Chapter 1 JULY

I'm here let the ride begin

It was the hottest summer for almost twenty years. The tinted windows of her sixth floor office made the sky a deep, cool blue. Alison gazed out, watching an invisible aeroplane's vapour trail cut a white gash through the pure, even colour. The air inside the building was thin and chill, almost alpine. It was difficult to believe that outside the pavements burned like coals. There was no let-up from the heat, even when dusk fell. The concrete city was a giant storage heater, absorbing the sun and radiating it out again. Alison tried to imagine the wall of hot, thick air that would hit her the moment the revolving door downstairs twirled her from fridge to oven, but she could not. It was safe up here, sealed in a cold, glass-sided box, protected from the noise of traffic, the smog of exhaust, the elemental ferocity of the sun. The office was like a calm haven, where she knew what she was doing, and the world outside suddenly seemed a terrifying realm of uncertainty. For a moment, she wished she could stay for ever just as she was, sitting at her desk, in the cool air, suspended in the sky, insulated from real life. Alison looked back at her screen. All she needed to do was give the article a title and then her work would be over for four whole months. She was going to come in the next day, but only to tidy up and leave some instructions for her replacement. 'All Things Nice', how does that sound, Ramona?'. She spoke across her desk to the fashion editor. 'Its an article about spices. . . . . all right, i know it's weak, come on, my brain's scrambled, help me out.' ' The wages of Cinnamon'? Ramona offered, demonstrating her origins as a sub: ' Cumin Feel The Nose'?. Alison laughed. 'Thats worse than my worst effort, "Amazing Mace".' ' " Fennel Old World"?' Fennel's not a spice, is it? Alison said with a worried look, because if it is, this comprehensive guide is going to be slightly less than comprehensive. . . . 'How about " Spices: Aniseed to Zafferano"?' 'Perfect.' As Alison struck the key that sent the copy to the subs with a determined flourish, her phone buzzed. 'There's a man waiting down here for you,' the receptionist announced wearily.

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Tanx sir

'OK, I'll see him on my way out,' Alison said and replaced the receiver with a long sigh. 'What's up?' asked Ramona. ' Someone in reception for me. It's probably this photographer who's been plaguing me to look at his portfolio. The last time he rang he said his work makes food look like sex - as if that was going to turn me on . . . . . .' 'Oh, not that food and sex thing again.' Ramona raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'Where's he been? Doesn't he know it's almost impossible to find a food page that doesn't look like sex these days?' 'I'm not sure i could face food photos that look like food at the moment,' Alison commented dryly. ' sneak out the back way,' Ramona suggested. 'No, i might as well get it over with. I dont want him turning up again tomorrow.' She look at her wristwatch. 'Anyway, i can only give five minutes. I've got the excuse of my class.' 'You don't actually need a real excuse you know,' Ramona said, 'you could always invent one.' 'Yes, but i'm never very convincing when i lie. I'll see you tomorrow.' 'Good luck at the class,' said Ramona, adding, ' they'll tell you that all you need to do is breathe, but a word of advice - Pethidine. Mmm, the thought of it almost makes me want to have another baby!' Alison blew Ramona a kiss across the desk and heaved her soft leather bag on to her shoulder. In the lift, she prepared a short getaway speech for the photographer, and, as the doors opened, composed her face into a business- like frown, which dissolved instantly as she saw who her visitor actually was. 'Stephen!' she laughed with relief. Her husband spun round and smiled at her. Even after five years of knowing him, his smile still had capacity to surprise her. It transformed his serious, almost severe, expression into one that promised spontaneity, intimacy, and lifted her with an exhilarating buzz of pride and desise. 'Anything interesting?' She asked wryly, walking towards him and nodding at the staff noticeboard he was reading. Stephen was simply incapable of doing nothing. He preferred to study a memo from the personnel department about her company's new policy on luncheon vouchers than to sit in one of the low armchairs, as anyone else would, making small talk with the receptionist. ' A cost- cutting exercise neatly disguised as a bonus,' he pronounced as they wandered towards the revolving door. ' Unheard of in your workplace, of course,' Alison teased. 'Oh, for us, it's closure of another emergency bed dressed up as an efficiency measure, rather than a reduction in the general sandwich level. . . . . ' There was always an edge to Stephen's humour. She admired his intelligence, and yet sometimes she wished he would just lighten up. 'What a nice surprise, you coming to meet me,' she said, trying to hold on to the feeling of delight she had experienced at seeing him a moment earlier.

