her Land Rover, which would make things much easier. No violent illnesses yet, then, Abi thought, and told the girl to follow her back up the track.

Emma and Barney arrived at eleven, just as a very large white van got hopelessly stuck in the mud.

“What are we going to do?” wailed Abi. “It’s going to block the way for everyone else; half the stalls aren’t here yet and-”

“Abi, I’m no farmer,” said Barney, “but a tractor’d sort that out in no time. Where’s William?”

“He’s trying to sort out some problem with the power leads. The supply isn’t enough, apparently; now they tell us-Over there, look…”

“I’ll go and ask him,” said Barney.

He came back grinning.

“He says he can’t stop what he’s doing, but if I could get his dad or the cowman they’d bring a tractor down. Where do I find either of those people?”

“No idea where his dad is. Strangling his mother, I hope. But the cowman-Ted, he’s called-he’ll almost certainly be up in the cowshed. There’s a cow calving; apparently she’s in real trouble; they’re getting the vet; he won’t be able to leave her just to drive the tractor. Oh, God…”

“I can drive a tractor,” said Barney unexpectedly, “if it’s OK with William.”

“God, I don’t know. He loves those tractors. Far more than he loves me.”

“Do you know where I might find one?”

“Well… yes. There’s one parked outside the lambing shed. I saw it as I came down.”

“Take me to it. I’ll risk William’s wrath.”

“But, Barney… Oh, shit. What a nightmare. Can you really drive a tractor? I mean really?”

“I really can. Chap I was at school with, his dad had a farm; we used to drive the tractors all over the place whenever I went to stay with him.”

“But-”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t say he could drive a tractor if he couldn’t, Abi,” said Emma. “He’s awfully clever.”

“Emma, you’d think Barney could drive a rocket into space. I’ve never known love to make anyone so blind.”

“Yes, OK. But-”

“Look, we’ve got to do something,” said Barney. He pointed at the van; the driver had got out and was squaring up to the security guard, calling him an evil nancy boy. The security guard pulled his radio out of his belt and started alternately talking into it and shouting at the van driver.

“Oh, OK. I’ll drive you up there. Emma, you stay here and tell William some lie if he comes over.”

“OK,” said Emma cheerfully.

She looked around her. It all looked-stuck van aside-extremely organised.

The food trailers were all in place and putting up their shutters, revealing signs that said things like, Best burgers and Finest fries. A couple of girls were standing by a small children’s roundabout, giving a child a ride; two rainbow-coloured tents side by side announced that they were face painting and willow weaving; someone clearly with a sense of humour was hoisting a large hot-air balloon over the loos that read, In Good Company. A St. John’s ambulance tent was going up; a girl and a man were constructing a large barbecue under a pagoda tent, with a sign that said, Paella: Biggest portions, and a small but determined-looking queue was forming across the valley where the punters’ entrance was.

Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to be doing and getting on with it. The air was thick with the crackle of walkie-talkies, the hurdy-gurdy music of the roundabouts, and the occasional burst of rock music as someone checked a sound system. And all the time the picture grew: more vans, more tents, more colour, more stalls. It was astonishing, rather like watching someone doing a giant jigsaw. God, Abi was a wonder. She’d masterminded all of this without any of the histrionics Georgia had brought to it, just got on and done it. William was a lucky chap; she hoped he knew it.

“Oh… William!” she said, realising he was behind her. “Hi.”

“Hi. Everything all right? Abi gone to find Ted?”

“Yes. I… think so.”

“Great. Sorry I can’t look after you properly, Emma. If you want a coffee, the site manager’s cabin’s got a kettle and stuff…”

“William, I don’t need looking after. Did you get the power problem sorted?”

“No, not yet. And that van’s causing chaos. God. If only this bloody rain would stop…”

“I think it is stopping,” said Emma, “actually. Well, it’s much lighter, more of a sort of drizzle, don’t you think?”

“No,” said William, looking up at the lowering sky, “I don’t. Oh, good, here comes Ted now. No, it’s not… it’s Barney. What the hell is he doing driving my tractor? Barney, you wanker, get out of that, for God’s sake; you’ll do the most terrible damage…”

“Piss off, William,” Abi shouted above the din. “Barney’s fine; he can drive this perfectly well, and you’d better get up to the cowshed-that calf’s a breach, and the vet needs help.”

“Where’s Ted?”

