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emergency.’
    â€˜Another one?’ Simon’s life of recent years seemed to be one long domestic crisis. And she’d planned to repaint Beth’s bedroom this weekend.
    â€˜Yeah, I know.’ She could almost hear the grin, frank and disarming but not quite apologetic enough.
    â€˜It’s Alfie, this time. He’s been off school with a cold but then it’s turned into an ear infection and now Jack seems to have caught it, and whatever Jack gets, Roly always has next.’
    A pale apple green: Beth had chosen the colour and would have loved to help, but paint brought on her asthma. It had to be done when she was sleeping elsewhere, so there was time to air the room and clear the fumes.
    â€˜You don’t want Beth coming home with a cold, not with her chest. And it does seem to be an evil one. Half the nursery is off with it. Poor Jack is all crusted up and can hardly breathe, and Alfie’s been mutinous with his ears. It’s one hell of a job to get the drops in. There’s screaming.’
    When wasn’t there, at Simon’s house? Those three boys were the loudest children she had ever encountered, and never kept still. No wonder it was hard to get a syringe in their ears.
    â€˜Not that Beth wouldn’t be a help – I’m sure she would. But it isn’t really fair on her. I promised I’d take her roller skating the next time she came, and we can’t do that with Alfie and Jack laid up, and maybe Roly, too. Not that they ever really do – lie up, that is.’
    â€˜I can imagine.’ Beth had always been a quiet invalid, content to stay in bed and be pampered with hot water bottles and chicken soup. But her colds had always left her blue beneath the eyes, lungs tight and fighting for air. ‘Look, it’s OK. Don’t worry – she can come the following week, we’ve nothing planned.’
    â€˜Thank you, Laura. Knew you’d understand – you’re a star. How is she, anyway? How’s school going?’
    â€˜Oh, fine, I think.’ It was a struggle to know what else to say. ‘She’s making some new friends, I gather. And on Monday she had a merit in science – like house points, you know. She seems to like science.’
    It seemed to satisfy him. ‘I liked science. All kids do, when they arrive at secondary school. It’s the Bunsen burners. They’re irresistible. Gas and lighters and tubes of things that might explode.’
    â€˜They’re doing amoeba.’
    He laughed. ‘Not quite the same thrill.’
    â€˜How about you; how’s things? Apart from the ailing offspring, that is?’
    â€˜Not bad. At least Tessa and I haven’t had the lurgy – or not so far, touch wood. And I’ve not been too busy, recently, so I’ve had time on my hands to blow noses and administer Calpol and Vick’s. The article I was lining up for Rural Living fell through. They liked it at the initial pitch, but not when they saw the detail. A whole week’s research gone to waste.’
    â€˜What a pain.’
    â€˜It happens,’ he said, and she knew enough from having lived with it to be sure he was right: freelance journalism went that way. But why was he telling her about it?
    â€˜Can you send the idea anywhere else?’
    â€˜Oh, yes, probably. There are a couple of places I can try, so you never know. It might still sell. Problem is, a cheque this month is what I could really have done with.’
    Laura closed her eyes in stage weariness – feeling a fair modicum of the real thing. She knew what was coming next.
    â€˜So, I wondered … I hate to do this to you again. But the thing is, Laura – ’
    â€˜Yes, Simon ?’ She hated the way he used her name all the time, when he wanted something. He used to do it when they argued, when they were breaking up.
    â€˜Oh, bugger, sorry. You’re annoyed. Are you annoyed? I think you are.