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kingphilip: you r spot on just continue n don't look at the comments yet they'll come in torrents with time

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He smiled at her and took her hand. It was a public gesture of love that only someone who was genuinely unselfconscious could make, and it set off another surge of affection in her body. In their single days, she thought, slightly wistfully, he had often come to meet her from work, or even in the lunch-hour, grabbing her hand, whisking her into a cab, racing to one or other of their flats to make love. Since they had been married, they didn't do that any more. It wasn't marriage, Alison reminded herself quickly, it was the fact that they now lived in the suburbs. You couldn't just pop back to kew for a quick Bleep, and since she had been pregnant, the mere thought of sex made her feel sick anyway. 'Tube or taxi?' she asked him brightly as they stepped into the busy street. A wet film of sweat broke instantly all over her skin, and her clothes felt suddenly grimy. 'Oh, i think the tube, don't you, at this time? A taxi would take hours,' Stephen replied. 'Yes, but at least we could talk. It's impossible to talk on the tube when it's crowded, and i just can't stand up all the way,' she said, regretting offering him the choice. ' Surely people give up their seat for you,' Stephen said, looking at her belly. ' Well, sometimes, but that's not the point,' she said, impatiently. She didn't want to have a logical discussion about it, she wanted him to stretch his arm in the air and hail down a black cab. ' Ok, we'll get a cab, of course it's the sensible thing to do,' stephen agreed, acknowledging her rising distress. I don't give a damn about the sense of it, she suddenly wanted to scream at him, I'm eight months' pregnant. I want to sit down. The taxi was an old one, with no air conditioning. The interior smelt of years of cigarette smoke. Alison pulled down a window. The traffic was moving slowly, as if the hot air were glue. She could feel the underwire of her bra cutting into her ribcgae and the backs of her legs sticking to the seat. 'So, what's going to happen at this class of yours?' Stephen asked her, wafting his copy of the Evening Standard backwards and forwards like a fan beside her face. She smiled, grateful for the movement of air. That evening they were attending the first of a series of ante-natal classes she had read about on a notice in the doctor's surgery. ' I don't really know,' she said, they'll probably explain about the stages of labour, or something.' ' But we know all about that,' he said, since they had both read just about that,' he said, since they had both read just abov every book on conception, pregnancy and birth available. 'Yes, but we're not going to lear, we're going in order to meet people,' she told him, adding, gently amused, it's what you do when you have a child. ' Oh, is it?' Stephen sounded vaguely reassured by this information. She smiled to herself. Stephen liked rules, even when it came to something as unpredictable as the process of making friends. They knew virtually no-one with children and they were each so busy at work, there hadn't been any opportunity to meet people who lived in the area. Sometimes she wondered why they had ever bothered to move there. It had been much more convenient living right near to her newspaper's offices and stephen's hospital, but it had all been part of plan: Stage one: find a property in a leafy suburb with a garden for future children to play in. They had finally settled on an Edwardian house in one of the avenues that led away from the royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. It needed redecorating throughout, and Alison had enjoyed that bit, even featuring her new kitchen on the interiors pages of the lifestyle section she edited in the newspaper.

