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      ‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Tess said. ‘She’s in my class.’

      ‘Your class?’ said Adam.

      ‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Tess. ‘She’s pretty good actually. She’s coming to Rome. I’m part of her self-improvement programme. Just like you were,’ she added wickedly. Adam frowned as the bell sounded another lucky customer entering Mr Dill’s Cheese Emporium. ‘What do we need?’

      ‘Well.’ Tess tucked the basket—Adam was right, it was unwieldy—under her arm and counted off on her fingers. ‘Stuff for tonight. Stuff for our trip to the beach tomorrow. Hi, Andrea!’ She waved at Andrea Marsh, who was crossing the road.

      ‘Your window boxes are looking lovely,’ Andrea told her, but unwillingly, as if it cost her to do so. ‘Just going to see Miss Store, and I noticed them. Are they pansies?’

      ‘Yes! So glad you like them—agh!’ Tess swallowed, as a car drove past and Adam bodily dragged her up onto the pavement.

      ‘For God’s sake, be careful, T,’ he said, crossly.

      ‘See you at the meeting later!’ called Andrea, walking on.

      ‘Yes, absolutely,’ Tess called after her. ‘You going to that tonight?’

      ‘What?’ Adam said, looking back across the road. He was squinting at something. ‘Oh, the meeting? No, don’t think so.’

      ‘But everyone’s going,’ said Tess.

      Adam nodded solemnly. ‘Who’s everyone?’

      ‘Well, you know.’ Tess waved her hands. ‘The people at the college—apart from Leonora Mortmain, of course—um, Ron, Suggs, Francesca—’

      ‘No, she’s not,’ said Adam. ‘We’re staying in and watching a film.’

      ‘But Adam—’ Tess remembered how curious he’d been about the campaign, the night of the first campaign meeting. ‘Suggs is organizing it. It’s going to be—’

      ‘Look how local you are these days,’ he said, mocking her. ‘Remember your first day back here, when you scorned the high street? Look at you now. Practically in bed with all the important people in town.’

      Tess ignored him. ‘Adam, we should all go—’

      Adam held up his hand. ‘I’m not going. Sorry. Let’s get some cheese. And then let’s argue about it some more.’

      ‘I’m not arguing,’ Tess said, even more patiently than he. ‘I am merely pointing out that—’

      She swung the wicker basket behind her, as a soft male voice said, ‘Ouch.’

      Tess froze, and looked up at Adam, who was gazing over her shoulder as if he’d seen a ghost.

      ‘Hi—God. It’s you. Forgot your name, sorry,’ said the voice.

      ‘It’s Adam,’ he said, and stepped a little closer towards Tess.

      ‘Of course. Tess’s old friend. Well, hi. I’m Will. Hi, Tess.’

      She turned round mechanically, like a doll spinning on a music box.

      ‘Hi, Will,’ she said.

      The last time Tess had seen Will was in January, at their friend Henry’s birthday drinks, at a pub on the New Kings Road. Tess had gone for one drink only and had waved, in a friendly, brisk way at Will on her way out, weaving through the crowded pub, heady with the scent of expensive perfume, cigarette smoke wafting in from outside, and lilies in huge vases on the bar, the smell of decay lingering behind their sweetness.

      Will was holding hands with someone behind him; through the thick press of bodies around her she couldn’t see her face, but she knew it must be Ticky. Tess had smiled again at him, rolled her eyes as if she were fantastically busy and pushed past him mouthing ‘Bye’ as she fell out of the pub onto the pavement. There she had stood miserably in the sudden cold, her shoulders stooped, feeling like a total outsider. She hadn’t fitted in there, never would.

      Now, she looked up at Will as he stood, tall and godlike on the high street. She remembered with a rush of recognition, like hearing a song that reminds you of a summer holiday, a curious feeling of alienation, of being different, an oddity, that came with being with Will.

      ‘Hello,’ Tess said, determined to be friendly and mature. She had practised just such a scenario with Meena in their flat—Meena!

      It all came flooding back to her, now. The email! The bureau—oh, shit, that was why he was here.

      ‘Will, how are you?’ she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, as Adam stood behind her. Gently he prised the wicker basket out of her hand, and put it on the ground. ‘And you must be Ticky,’ she added.

      From behind Will stepped a tall, thin, fair girl, with the longest legs Tess had ever seen, enormous green eyes which bulged out from her tiny face. She was wearing what looked like a turquoise romper suit.

      ‘Hi!’ she said, slightly flatly, raising one hand. ‘I’m Ticky. It’s soooo great to meet you.’

      Will, who was still gazing at Tess, nodded. ‘Hey, yous,’ he said—Tess had forgotten how soft his voice was. ‘You OK, hon?’

      ‘Super!’ Tess said, practically shouting.

      ‘Did you get my email, and the message? I’m sorry to just turn up here without warning, you know. But I did really want to give you back the bureau.’

      He pronounced it ‘rally’ and ‘beeyurrrohw’.

      Tess glanced from Ticky to herself as if mentally comparing their appearances. Hers (shortish, averageish, horrible black clompy shoes, top and cardigan—an old sage cardigan with big roomy pockets, oh, the inhumanity—and oh, dear God, was she really wearing an A-line skirt?) with Ticky’s (on-trend playsuit, honey-coloured limbs, soft blonde hair, cherry-red Havaianas). She gave a tiny groan, and Adam glanced at her.

      ‘Oh, the bureau!’ she said loudly. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t get in touch with you. Of course!’ She leaned in what she hoped was a nonchalant way against the nearest thing, which happened to be the wall of the cottage next to Mr Dill’s, the cheese shop. Unfortunately it was a little further away than she’d calculated, and she fell against the old stone with a thump, jarring her shoulder bone as she did so.

      Will shook his head. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, smiling kindly, and put his fingers together. Watching him, Tess realized that he looked a bit like David Cameron; how had she not noticed this before?

      ‘So,’ said Adam, from behind her. ‘What are you doing here? What—er, what a nice surprise,’ he added quickly.

      ‘Ah—we’re on our way to Lucinda’s wedding,’ he said, as if Adam would naturally know who Lucinda was. ‘It’s in Dorset, at her dad’s place, really beautiful. We’re staying at the Tailor’s Arms with loads of friends.’ Ticky lolled against Will as he said this. ‘So—we thought we’d stop off here for a pint, and give you the bureau. Pit stop!’ he finished. He looked round, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘Lovely town, I must say. You live near here?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Tess, mechanically. ‘Just round the corner.’

      ‘Ah.’ He rocked on his feet. ‘And—great. So, everything OK with you then, hon?’

      If you call me hon again I will bite off your head and store it in the bureau after you’ve gone. ‘Yes, great, thanks.’

      ‘Really?’ Will said, as if he knew this was rubbish but was keeping up the pretence.

      ‘Will was worried about you, when you didn’t reply,’ Ticky ventured suddenly, her voice rusty with misuse; she herself looked surprised that she’d spoken. Tess’s hands curled into fists; she tried to breathe. ‘He

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