“Seeing to another calf. Go on, William, for God’s sake.”

William roared up the track in the Land Rover, with another agonised yell at Barney of, “You break my tractor, Fraser, I’ll have your goolies off.”

“You know what they say,” Abi said, grinning at Emma. “You wait ages for a calf and then they all come at once.”

“You’d think they might have waited another day,” said Emma. “So inconsiderate-they must have known what was going on. Abi, would you agree with me that the rain’s much lighter? Almost stopped?”

“Mmm. Not sure,” said Abi, and then, “God, good old Barney, he’s doing wonders with that thing. I hope that cow’s all right; we lost one last week; can’t afford another.”

Emma looked at her, her respect growing by the minute.

“Are you Abi? Security sent me over.” It was a girl dressed totally unsuitably in high-heeled red sandals and white trousers. “Tessa Stan-dish, Wiltshire Radio.”

“Oh… God. Yes. Cool. They said you might be coming. Let’s go over to the arena. Have you got any other shoes?”

“No. So stupid, but I wasn’t expecting to come this morning.”

“Tell you what,” said Abi. “We pass the welly stall. You can be our first paying customer. Here, look. Rainbow-coloured, madam? Spotted? Or even a pair of Hunters?”

Georgia was driving down the M 4 just before one when she heard Tessa Standish: “Coming to you from In Good Company, the music festival based at Paget’s Farm, just off the M 4 near Bridbourne. And I can tell you, if you’re thinking of coming you’re in for a treat. It looks fantastic, incredible array of stalls, wonderful bands on the programme, lots of them local, great camping area, stuff for the kids to do, and the most amazing setting. It could have been purpose-built for the occasion, a sort of natural amphitheatre… and don’t be put off by the weather, because the rain’s stopping here now, and there’s even a bit of sun fighting its way through. Now the headline band is BroadBand, playing at eight, but there are loads of others, starting with a folk band called-what are they called?-oh, yes, Slow-mo. They’re on at three. And it’s all for charity, in aid of the victims of the M 4 crash last August and St. Marks Hospital, Swindon, so you’ll be doing some majorly good work if you come.”

It was awful to be so late; she’d wanted to be down first thing, really make herself useful, but the second on the new film had suddenly called her and said they needed rain to film a scene, and here it was, most obligingly; could she get over right away? So she’d had to get over.

Georgia had had a pretty amazing three months since Moving Away had gone on to the nation’s television screens. She had had rave notices-been proclaimed by various critics as “an incredible new talent,” and giving a “near perfect performance” and “exquisitely touching” and “a superbly intuitive actress.”

“I don’t understand it,” she’d said to Linda. “I know I wasn’t that good; I just know it. I’m not daft.”

“Maybe, but the thing is, darling, the camera loves you. It isn’t just models you hear that of; there are certain actors it’s true of too. It found more in your performance than you know was there, maybe than actually was there. Frankly, Georgia-and I’ve always been one of your biggest fans-I didn’t see you getting notices like this. You’re a one-in-a-million screen actress, and you should thank God fasting for it. And don’t come running to me after a bit saying you want to play Juliet at Stratford, you don’t feel fulfilled…”

“Of course I won’t,” said Georgia.

“Darling, you’d be surprised how many do. Just enjoy this. It’s great.”

Georgia’s face was everywhere; apart from the arts pages, Vogue had used her for a fashion shoot, she’d appeared in the style section of the Sunday Times, and in the Guardian as their close-up spread in the Monday fashion slot. She’d been interviewed just about everywhere-and wonderfully had been able to plug the festival several times-and most important, had a part in a new BBC series, filming in the autumn, and after that in a main feature film, a screen adaptation of a new novel set against the background of what the publicity called “Thatcher’s Britain.” Georgia couldn’t actually see that it was that different from present-day Britain, although her mother inevitably could, but it was going to be a great movie, and she had a great part.

She had moved out of her room in Jazz’s house and bought a minute flat in Clapham; she had bought a ton of clothes from Top-shop and TK Maxx and a couple of dresses from Stella McCartney, for special occasions, and one of the new Minis, and she and Merlin were going on holiday to Thailand for a week when the BBC film was finished. Life had changed a bit, as she said to Abi, but she felt exactly the same. “Just as worried about everything, just as insecure, just as-”

“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.

She looked over at Merlin for help, but he was standing with Lila, talking to her rather intently. For some reason it annoyed her.