Stage two: conceive. That hadn't gone according to schedule at all, and even after she had finally become pregnant, she had somehow always associated the house with failure. Recently, there had been odd occasions when she had found herself filled with nostalgia for her little garden flat in Islington, now rented out to another single career woman in her early thirties, for the cheap pine furniture she had once saved so hard to buy, the shabby kitchen where she had hosted dozens of informal dinner parties, serving her friends pasta and salad from every shape and size of plate. The taxi crawled along in the rush-hour traffic. Alison glanced at her watch. She had been hoping to have a cool bath and change out of the black linen suit into a clean, loose dress before the class, but at this rate they were going to be late. Stephen had been right. It would have been better to tale the tube. A lot of men knew would have pointed this out, but stephen wasn't like that. He didn't harbour unspoken rerentment. It was one of the things she most liked about him. ' I booked a table at the River Café for afterwards,' he remarked casually, as they approached the Hammer-smith roundabout. ' Really?' she said, delighted by the reminder that, amid his generally methodical approach to life, Stephen was capable of conjuring up treats when she least expected them. ' Yes, i thought it would be pleasant to have dinner together by the river before i go . . . .' ' Oh!' she said, her mood sinking. There had been so much to do at work, she had momentarily forgotten he was flying to a medical convention in America the next day. The dates coincided almost exactly with the first week of her maternity leave. When the invitation had arrived a couple of months before and they had discussed whether he should go, she had imagined it would be fun to have a little time on her own before the birth. It would give her the opportunity to catch up with some of the friends she never seemed to see these days, have long unhurried lunches, or indulge herself in afternoons at the sanctuary. She had told Stephen not to give it a second thought. Then, she covld not have anticipated the hot weather, or how huge and uncomfortable she would become. Now that he was about to leave, his departure felt like a betrayal. ' What's up?' stephen asked. ' I just wish you'd told me, that's all,' she said, trying to think of a reasonable explanation for her sudden feeling of utter despondence. 'Well, we did discuss it----' ' No, i meant the River Cafe, that's all,' she interrupted. 'I'll never have time to change and i can't go looking like this.' The sleeves of her black linen jacket were crumpled and she felt damp all over. ' You look lovely. Hot, but lovely. . . . .' he said, reaching over to smooth her hair back from her face. The gesture irritated her further. She pushed his hand away as if she could not bear the additional heat of his touch. 'Perhaps we should just skip the class. I don't know if i can face it,' she said, looking out of the window. There were four lines of traffic on Hammersmith Broadway, all stationary, all pouring their fumes into the streaming air. ' Of course not. You'll enjoy it,' stephen coaxed, ' we both will, you're right, we need to meet other incipient parents.' Suddenly the last thing in the world Alison wanted to do was walk into a room full of people she did not know.

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' No, i won't enjoy it,' she insisted, ' i feel too anxious.' 'What are you anxious about?' he asked patiently. ' Everything. I dont know . . .' she shrugged. Stephen could be so infuriatingly pedantic. He behaved as if there was an answer to everything when for the last few months she had been feeling she did not even know what the question was. ' Darling, you're being a bit irrational. . . .' stephen attempted to soothe her. ' Yes, i know that, stephen,' she retaliated icily, deliberately looking away from him. ' Emotions are irrational,' she repeated his word with heavy emphasis, adding under her breath, 'not that you'd understand. . .' As soon as she said it, she wished she had not. She turned to look at his face and saw that the comment had wounded him. ' I'm sorry,' she retracted it immediately, ' that was so unfair . . . It's just so hot, i'm stifled . . . .' 'It's OK,' he forgave her instantly, ' i knew i shouldn't have said i'd go to the convention , but i'm in the programme now and --- ' No really, it's fine. I'll be fine,' she found herself saying, trying to engage him in a smile, but he was looking straight ahead, perplexed, as if he could see something very interesting on the cab's meter. Alison stared at the distant traffic lights changing from red, to red and orange, to green. Still the traffic refuse to move. Blinking back tears of frustration, she wondered why it was that her relationship with stephen, which had run perfectly smoothly for five years, had, just occasionally in the past few weeks, begun to snag, as if they were slightly out of sync with each other. It was a bit like the zip on ier soft leather shoulder bag, she thought, as her right hand played absently with the charm that dangled from the zipper. The two halves always used to slide together so beautifully, but recently one side had started to catch on the lining, making Alison tug at it with a disproportionate impatience that threatened to destroy the fastening altogether. * * * * * Lia was lying naked on the bed. The electric fan hummed as it turned lazily on its pedestal, rustling the drawn curtains, then blowing gently on her skin, blowing on her skin, then rustling the curtains. It was only when she registered Neil's footsteps on the wooden staircase that she opened her eyes and realized that she had been lulled into an afternoon doze. ' Hello, gorgeous.' Neil was beside the bed, leaning over and brushing her mouth with a soft, dry kiss. He knelt on the bed and put his lips to her belly, ' Dad here,' he whispered against the stretched, smooth skin, ' have you been a good baby today?' He planted a kiss on the dome of Lia's tummy, then turned his face towards hers, his cheek still resting there, smiling bashfully, half embarrassed by his own silliness. Lia liked it when he talked to the baby. His northern accent was so gentle, and the uncharacteristic soppiness made him seem somehow vulnerable. She stroked damp hair back from his forehead. His face felt like fine sandpaper against her bump; she could smell the saltiness of his sweat. She loved the sheer physically of the contact of his skin against hers, the weight of his head resting next to their baby. They lay staring at each other, joined in a silent cocoon of peaceful contentment. ' What's the time?' she asked asked him eventually. ' sixish, i should think,' he replied, shifting up the bed so that he was lying next to her, clasping his hands behind his head, ' i'm sorry i'm a bit late, but the first team made heavy weather of it at the start.' Neil was Head of the Sports Department at a local comprehensive. She remembered him telling her that morning that there was a cricket match against the local independent school. ' Did you win?' she asked, turning on her side to see him looking at the ceiling, grinning all over his face. He loved cricket. Playing it was best, but watching the kids win was pretty good too. ' Thrashed them!' he said. ' Four wickets to spare in the end.' he looked at her beaming. She smiled at him, knowing little of the rules, but sensing that it had been a good victory. ' And their parents are paying three thousand pounds a term for the privilege . . .' Neil added with further satisfaction. He was a good teacher, a committed teacher, and the inequalities encouraged by private education pained him. He wanted the children he taught to do well, and it gave him additional pleasure when they triumphed over public schoolboys. ' That's the great thing about sport,' he told Lia, as he often did, ' it doesnt matter who you are, or where you come from . . . . .'

