What became of us

younger... chap who died recently, did the animal noises, what was his name?’
    ‘Johnny Morris?’ Annie suggested.
    ‘That’s the one. Marvellously funny, eh?’
    ‘A master,’ Annie agreed.
    It crossed her mind that the loss of his daughter had turned him prematurely senile. She remembered him as a tall, upright sort of man, but he seemed to have shrunk. Maybe that was why Geraldine had become so bossy, she thought, because someone had to hold it all together. In this sort of village, the vicar must be a person of some regard. At what age did the Church of England pension vicars off, or did they just die when it was the right time?
    ‘Well, that was so delicious! Do let me help you with the washing up... oops, silly me,’ she said, looking at her paper plate, ‘there isn’t any!’
    ‘Coffee, anyone?’ Roy intervened. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
    ‘That would be kind,’ Geraldine said.
    He jumped up and went to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a big black bin liner into which he began to collect the debris of lunch. Annie dropped her own plate in the bag, then stood up.
    ‘Must be getting along now, but so nice to see you all again,’ she said, standing up.
    ‘Aren’t you staying for coffee?’ Geraldine asked.
    ‘Fraid I’m late already,’ Annie told her, glancing at her watch. ‘Manon!’ she shouted, ‘we’re off! I’m giving Manon a lift back to the bus station,’ she explained. ‘Thanks so much for lunch. It was so very... al fresco!’
    ‘But I was going to take her later,’ Roy stammered after her.
    ‘Well, I’ve saved you the journey then.’
    ‘But it wouldn’t be any trouble.’
    ‘Well, you’d better sort it out among yourselves,’ Annie said, mischievously. ‘She asked me.’
    ‘Oh.’
    They both turned and looked in Manon’s direction. She shook Trevor’s hand and kissed Geraldine on the cheek, then she knelt down on the lawn with her arms outstretched. Saskia and Lily raced to either side of her, and the three of them gave each other a great long hug. Then she kissed each of them on the cheek, and stood up.
    ‘See you soon, see you soon,’ they called after her.
    She waved, and then as she turned to Roy, her face lost its smile.
    ‘Bye,’ she said.
    ‘Right,’ he said, ‘bye. See you soon?’
    ‘I’ll call and let you know when I can next come to see the children,’ she replied carefully.
    ‘Right,’ he said, pushing hair back from his face.
    They looked at each other for a moment, and then both of them turned to Annie.
    ‘Well, thanks for coming,’ Roy said, leaning forward to kiss her politely on each cheek.
    ‘My pleasure,’ said Annie. ‘Are we off?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Manon.
    Annie noticed that Roy made no attempt to kiss Manon.
    Definitely slept together, she thought.

    ‘Do you think it’s possible for someone to change?’ Manon asked, after a few moments’ silence as they drove away from the village.
    ‘Do you mean, has Roy changed, or will he change?’ Annie asked, impatient with the abstract way Manon approached things.
    Manon laughed. It was a short, light laugh that Annie had always taken for superciliousness, but now she sensed it might be due to nerves.
    ‘I wasn’t talking about Roy,’ she said.
    ‘Well, who the fuck were you bloody well talking about?’ Annie asked. ‘Excuse me,’ she added, ‘but I’ve got all these swear words in my throat that I’ve been biting back for the last couple of hours.’
    Manon laughed again.
    ‘I was wondering whether I was capable of changing,’ Manon said. ‘Sometimes it is so much easier not to, isn’t it?’
    ‘You’re talking in riddles.’ Annie crawled the car round a corner. ‘God, I loathe these country lanes. They’re so narrow.’
    She hated driving when she couldn’t see what might be approaching from the opposite direction. Sometimes she found herself gripping the wheel really tightly and closing her eyes, as if she were on some really fast ride at a fair, and not in control of a powerful car.
    ‘I was wondering whether I could ask your advice,’ Manon began again.
    ‘Ask away!’ Annie relaxed enough to touch the accelerator. The car’s speed lurched to about 30 m.p.h.
    ‘You’ve read my stories. Do you think I could make a living out of writing, if I really worked at it?’
    ‘You’re kidding?’
    Manon’s face fell.
    ‘Of course you could, you silly cow,’ Annie said. ‘I’m sure your publishers have given you a