She didn'tknow how they stood it, those parents; and she didn't knowhow she would stand it. Octavia sat smiling foolishly at the phone for severalmoments, tantalised by the thought of another weekend atthe cottage. 'When we had dinner with Bob Macintosh. That would be an awful thing to do.
' He pushed the Daily Mail at her: there wasa photograph of a group of women with small children in pushchairs on page three, holding banners which read,'Save our countryside' and 'Save Bartles Wood'. 'Where you're going tolive? How soon we can see a solicitor? Those are the onlythings I want to talk to you about. This isno more your fault than anyone else's. He hated anyone to go into this room withouthim: into Octavia's bedroom.
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