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Lia nodded, not really caring one way or the other about sport, but thinking what a good father he was going to be. She remembered watching him kicking a football around with the village kids the day after they met. She had been sitting on the porch of the beach cafe drinking ice cold beer feeling dazed, wondering how, after the night they had spent together, he could find the energy to throw himself into the football match with the unguarded enthusiasm of a boy. She noticed the way that he passed the ball around, ensuring that each of the children, however small, got a fair crack at it. He managed to do this without patronizing them, without them even noticing he was controlling the game. She watched, transfixed by the easy, balanced movement of his body as he ran around barefoot in the sand, tackling the village's best player, finally unable to resist having a shot at goal himself. The ball scored between the two beach umbrellas that stood as goalposts, and Neil leapt in the air, fists punching high in triumph, then turned to Lia, smiling his endearingly half-embarrassed, self-mocking smile. And as he began to walk up the beach towards her, brushing sand from his knees with the flat of his hands, she found herself in the grip of one of those defining moments in life where she suddenly knew, with a kind of fated certainty, that she wanted to have his children. The peculiarity of the thought had almost frightened her, because she had never been aware of any maternal instinct before, but as he dipped his head under the yellow schweppes umbrella to kiss her, she thought, yes, yes, i could handle that. Lia shifted on to her side and snuggled her head next to his. He turned his face and kissed her slowly. Her mouth and then her whole body opened to his touch and she felt familiar wave of arousal, like warm syrup suffusing every cell of her body. Their love-making had not diminished until recently when the doctor had advised against penetrative sex, but they had discovered almost as profound satisfaction in the exquisite tenderness of restraint. She held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes, eyes that were turquoise, so pale she sometimes felt she could see beyond, into his soul. Then suddenly a stray thought brought her back to the realm of the mundane, as she remembered why she had wanted Neil to come home early. ' The ante-natal class . . . . We're going to be late for the class,' she said. ' Oh, do we have to go?' Neil sighed, drawing her closer.' Its really hot out there.' 'Have a shower,come on,' Lia scolded him, laughing, pushing against his body, trying to roll him off the bed. ' You first,' he whined. ' No, i've had mine. I was just lying here wondering what to wear when i dozed off.' 'Wear that dress,' he said, finally heaving himself to his feet, realizing that Lia was determined. ' That green dress. You look really beautiful in that.' She blushed at the unexpected compliment. ' But is it practical? What if they make us do exercises or something?' ' Excercises? You told me we were just going to meet people,' he said, looking warily as he began to strip for his shower. ' Oh all right, i'll wear the dress,' she said quickly, not wanting to put him off the idea of the class altogether.