“Where’s your tent?” she said to Anna. “I might set up near you.”

“Oh, darling, do.”

“Georgia!” It was Abi. Abi looking sensational in denim shorts, pink wellies, and a pink T-shirt. “How great is this? Listen, I need you to go and talk to that incredibly annoying girl from the local radio. She wants to interview you.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you bloody well do. Georgia, you haven’t done anything at all yet today. Emma’s been here for hours and hours, and so has Barney; I could really have done with you…”

“All right, all right. I was actually working, you know.”

“Yes, I do know. You’ve told me at least six times. Go on, she’s over there, in those rainbow-coloured wellies. Quickly, the first band’s on in ten minutes-at least, I hope they are, if Health and Safety have finished their checks.”

“Oh, doesn’t that look lovely?” said Linda, taking Alex’s hand. “So good the rain stopped. Smells so lovely too, the barbecues and… what’s that other smell? Oh, I know-candy floss. I love the smell of candy floss. In fact, I love the taste of candy floss. Amy, darling, go and buy us all some candy floss, would you?”

“Sure.”

“Not all of us,” said Alex. “I can’t stand the stuff. E numbers on a stick. Terribly bad for you, give you a sugar rush.”

“You’re such a misery, Dad.”

“My sentiments entirely,” said Linda. “No, it’s all wonderful. Even the music’s not too bad.”

“All right if you like folk,” said Amy. “Still, it’s early, isn’t it? It’ll get better. I still can’t believe they’ve got BroadBand. I think I might go and find my friends. They’re all here. And-”

“Hi, Linda.” It was Abi. “So lovely of you to come. Not really your thing, I’m sure.”

“Now, why should you think that?” said Linda. “I’m a veteran of the Reading festival. I’ve kept all the wristbands from the very first year.”

“Really? That is so cool. You must be Amy, hi. Having a good time?”

“Not yet she’s not,” said Linda, “but she’s about to go and find her friends.”

“Yes, I was just saying I couldn’t believe you’d got BroadBand.”

“Nor can I, Amy. And you know, they’re really quite nice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Friendly. Chatty, even. Tell you what, if you come and find me about twenty minutes before they play if I’m still alive, I’ll make sure you can be right at the front. You might be able to meet them. They said they wouldn’t be rushing off.”

“Oh. My. God.” Amy’s face went bright red. “That would be just sooo cool.”

“Sure. And your friends. I’ll be inside the arena; we’ve got a little base behind the bar.”

“Wow. Well… I’ll see you then. God. So cool.”

“I think you’ve impressed her,” said Linda, laughing. “Not easy, is it, Alex?”

“Not terribly.”

“It’s so great you’re here, Alex,” said Abi. “I’m so glad.”

“Abi, this is partly for my hospital; of course I’m here. I’m thrilled. Thrilled and grateful. We won’t actually be camping, but-”

“We would have been,” said Linda, “if it had been up to me.”

“That is a filthy lie,” said Alex. “This is the woman, Abi, who said she wouldn’t so much as go inside a tent.”

“It is not a lie. I love camping. At times like this.”

“Well… plenty of tents for sale,” said Abi.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, course. Over there, look. Only fifteen quid.”

“Well, we might,” said Linda. “You never know.”

“Go on. Let your hair down. Lord, I must go. Health and Safety are approaching. Pray they’re happy. We’ve had one hiccup already; they let us start, but said they’d be back to check that we’d done what they said, and if we hadn’t they’d pull the plug. We have, obviously, but… bye for now.”

“Gorgeous girl,” said Alex, looking after her appreciatively.

“Gorgeous. Do you think I’d look good in shorts and wellies?”

“Possibly. Then again, possibly not. You’re not really going to buy a tent, are you?”

“Yes. I think I might. Why not?”

“You’re such a bloody hypocrite. All that fuss insisting on booking into a hotel…”

“I’m not a hypocrite. I’m a spontaneous person. That’s all. I suddenly realise it’d be really pathetic and… and middle-aged to leave all this, go to a hotel.”

“Well, we are middle-aged.”

“You might be. I’m not. And if I may say so, you’re acting more than middle-aged. More like old.”

“Thanks. Well, you’ll be sleeping in the tent on your own, let me tell you.”

“Cool, as your daughter would say.”

“Oh, this is lovely!”

