Margaret stopped to look in a shop window, hesitated, went in. It would be easier to forget Margaret than her son. What a strange woman, Laura thought with amusement, withdrawing from her own child. How could she do it? And withdrawing deciding to ration out her affection on some old pervert, as though affection (love, if you like) were a commodity like the vegetables Brian and Susie weighed out in the market. But she would not stop loving Claud, Laura thought jealously, she had no need to. She was settling down, if she but knew, to the enjoyment of her maternity. Lucky Margaret, thought Laura, I cannot do that.

She switched on the ignition and pulled out into the street. Terrence, standing in the doorway of the wine bar, waved. ‘Bloody cuckoo!’ Laura shouted, but she returned the wave in case she should decide that she was grateful to him for filling the gap left at the Old Rectory.

‘Bloody Nicholas and bloody Emily.’ She changed gear to overtake a van and speed on her way out of town. ‘They can’t hold me any more. I shall fight free from the tentacles of conscience,’ she shouted over her shoulder to the cat imprisoned in its basket on the back seat. ‘I,’ she shouted, ‘can ration my love for them.’ Nicholas, Emily, Helen, Christopher, Margaret and insolent Terrence would be tucked away out of sight in the cubby-holes of her mind to be thought of occasionally with love or affection, just as she thought of the American professor, the Hungarian painter, and of Clug. The immediate problem was to reduce Claud to similar, manageable size, find a secure cubby-hole for him.

Laura stopped to buy petrol, have her oil and tyres checked.

Had the djinn escaped from the bottle? Who would help her get it back? Up to now she had always been able to control her emotions, always kept love affairs light-hearted, enjoyable and brief, aware of the inevitable soon-to-be-arrived-at parting. (She had never permitted any suggestion of continuity.) She had kept a sloppy timetable with Claud, visiting him too often in the loft and lately allowing him to visit her every night in the Old Rectory. She had not toyed with love, not stopped when she still could have without pain.

And above all there had not been enough jokes. Jokes were the essence. Claud took everything seriously, he did not for instance compare well with Clug in that field.

Laura circled out onto the main road and increased speed. She had been in danger of losing her grip, she told herself irritably, and trod hard on the accelerator.

As she drove she savoured her last night with Claud. He had been caring and passionate, he had made love better than ever before, she had been physically and emotionally delighted, their union had been excellently synchronised, she could not fault it.