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Vicky whispered to me.
    ‘I’m sure Lottie will love your present,’ she said, bending down to comfort Crystal. ‘She’s just over-excited.’
    ‘I still want to go home,’ said Crystal mournfully.
    After the inauspicious start, though, things eventually improved. Crystal watched the other children roll bowling balls down metal ramps into the lane, and after a few minutes she allowed me to lead her over to them and show her how to do it. We scored a strike immediately, which cheered her up no end, so I left her there, happily joining the back of the queue for her next triumph.
    ‘That’s my girl,’ called Vicky, giving her the thumbs-up.
    ‘Bowling’s good fun, really, isn’t it?’ I commented. ‘Pity about the racket though.’
    ‘And the… pond-life ,’ added Vicky snobbishly.
    We were sitting on a wobbly bench at the side of the lane, watching the children all become noticeably more hyperactive as they slurped lemonade from huge paper cups brought over and distributed by Lottie’s mother. I couldn’t bear to see Crystal drink that crap, but I knew I shouldn’t say anything to Vicky. I couldn’t, however, manage to prevent myself from muttering, ‘I wish they at least had a choice about what to drink.’
    Vicky glared at me. It was an old bone of contention, and I didn’t really blame her. I knew I got on my high horse about Crystal’s diet, and I did appreciate how difficult it was to get a small child to eat broccoli and not Jaffa cakes, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself.
    ‘Anna, it’s supposed to be a treat. It’s a party - it’s practically inevitable that Crystal will get hopped up on additives. Anyway, I bet if there was a choice, it would only be between Coke, Diet Coke or 7-Up. They don’t do organic elderflower cordial in these sorts of places.’
    Well, they should, I thought, just about managing to button my lip. I wished it had occurred to me to bring a bottle of mineral water.
    Vicky changed the subject. ‘So how’s things? All set for your audition? I’m so envious.’
    ‘Mm,’ I said, although I wasn’t thinking about the audition. I was thinking about the letter from Adam Ferris, tucked in the inside pocket of my handbag. I looked at Vicky, at her familiar, tired but pretty face. Part of me really wanted to tell her—I had a thrilled fearful excitement in my stomach, like the butterflies on Holly’s frieze—but another, bigger, part made me keep quiet. Maybe I’d tell her later, once I’d decided what to do. Some things were too big to tell; at least until you’d got them sorted out in your own head first. That was how I felt about Max.
    ‘Don’t be jealous. I’m sure I won’t get it.’ Now it was my turn to change the subject. ‘How’s my little Pat?’ I took a long slug of Crystal’s lemonade, thinking that the more of it I drank, the less it would be able to poison Crystal.
    Vicky sighed. ‘He’s hideously clingy at the moment. I can’t put him down. When I left him next door before you came round, he screamed so loudly I thought the windows were going to blow out.’
    For a minute I thought she was about to cry, but when I reached a tentative hand over to squeeze her knee, she moved her leg away, so I withdrew it again.
    I thought about Pat, thirteen months old and utterly adorable. If he were mine, I wouldn’t care how clingy he was. The clingier the better…ow wonderful, to be that loved. I couldn’t say that to Vicky, though.
    We sat in silence for a while, watching as Lottie lugged a large ball to the top of the metal chute and shoved it down. When it knocked down six of the pins, Lottie did a little Indian war dance of delight, her bottom wobbling. She ran around and hugged all the nearby children, a podgy Beckham who’d scored a goal for England. I turned to remark on this to Vicky, but her face had that closed-down expression on it again.
    ‘Oh look, what fresh hell is this?’ I said instead, as the children’s food arrived.
    The