“Isn’t it? You’re not cold, are you, Mary?” Maeve looked at her tenderly.

“Why on earth should I be cold? The sun’s perfectly beautiful.”

They were sitting, well wrapped up, for it was evening now, in picnic chairs, halfway up the hill facing the arena. There was a small metal road dividing the area where they were from the campsite, and the arena was beyond that; it was rather like being in the dress circle of a theatre, as Mary had said.

“Donald would have liked this,” Mary added. “He loved folk music.”

“And Russell?”

“Oh, now, Russell would have adored those two women. Really very, very good, they were. I heard her husband several times, you know; he was one of the greats. I remember one night he was on at Ronnie Scott’s. I so wanted to go, but Donald hadn’t been well. He always was inclined to chest trouble, you know. I think it was being in that prisoner-of-war camp in Italy for so long.”

“I didn’t know he was a prisoner of war.”

“Oh, yes, he was. For over a year. Terrible conditions, they didn’t get nearly enough to eat, and in the winter they were always cold. When he finally got home, he seemed to have shrunk, skin and bone and somehow shorter and this terrible cough. But… we fed him up and the doctor told him he should spend as much time as possible in the fresh air. He got an allotment and it did him so much good. It works a kind of magic, gardening does.”

“What a time you all had of it,” said Maeve. “My grandparents got off pretty lightly, I think. My grandfather was too old to be called up.”

“Yes, it was hard. But you know, it toughened us.”

“Indeed it seems to have. And you’d never have met Russell without it.”

“Indeed. And missed out on so much happiness. Oh, now, Georgia, dear, how lovely to see you.”

“Abi said you were all here.” Georgia bent and kissed her. “Enjoying yourself?”

“So much. Aren’t we, Maeve?”

“Where are the boys?”

“On that carousel for the fourth or is it the fifth time,” said Maeve, “and they’ve all had their faces painted, and Liam has made a fine willow basket. It’s such a success, Georgia. I do congratulate you.”

“I didn’t do much. It’s Abi who’s made it happen. Is Tim around?”

“He certainly is,” said Mary. “He and Lorraine brought me over. They think it’s wonderful.”

“You’ve got a grandstand seat up here, haven’t you?”

“We have indeed,” said Maeve. “And we’re about to open our thermos of tea. Would you join us, Georgia?”

“Oh… no. That’d be lovely, but I promised Abi I’d go back down. Some television company has turned up now-we’ve done so well for publicity-and they want to… well to…”

“To have you on, I’m sure,” said Mary. “Of course. The festival celebrity.”

“Mary, hardly. There are masses of celebrities here. Some really well-known musicians. Very small beer, I am.”

“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Mary. “Very few who’ve been on TV at peak viewing time. I felt so proud of you, dear.”

“Well… that’s very nice. Look… I’ll be back later. How long do you think you’ll stay?”

“Well, certainly for another hour. And then we’ll probably set out for home. They’re all coming back to Tadwick for the night.”

“Patrick has his fine new job now, you know…”

“Really? I’m so pleased. I didn’t know.”

“Yes, he’s office manager of a haulage company,” said Maeve, “and even better, he’s to be based in Reading, so that we can all see one another very much more easily, and Mary comes up most nearly every weekend at the moment, to help and to babysit, so that Patrick and I can go out for an hour or two now and again.”

“That sounds lovely. I’m so pleased. Look, I must go, Abi’s waving at me. I’ll come back later, promise.”

“Don’t worry too much, dear. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“I’m going down to find the boys,” said Maeve. “They’ll be sick if they have any more rides on that thing, on top of those burgers and the candy floss. Patrick has no idea how to refuse them anything. I won’t be long, Mary.”

“No hurry,” said Mary. “I’m very happy.”

And she was. She sat, looking down into the golden evening at the little families wandering about, smiling, holding hands; at the young couples, arms around one another; at the lights of the little roundabouts and the small old-fashioned carousel turning so tirelessly; at the stage with the small figures playing on it, beside their larger selves on the screens; at the hundreds of tents, snuggled down into the grass, barbecues smoking gently; at the lovely evening-blue July sky, a few clouds drifting across it streaked with the sunset; and she felt an immense gratitude all of a sudden, and thought how blessed she had been in her life, her long, mostly uneventful life, to have loved and been loved so much and known so much happiness, in spite of the sadness that she had had to bear. One could not ask more than this, she thought: to be in a beautiful place, on a beautiful evening, surrounded even now by people she loved and who cared for her, and with a head full of memories, wonderful, charmed memories, and not one of them bitter, or angry, or ugly in any way. If her two husbands-both of whom she had loved so much and been so happy with-could be aware of her happiness now, they would be well pleased. And somehow, this evening, looking at the sky and the dusk just beginning to appear above the sunset, she felt it was very possible they were.

