Crossing the Rubicon: a novel that never was

As she was thinking all this, Shirley Webb's advice came into her mind. "Love, if you don't tell them it's unreasonable, how will they ever know? You give it to them girl. No-one else will." So she had done, and afterwards felt much better for it. Sure, they'd been angry and, as usual, disgustingly condescending, but she'd got it out of her system. What had been her problem was now theirs.

Walking through the arcade that had once been a fruit-market, Honoria took the mobile telephone from her leather rucksack and paged through the on-screen directory. Who, she wondered, would be good for a chat just now? Grace? No—too busy with her bloody patronising manager. Stephanie? Abroad with the wrong kind of phone. Tessa? Yes—she'd be at home, waiting in for the kids.

Tessa was, indeed, at home, just finishing a letter to her convalescent mother in Australia. It was a warm June day and all the windows were open. Steve had called to say that the car was ready for their holiday, and Tessa could hear the dismissal-bell at the school next door. Right on cue, the phone began to ring just as she had sealed the air-mail envelope. Yawning, she went into the hall to answer it.

"Oh, hi! Fine, thanks. You? Good." The children came in through the side door. "Now? Really? Oh, what the hell—why not? Steve will be back early and he can take them to Burger King. Great. I'll see you!"

Tessa, her face still slightly flushed from a hurried bath, her clothes smart but a year or two behind the fashions worn by the city-girls around her, emerged from the underground-station and straight away saw Honoria, telephoning with her back turned, on the pavement opposite. The two women kissed, lit cigarettes and went into the first wine-bar they could find.

The tables were crowded with sunburnt tourists, but Honoria's trained eye quickly spotted two seats at the edge of the non-smoking area. Lifting an un-used ashtray from the bar, she led the way with Tessa, blushing this time from being looked at by a group of men in suits, following meekly.

"Do you get that alumni magazine from Hull?" Honoria asked as they sat down. "Well, Fitch has retired—at last—and Russell's dead, good riddance. I'd have got a two-one if it hadn't been for him." Tessa, whose degree had been an upper second was amused but dared not smile.

[You can fill in the next 498 pages for yourselves here.]

Steve slammed on the handbrake and spun the Mondeo around just in time to see Shirley Webb's Espace crash, engulfed in flames, from the back of the Shuttle. Steam filled the track behind them as the tunnel's sprinklers doused the twisted wreckage. The train rounded a bend and emerged into autumnal sunshine. Tessa was sobbing. "Darling, I'm so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Steve set his jaw and then smiled. He slid a cassette into the player and looked at his watch. It was late and grandpa would soon start worrying about getting home in the light. The train came to a halt and they were the first out. As they drove away from the terminal, Steve noticed the tax-disk on Tessa's car. It had expired.