Tea was the universal panacea.   She would make a cup of tea, Hilary thought as she dragged her clothes on after her bath.  Margaret had probably made herself tea when Bill had left her, or Mrs Rayner had made it for her.  Her eyes filled with tears again, yearning for her mother with aggravated intensity, almost as if she hadn't grieved over these last long eight months.

The telephone was ringing again.  Hilary's heart leapt.  This would be Andy, ringing to say it was all a big mistake and he still loved her.

But Hilary's spirits plummeted as quickly as they had risen.  “Hil.”  The voice on the telephone was female, familiar, very familiar, but, in her overwrought state, Hilary couldn't recognise it.  If only it could have been Margaret!. 

“Hil, it’s me, Caroline.  Got you at last!  I've been trying to ring you all day but nobody picked up” 

“Caroline, Caroline…” she sobbed.

“Hil!  My poor Hil!  What’s the matter?”  Still Hilary couldn't speak.  “OK, OK.  I'll be along in five minutes.”

Hilary stared at the telephone receiver in its cradle for several minutes after she had put it down, still thinking about making tea, but unable to gather up the courage to move, then she heard a car in the drive.  When she opened the door and saw Caroline's Mini there, she started.  She had been looking at that Mini for so long.

For a moment, the two girls stared at each other, Caroline in flared trousers, a ribbed jumper, her fair hair falling, in slightly damp clumps, over a pink scarf slung over her shoulders, Caroline, as usual, smiling.  Hilary, wearing the only clean clothes left in the house, old, well-worn clothes, was only half-aware that she was still sobbing.

Caroline handed her a tissue.  “What is it?  What is it?”

“Andy… Andy… all… over...”

Caroline put her arm around her.  “Oh no!”

Hilary broke away.  “I want a cup of tea.”

“Yes, yes – but at my house.”  Caroline looked round the bare room.  “I know you’re about to move, but this place is so empty.”

“I don’t want to be here.  It’s not my home anymore.  I don’t want to be in Water Langley.  In fact, after this, I'm never coming back to Water Langley.”

“Come on, Hil,” said Caroline, in her head girl’s voice.  “Go and get your night things.  You’re staying with me tonight.  It’ll just be you and me,” she added, as they walked outside.  “Mum and Dad are at a Tory function in London, won't be back until tomorrow afternoon.”

The grandfather clock in the hall was striking six as they walked inside Caroline's house.  Hilary had no idea of the passing of time, that it was three hours since she had kissed Andy goodbye in the car.  The house was warm and the light bulbs all worked, chintz-covered furniture, and floral curtains, photographs in the hall (including Caroline's head girl photograph), books and newspapers on the tables, a pair of slippers by the front door, a cardigan slung over a chair, signs of people actually living there.  Caroline sat Hilary down at the large oak refectory table in the kitchen and brought her hot, steaming tea, served in flowery Portmeirion mugs.

“I sat here at this table, with Mum, almost a year ago,” said Caroline, sitting down opposite her, “after Justinian.”

“Justinian… I wasn’t very helpful over Justinian, was I?”

“His name was Derek, you know – a stupid name, but not as stupid as Justinian,” said Caroline, running her fingers down her pink and green Portmeirion mug.  “He was a jerk - and a fraud.  The stupid thing was I sort of knew he was a jerk when I started going out with him.  I was aware that you didn’t like him – but you had Andy.  All my friends were attached.

“After that dreadful Mrs Thatcher evening, I had to run away.  I sat at this table, drinking tea, begging Mum to take me to our cottage in the Dordogne.  Then I went to America in the summer and, when I came back, I went straight to London.”  She stood up.  “More tea?”

“Yes, please.”  Hilary was astounded that Caroline had found it necessary to run away from her, amazed that her opinion had mattered so much to anyone, let alone Caroline, that “Rolls Royce of a girl”.

Caroline put the big kettle back on to the Aga.  “You know, Justinian and Josie only lasted two weeks.”

“Really?”