Laura was sitting on the sofa with Daisy, watching the evening news, when the announcer suddenly said, “And now, as some properly seasonal weather seems finally to have arrived, and with more of the same promised for days to come, we take you over to one of those great icons of summer, a music festival. A rather special festival, one created for charity, in aid of the victims of the M 4 crash late last summer, and for the hospital that cared for them. The brainchild of two of the people involved, although not hurt, in the crash, Abi Grainger and Georgia Linley-you may remember Georgia from Moving Away, the haunting Channel Four drama early this spring-they conceived it, nurtured it, and brought it to life today. It is being held, indeed, on the farm of William Grainger, on whose land the air ambulance landed that day, and who, incidentally, married Abi just three months ago. Isn’t that right, Abi?”

And there she was, Laura thought, waiting to feel all the ugly, angry things for this girl, this beautiful, sexy girl, in spite of her generosity towards her in the courtroom, this girl, smiling at the camera, laughing, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and hugging the arm of her husband and saying, “Yes, that’s right, and none of this could have happened without the generosity of William and his parents in allowing it to be held on their land.”

“I imagine it could all have been pretty alarming to someone not used to these things,” said the interviewer, a rather uneasy-looking young man, dressed for some reason all in black.

“Oh, it was pretty alarming to all of us, used to them or not. Including William’s cows. But it’s all turned out brilliantly; we’ve earned shi-huge loads of money for the charity, and any minute now one of the newest, most exciting bands in the country is going to play So… go, BroadBand, go. And anyone in the vicinity, it’s not too late; come on down and join us. Thanks. Thank you so much.”

And funnily enough, Laura didn’t feel anything ugly at all, just a wave of relief that it was all finally over, the sadness and the bitterness, and a certain admiration for the new young Mrs. Grainger, who could so successfully turn tragedy into at least some kind of triumph.

“That looks fun,” said Daisy, looking rather wistfully at the camera, which was weaving now among the crowds, the bizarrely dressed young, fairies, nuns, angels, all dancing in the semidarkness, the children dancing too in circles, in and out of the tents and the barbecues, holding hands, and, “Look, there’s a whole family dancing there, and they’ve got sparklers, see? I wish we could go to a festival, Mummy; I’d really love that.”

“We will go, darling. Together. I’d like it too.”

It was Jonathan; he had come into the room and was standing beside the sofa, one hand on Laura’s shoulder. “If Mummy would like that.”

“Mummy would like it,” said Laura, not looking at him. “Maybe not that one, but…”

“No,” he said, “not that one,” and bent and kissed the top of her head. “All right?”

“Yes, I’m all right,” said Laura. And realised that at last she was.

“You did a grand job with this, Abi.”

Abi turned; it was Jazz, Merlin’s hugely sexy friend. How they could be friends, she wasn’t sure; she couldn’t imagine two people more different, but then, people still kept saying that about her and William…

“Thank you. Yes, I’m pretty pleased. It was Georgia’s idea in the first place, you know.”

“I do know. Now, there’s a sweetheart. Too good for Merlin, I keep telling her.”

“Really?”

“Well, you know. He’s seriously in love with himself. I’m well fond of him-I’d say he’s one of my best friends-but a little of him goes a long way; know what I mean?”

“I… think so,” said Abi carefully. “But he’s awfully sweet.”

“Course he is. Just… knows it, that’s all. But he’s all right.”

“Um… is the recording OK?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, darling. Sid, me little brother, he’s keeping an eye on it. Or rather an ear. Better go and check on him, I s’pose. See you later.”

“Shit. Look at that.” It was Georgia, her small face near to tears.

“Now what?”

“Look at that. Merlin and Lila. They’ve been dancing for ages…”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? He’s my boyfriend.”

“So?” said Abi again. “You’ve been complaining about him for weeks. And he’s only dancing with her, for God’s sake.”