The tarmac path was melting in the sun. The stickiness of it pulled Alison's shoes away from her feet with each step. Even the porch, with its dark ivy and cool floor of orange and black tiles, offered no shade. The sun seeped relentlessly into every corner. A petite woman opened the door and ushered then, with bossy jolliness, into the large living room, then strutted off to the kitchen to fetch refreshments. Late 1980s provincial hotel, Alison thought, making a quick critical assessment of the chintz-covered furnishings and swagged and tailed curtains. It was the kind of décor she absolutely loathed, and its fussiness seemed to make the heat almost worse indoors than out. Stephen immediately detached himself from her side, as if drawn by a magnet to the faux-Victorian bookcase, and stood inclining his head to read the titles, pulling out volumes at random. The two other women who were in the room were asking each other tentative questions about when their babies were due; the men exchanged different words for the heat - barbecue, furnace, inferno. Alison stood stranded in the middle of the pink carpet, wishing she was the type of person other people found approachable. She was aware that her business-like appearance and make-up were somehow putting the others off including her, but she didnt know how to ease herself in to the conversation. It was so hot. She wished she could just flee, but it was too late now that they were there. Anger with stephen began to well up inside her. How could he abandon her as soon as they arrived? The hostess returned with a large frosted jug from which she poured water into highball glasses, plopping an ice-cube into each. She handed one to Alison. 'Thank you,' Alison said with relief, scooping out the ice- cube with her fingers and running it along the back of her neck. 'What a good idea,' said one of the other women, following suit and smiling sympathetically at her. Alison smiled back, feeling slightly better. Well, thats broken the ice,' said their hostess, and they all laughed again, politely. ' Now, women on the floor,' she instructed, explaining that it was best for their babies' position if they did not slouch. To Alison's amazement everyone, including herself, obeyed, lowering themselves onto the dry wool pile, pretending that they were comfortable. The men slipped into chairs behind their partners. ' We've one or two missing, but let's begin anyway,' said the hostess. 'I'm Judith. I've been through what you're going through twice! My children are now five and three. I've been leading ante-natal classes for the last two years. Now, which one of you's going to go first- just tell us your name, and anything you think's important about you?' Her eyes flicked round the faces and came to rest on Alison. 'Alison,' she said. ' I'm editor of the Lifestyle section of a Sunday newspaper . . . .er, wat else?' she looked at Judith, suddenly at a loss. ' When's the baby due?' Judith asked. ' Oh right . . . .in five weeks' time.' Alison realized instantly she had given the wrong reply. As a mother, you defined yourself in terms of your baby, not your job. ' And your husband is . . .' Judith led her on. ' Stephen,' Alison replied, stretching her slim manicured fingers back over her shoulder to catch his hand, but grasping air. She twisted round and saw that stephen was staring into space paying no attention to the hand she had offered him, or to anything else in the room. ' Stephen's a professor,' she attempted to explain, flicking her stranded fingers through the ends of her bob. The ghost of a murmur of laughter wafted round the room. She had meant the words to be light and faintly humorous, but it had somehow sounded like showing off. ' So, its stephen, is it? Judith asked, pointedly directing her voice at him. ' Yes it is.' Stephen suddenly turned on a smile of such unexpected brilliance, Alison forgave him for his earlier distractedness. ' So who's next? Tap tap tap. Everyone turned to look at the window where a very pretty, cheeky face was waving at them.

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Judith got up and went to answer the door. ' Shit, i'm so sorry i'm late!' the new arrival seemed to tumble into the room. If she hadn't been pregnant she would have looked like a child herself. She slipped a small black patent rucksack off her shoulders and sank gratefully into the last available armchair. 'Mums on floor,' judith waggled a finger at her, 'for baby's position.' ' Sod that,' said the girl, ' I've given up alcohol and brie, but i'm buggered if this little sod is going to get me sitting on the floor.' ' Could make labour more painful,' judith warned. ' Not with all the drugs i plan to take.' Laughing, the girl looked round the room. Alison smiled at her, instantly warming to her irreverence. ' And you are?' judith asked. ' Ginger, short for Virginia, ironically,' said the girl, pushing a hand through her short peroxide crop. ' Baby due?' ' Yes. . . . . Oh, in August.' ' And your partner's coming separately?' ' Dont they always?' Ginger said, her bright blue eyes flicking from lap to lap registering with dismay that the others were wearing wedding rings. ' Oh, you meant . . . . No, i'm doing this on my own, actually. My twin says she'll breathe with me during labour. Perhaps i ought to have brought her along? She added, belatedly making a concession to conformity. It was clear that Judith had no training in dealing with single mothers with attitude. If a stare could have moved the newcomer's bottom from her seat, she would have hit the floor at high speed, but Ginger stared back defiantly, and stayed put. ' Yes, well,' judith said, ' we were just introducing ourselves.' She looked at the remaining two couples who gave their names meekly and said that their babies were due in September and October. Judith nodded, grateful for no frills approach, then she started handing out pencils and scraps of paper. ' Now, i've got a little exercise, just to warm things up, not that we really need it any warmer!' she paused to underline the weak humour. ' Divide into mum's and dads and then write down what you like about being pregnant, and what you don't like about it. And for the dads,' she smiled at the men, ' write down what you like about your wife being pregnant, and what you dont like. I'll just go and get another jug of water.' As soon as she left the room, Ginger said, in her loud voice, ' Well, one of the things i absolutely hate about this business is the way people treat you as if you're a child. I mean games, for God's sake and those ghastly dungarees that look just like a huge version of what toddler's wear . . . .er-' She stopped as she noticed for the first time that the other two women were wearing maternity dungarees. ' Well, you obviously dont need to pee as much as i do,' she added quickly. ' All the clothes are horrible, aren't they?' Alison contributed, eager to rescue someone she had immediately sensed was a kindred spirit. The two women in dungarees eyed her black suit disbelievingly. This is the one smart thing i could find after trailing up and down Bond street for a day, Alison wanted to explain, and it's costing me a fortune in dry-cleaning bills. But she said nothing. ' Well, shall we start writing things down?' one of them suggested. ' Ugh,' Ginger flopped back into her armchair. ' Do we really have to? I mean, what's to like? I pee when i laugh for Christ's sake!' ' Quite,' Alison agreed.