“When I got back to the house after Easter, he was bonking some tart from UCL.  Josie really flipped then, chased after everything in trousers.  One night, she arrived back about 8am, having just been with this bloke at a party, saying she was pregnant and now had morning sickness.”

Hilary raised a wan smile.

“There!  I've made you laugh.”  She handed Hilary her second cup of tea.  “Tea cures everything.” 

Hilary took a sip of tea, grateful for the hotness and the steam.

“I heard about your mother from my mother.  I would’ve come to see you at Christmas.  I kept looking at your house from my window, but then we were off to my brother in Germany.  I was so sorry about Margaret.  I didn’t know what to say to you, Hilary.  I couldn't imagine life without my mum.  This time last year, she took me off to the Dordogne and knocked me back together again… Let’s go to the Dordogne now, next week, I mean.  I'm on Easter vacation.”

Hilary shook her head.  “I've got the last week of my course.”

“But you’ve done all your exams.”

“Yes, but they want us to be there.”

“What for?”

Hilary shook her head again, confused and bemused.  She couldn't imagine life without Andy.  She had been Andy’s girlfriend for three years.  Now, it seemed, she was back to 1973 and single.

Caroline opened the fridge.  “I’m going to make spag bol, but I am listening.  Tell me about Andy.”

Hilary talked, and cried, and Caroline cried as well.  Tea was followed by gin and tonic, then a bottle of wine, and, all the time, Hilary was wondering how Andy was feeling. 

“What are you going to do now?” Caroline asked, as they poured the last drops from the wine bottle.

“I don’t know.  I've got this job in London, at Great Peter Street Library, starting the week after next and… Oh, I can't go and live with Alice now, can I?” 

Caroline shook her head.   “We can't worry about Alice tonight.”  

“Everything’s so complicated.”

“You’ll find somewhere.  There are flats enough in London.” 

Hilary slept in the second twin bed in Caroline's room, as she had done so often as a teenager, her sleep broken, yesterday flooding back into her mind every few hours.  Towards morning, she fell into a deeper sleep, and, when she awoke, at about ten o'clock, her limbs stiff and her eyes sore with yesterday’s tears, Caroline was downstairs making porridge on the Aga.  “You need to go to the Dordogne,” she said.  “It’s lovely this time of year.”

“I've got to be around for when we finally move out on Tuesday.”

“It’d break your heart, Hil.  Come to the Dordogne.  I'm going anyway.  I've decided.”

“I haven't got any money.”

“I'll pay for the ferry.  It’s a flat rate for the car, driver and four passengers.  And it’s cheap living out there…”  The telephone was ringing.  Caroline answered it.  “Oh, hello.  Yes, she is here, actually.”

Hilary's heart leapt.   Andy?

“Alice!” Caroline whispered, passing her the receiver.

“Oh, hello, Alice,” said Hilary.  “How did you know I was here?”

“Women go to their friends when they’re upset,” Alice replied.  “Are you OK?”

“Oh, so you know, then?”

“I spoke to Andy on the phone yesterday.  Men, eh?  Now, about next weekend?  I've got a flight which comes in on Saturday morning, so I can be at Mum’s for Saturday evening, then we can go back to London on Sunday afternoon.”

“Alice, you don’t want me in your flat now.”

A pause on the other end.  “Why not?”

“Well…”

“Hilary, I invited you to live in my flat because you’re Water Langley, not because you were my brother’s girlfriend.  See you on Sunday.”

“I'm still going to Alice's,” said Hilary, as if she didn’t believe it, as she put the phone down, “on Sunday.”

“We’ll get the ferry back on Saturday then.  Come on, Hil.  We are going to the Dordogne!  Tomorrow.”

Hilary gulped.  “All right.”

Caroline put a bowl of porridge in front of her.  “By the way, Mrs Dove died yesterday morning.  Did you know?”

“No.  She went into a home, didn’t she?”

“Yes.  Mum visited her a few times.”

“Well, your mother would’ve been acceptable to her.  Mine wouldn’t.  My family were “in trade”, weren’t they?”

“She was ninety-one.  It’s the end of a Water Langley era.” 

“We can have a loo at church now,” said Hilary.