“Oh, I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just… confused. We do squabble an awful lot these days. It’s so sad.” She sighed. “Abi, what’s wrong with me? I can’t get it together properly with anyone. Even someone as lovely as Merlin.”

“I don’t know why you want to,” said Abi. “Half the country’s in love with you.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Yes. They are. You’re famous. What you’ve always wanted. You’ve got an incredible time ahead of you; you’ll probably be in Hollywood next…”

“Oh, right…”

“You will. You know what it is with you, Georgia? You just want so much. Fame, success, all that stuff. And you’re beginning to get it. Why don’t you just settle for that for a bit? Forget about lurve. You don’t have to marry Merlin, for God’s sake; you can just enjoy him. And then… well, let ‘then’ take care of itself. I would.”

“I s’pose you’re right,” said Georgia slowly. She sighed. “I do feel I’ve come rather a long way. Since I first set eyes on Merlin, fell in love with him.”

“You have. You’ve dealt with so much crap, had all this success; make the most of it. It may not last. And then you’ll kick yourself that you didn’t enjoy it more.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Abi. I’ve been a pain. As usual.”

“Well, that’s why we love you,” said Abi, grinning at her. “We’re used to it anyway. Oh, hi, Jazz. Everything OK?”

“Everything’s fine, yeah. Sid’s doing a good job. This is a great night, Abi. Congratulations are in order. Wondered if you’d like to come down and have a quick dance, Georgia.”

“I’d love to.”

“Right-o. Mind you, I’m a terrible dancer…”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“Darlin’, I am. Not like our Merl. I know me limitations. Don’t mean I don’t enjoy it, though. Come on, then.”

He was all right, Abi thought, smiling, watching them go off. Dead sexy, funny, cool, with none of Merlin’s intense self-regard. Much more suitable for Georgia, really. Now she was doing it, trying to get Georgia settled. She shouldn’t be settled; she was a wild card, a loose cannon; she needed to make her own way. And she would. She really would.

“Right,” said Linda. “I’ve got a tent.”

“You haven’t.”

“Yes, I have. Look, it cost me fifteen quid, just like Abi said. Where shall we put it up?”

“There’s no room for it anywhere. You’ll be able to hear everybody else breathing, wherever it goes. Linda, do let’s leave and go to the hotel.”

“I don’t want to. I’m having an adventure. We’re having an adventure.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. The music, if you can call it that, is ghastly; it’s getting cold; I’m tired…”

“OK. You go. That’s fine.”

“You can’t stay here on your own,” said Alex irritably.

“Yes, I can. I’ll be fine.”

“Linda, you are not staying here on your own.”

“Well, I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why do you have to be so bloody… dramatic?”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m just entering into the spirit of the thing. Which, considering your hospital is going to benefit so much, I’d have thought you should too. You’re such a killjoy, Alex. You really are.”

“Well, thanks for that.”

He’d been waiting for her, not far from where Mary had been, on the far side of the small valley. He sat down in the grass, glared gloomily down at the arena.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if this is worth it.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Well… we only see each other for two days a week, sometimes less, the occasional evening, and when we do we fight. Where’s the joy in that?”

“I… don’t know. What are you trying to say?”

“That this is hardly an ideal existence, simply being together at the weekends. Maybe we should try again to find somewhere we can live together. Or… even… call it a day.”

“Do you really want to do that? Call it a day?” There was a shake in her voice.

He looked at her, put out his hand, and took hers.

“No, of course not. I love you far too much. But… this isn’t working terribly well, is it?”

There was a long silence; then she said, “No. Not terribly. Um… Alex…”

“Yes?”

“I… well, actually, I have been thinking maybe I could… after all… move out a bit. Say to Windsor.”

“I hated Windsor. Maidenhead was OK.”

“I loathed Maidenhead.”

“Well, clearly we’ll be settled in no time. But… why, suddenly?”

“Well… I think I could possibly run my business at least two days a week from farther out. I mean, I can always go in for meetings. And keep the office on. What would you think about that?”

“Well… I’d think it would be amazing. Wonderful. But I don’t believe it. It’s a bit like Cherie Blair or Lady Thatcher suddenly announcing a woman’s place was in the home.”

“Don’t compare me to those awful women.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway I think you might have to. Believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was… well, I was sick this morning.”

“Poor darling. You’re obviously run-down.”

“And the morning before. And the one before that.”