But the woman persisted, pencil in hand. ' I'll write all our answers down,' she said, like a games captain at school, then, as if she were choosing her team, she pointed at her comrade in dungarees: ' You first.' 'I hate my ankles swelling, but i love wandering round Mothercare, looking at all the little vests and things.' ' They're so tiny, aren't they?' Ginger and Alison exchanged glances. Far from easing things, Alison mused, the exercise had instantly divided the women into two pairs, them and us. The games captain solemnly noted 'vests', then, with barely hostility, she stared at Ginger. In the hall, the doorbell rang again, and they could hear Judith tapping down the corridor to answer it. ' Oh, all right then, if i must,' Ginger said loudly, ' well, i hate having - what's the polite word? Haemorrhoids . . . .and actually,' she went on, ' the only thing i like is the fact that i'm going to have a baby. Well, sometimes i like it, the rest of the time it scares the shit out of me, or it would do if it weren't for the haemorr-!' Alison felt nervous giggle she was trying to suppress turn to acid bile in her throat. The heat and the almos palpable confrontation in the air were making her feel nauseous. A stunningly attractive woman walked into the room. She was wearing a green sundress which seemed to float on the transient breeze created by the opening shutting of doors. Her face was fresh and lightly tanned, her long wavy hair held back by a pair of Lolita sunglasses with white plastic frames. She was like a Pre- Raphaelite vision of Summer, with her meadowy dress and the mist of light fragrance that seemed to waft in with her. ' Hello,' she said, ' I'm Lia.' ' You?' The games captain was pointing at Alison with her pencil. Alison tried to remember what she was being asked. Something about what she liked and what she didnt like. She was going to have a baby. Suddenly she felt very, very sick. What she liked. Baby. Baby. The words whirred round in her head. Baby. She mus t say what she liked about it. The room swam out of her reach and back. Baby. She could hear a man's voice, a soft North Country accent, talking pleasantly to Judith in the hall. It was like an echo in her head. She looked towards the door, just able to make out his profile. Then he turned and walked into the room, smiling. Baby. Baby. What she liked and what she didn't. Baby. She struggled to maintain her composure, but it was too late, she was going to faint. The last thing she saw before nausea and dizziness overwhelmed her, was the man's smile vanishing as the room misted over, then disappeared.

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A couple of hours later, Neil, Lia and Ginger sat down at a marble topped pavement table in the centre of Richmond. ' Extra cheese for me, and pepperoni, and olives, oh God, i'm hungry, i want extra everything on mine!' Ginger put down the cardboard menu and grinned at the waiter. Neil was uncomfortable. He didnt know why he should feel that it was slightly improper for a woman at such an advanced stage of pregnancy to be flirting so overtly, but somehow he just didnt like it. He tried to catch Lia's eye, but she was entranced by her new friend, laughing at every exaggerated utterance. At least he had done the right thing asking the blonde to join them for supper. They had found themselves walking in the same direction after class, with Ginger pushing her bike along beside them. He had issued the invitation on the spur of the moment. ' Lovely bum!' Ginger said, watching the waiter post their order at the serving hatch. Lia laughed. It was a female laugh, half conspiratorial, half knowing. She was very good at passing the time of day with people, moulding herself to the shape of another character straightway, becoming what they wanted her to be. Sometimes it unsettled him an made him wonder whether that was way she was with everyone, whether she was just as fluid when she was alone with other men, even whether she was like that with him. But he thought of the intensity in her eyes when they made love, the pure, the honest expression of love that seemed to sweep his being like radar, demanding nothing less in return. That, surely, was just for him.