LITMIR.BIZ

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to the foot of the stairs and shouted again. ‘Ben? Did you hear me? Daddy’s here.’

      Ben appeared, shuttered from all emotion. Almost. His eyes were over-bright and his body was stiff. ‘I don’t want to go.’

      She hated this. ‘I know, darling,’ she said softly.

      ‘I want to go to the football tournament.’ Ben walked slowly down the stairs. ‘Everyone’s going to be there. Joshua’s mum is going to take a picnic.’

      ‘I know, but Daddy has been looking forward to seeing you. He loves his weekends with you.’

      The front doorbell rang. Jemima glanced at her wrist-watch. Exactly ten o’clock. Not a minute before, not a minute after. Russell was so…damn reasonable.

      She looked at Ben as he picked up his bag. ‘It’ll be fun when you’re there.’ What a stupid thing to say. That wasn’t the point. Ben was eight years old and he wanted to play football with his friends. Of course he did…

      ‘You’ll be okay.’

      He nodded.

      ‘And you’ll have a really great time.’

      Ben put his backpack on his shoulders. ‘What are you going to do, Mum?’

      ‘Me?’ What was she going to do without them? Cry a little…Miss them a lot…The same as every other weekend they spent with their father. ‘I’m going to spend the day trying to decorate the bathroom, maybe get some tiles up, and then I’m going to go and have supper with Rachel and Alistair. I’ll be fine.’ She forced a bright smile and wondered how convincing she was. ‘It’s not long. Just one night and you’ll be home again.’

      The doorbell rang again.

      ‘Will you go and hurry Sam up for me?’

      She watched him climb the stairs and counted to ten before she opened the front door. It didn’t matter how prepared she thought she was, seeing Russell always felt strange. In the space of a millisecond she remembered the first time he’d kissed her, the proposal in a felucca in Vienna, the way he’d cried when Ben was born…

      Russell looked good. Clearly he’d decided to keep up his gym membership and she liked the way he’d let his hair grow a little longer. Jemima wrapped her arms protectively around her waist. ‘Ben’s just gone to find Sam. They’re all ready.’

      Russell nodded. ‘There’s no hurry.’ Silence and then, ‘How are things?’

      ‘Fine.’

      Another pause. ‘That’s excellent.’ He rattled his car keys and looked uncomfortable.

      He always did that too, Jemima thought. What exactly did he think she was going to do? Cry? Scream at him? He flattered himself. She was a long way past that. ‘You?’

      ‘Yes, well, we’re fine.’ He stood a little straighter. ‘Stef’s just got a promotion…’

      ‘That’s…great.’

      ‘She’s heading up a team of three.’

      Jemima nodded. She was proud of herself for being so grown-up and dignified. But why exactly did Russell think she’d be interested in the career progression of the woman he’d left them for? No, she corrected swiftly. The woman he’d left her for.

      ‘Daddy!’ Sam hurled himself along the hallway. ‘It’s Daddy!’

      The change in Russell was instantaneous. The smile on his face gripped her heart and screwed it tight. He reached down and caught the tornado. ‘Hiya, imp.’

      ‘I’ve lost another tooth.’ Sam pulled a wide grin, showing a huge expanse of pure gum.

      ‘Did the tooth fairy come?’

      Ben pushed past. ‘There’s no such thing. It’s Mum. No one believes in the tooth fairy any more.’

      Above his head Russell met her eyes. Jemima gave a half smile, then a shrug. ‘Have a good time.’ She reached out and touched Ben’s head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      Then she had to watch the three of them walk to the car.

      She really hated this.

      Still.

      How many weekends had it been now? Was there ever going to be a time when it didn’t feel as if part of her was being ripped out of her body when she saw her sons walk away? She felt exactly like a piece of string which had been pulled so tight it had started to fray.

      Miles locked his Bristol 407 and sauntered over to the three-storey Victorian house where Alistair and Rachel had bought their first flat together. It was nice. High ceilings, plenty of original features, good area…and that oh, so rare commodity—outside space in the form of a tiny courtyard garden.

      Normally he really enjoyed his visits to their home. Every so often it was pleasant to spend an evening where there were no demands placed on him, no expectations. They were a calm oasis in a life that was becoming increasingly pressured.

      But…

      He pulled a face. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely looking forward to the next few hours. An evening spent discussing weddings wasn’t exactly high on his list of favourite things to do with a Saturday night. But hey…

      He reached up and rang the bell. If his old school friend had finally decided to take the plunge, the least he could do was be there to see it. The poor beggar probably only had a year or so before their country place in Kent was filled with bright plastic toys and the first of several mini-Mackenzies. Grim.

      The door opened suddenly and Rachel met him with a bright smile. ‘I thought you’d be Jemima,’ she said, glancing up the tree-lined street. ‘I wonder where she’s got to. I bet her car is playing up. She was coming early to look at my shoes.’

      ‘Would you like me to look at your shoes?’ he asked lazily.

      Rachel turned back to him. ‘You behave or I’ll make you wear a pink floral waistcoat! Go on in.’

      ‘For you—anything,’ he glinted, leaning forward to place a light kiss on her cheek.

      ‘You’ll find Alistair in the kitchen doing something clever with the duck.’

      She shut the door behind him and Miles shrugged out of his tan leather jacket and threw it over the oak church chair they kept in the hall. ‘So, tell me, will I fancy the bridesmaid?’

      ‘Quite possibly—’ she grinned up at him ‘—but I doubt it’ll be reciprocated. She’s a woman of taste and discernment. Actually, I don’t think I have any friends who would deign to join your harem.’

      Miles smiled and wandered through to where Alistair was stirring something in a small saucepan. He looked up as his friend walked in. ‘Talking about Jemima?’

      ‘He wants to know whether he’ll fancy her,’ Rachel said, leaning over to see how the sauce looked. ‘Should it be that lumpy?’ Then, as the doorbell rang, ‘That’ll be her. Excellent.’

      Alistair watched her leave with an expression of amusement and turned back to his sauce. ‘Lumpy! Just about escaped with her life. Miles, grab yourself a drink.’

      Miles sauntered over and poured himself out a large glass of red wine from the bottle on the side. ‘You?’

      ‘Got one,’ Alistair said, with a nod at the glass by his side. ‘How’s work? I saw Lori Downey’s double page spread and thought you might be having it tough.’

      Miles grunted and took a mouthful of the full-bodied wine. ‘This is nice.’

      ‘Rachel and I got it in Calais last month. Our car was so laden it’s a wonder we weren’t stopped.’ In the hallway they could hear the mumble of female voices. ‘Sounds like Jemima’s here at last.’

      Miles perched on a high bar stool,

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