“Oh, dear.” He was rummaging in the picnic basket. “I’m sure there was some wine left.”

“Alex! God, you medics are all the same. So unsympathetic. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Yes, of course I did. You said you’d been sick this morning.”

“Yes, and the two mornings before that.” So…?

“For Christ’s sake. So… I think I might be pregnant. Well, I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. Actually.”

“You what?”

“Alex, you’re not deaf yet. I said I was pregnant.”

“Oh, my God,” he said, staring at her, his face frozen with shock. “God. Linda. Oh, my Linda.” He sat staring at her, then put out his hand and stroked her cheek. Very gently. “How did that happen?”

“Usual way, I suppose.”

“Yes, but…”

“I had that stomach upset last month, remember? Not good with the pill.”

“Oh, my God.”

“So, are you pleased?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “I’m not pleased.”

“Oh. Well…”

“I’m ecstatic. Totally, gloriously ecstatic. It’s wonderful. Amazing. You?”

“I’m… moderately ecstatic. Bit thoughtful… I don’t know how I’ll do at it.”

“How you do at everything else, that’s how… Brilliantly. Oh, Linda, I’m so… so-” He stopped. He seemed near to tears. She smiled at him, leaned forward, kissed him.

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“I’m… well, I’m much, much more than pleased. How do you feel, though?”

“Fine. Except in the morning. As you’ll probably find out tomorrow. Oh, and tired. Bit tired.”

“We must get you back to the hotel straightaway.”

“Alex, I don’t want to go back to the hotel. I want to stay here, in this tent… with you.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Please,” she said, and even in the darkness he could see her eyes shining. “Please. For a little while, anyway. Go on, Alex. I dare you.”

“Well, Abi, what a success, eh?” It was Peter Grainger, smiling at her. “I take my hat off to you. It was quite something, but you’ve pulled it off. And so far… no problems.”

“No, not yet,” said Abi. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“Oh, I have total faith in you. You and your arrangements. I must admit I had my doubts, but I was wrong. Where’s young William?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for ages. Um… where’s… um, Pauline?”

She still had the utmost difficulty in referring to Mrs. Grainger by her Christian name.

“She’s in bed, I’m afraid. Eaten something very nasty. Keeps being sick. And… well, never mind. I’m sure she’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” said Abi. “I’m so sorry.” Thinking of her silent prayer of the morning and wondering if the God she so firmly didn’t believe in had actually sent Mrs. Grainger’s illness as a sign to her of His existence.

“Yes, but you know, I don’t think she’d have enjoyed this too much. And she’d have felt bound to come down and have a look. And then she’d have started worrying about everything.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so. But she must be bothered by the noise.”

“Oh… no. Funnily enough, you can hardly hear it in the house. Something to do with the sound going over the tops of the trees perhaps. I don’t know. Anyway, she’ll be fine tomorrow; don’t you worry. Now… this isn’t really my sort of music, but I wonder if we could have a dance.”

And William, arriving back at the arena, was met by the astonishing sight of his father and Abi dancing together in the near-darkness, his father doing an approximation of the Twist that his generation still clung to on the dance floor, his arms gyrating like crazed chicken wings, and Abi scarcely moving, swaying and curving with the music, the sparklers she was holding making patterns in the darkness. He really did love her, so very much.

Later, they climbed the hill behind the arena and sat down, listening to the music, the laughter, the shouting, the occasional child crying; and looking at the little barbecue fires all over the campsite, shining in the darkness, the fairy lights strung across the hill, and above them a full moon, rising most obligingly in the sky, trailing stars in its wake.

“That calf was all right, by the way,” he said. “I forgot to tell you. In all the excitement. And a heifer.”

“Oh, good. I think you should call her Festival.”

“Abi! You sound like a Bambi lover. You know we don’t give calves names.”

“I am a Bambi lover. And why not? Just this once. It is a very special day. One of the best.”

“Oh, all right.” There was a silence; then: “You’re right,” he said, and, “It is one of the best. And, you know, I was just thinking…”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said, “that terrible, terrible day then, the awful, awful things that happened. And now… well, look at it. Good times, in spite of it. Maybe because of it even. Very good. The best, you could almost say.”

“Yes,” he said, putting his arm round her, “yes, you could almost say that. Or you could actually say it. Come on, Mrs. Grainger. Let’s go down there and dance. And then we might go home and take those shorts off.”