How did a nice girl like JuJu end up in jail?

He views his wife as an irritating, alien presence. (He describes her as a solid woman, "filled with middle-aged substances of mysterious origin.") But neither does he receive much solace from an encounter with Jo, a former paramour, whom he finds "seems to have joined the army of anonymous disappointed women."

Daphne, meanwhile, refuses to let go of hope. Even as she haplessly mangles recipe after recipe in her Cornwall kitchen, she goes on fighting for her family, somehow imagining that if she can just turn Charlie's wedding into a perfect, flower-strewn pageant, the Judds will be able to heal.

The fierceness of Daphne's fixation is such that even Sophie (who has drifted into a cocaine-infused haze and an affair with a married man during her sister's absence) begins to buy into her mother's plan for salvation. "Look, the Judds are where they belong after a few glitches," Sophie begins to muse one day after a few drinks have prompted her to ponder the potential power of her brother's wedding. "Englishness has healed them! Jerusalem!"

Charles, however, has no such hopes. As her husband disintegrates, Daphne treats him with distracted patience, remembering that he once had thick, tousled, Ted Hughes hair, "pretty advanced for an accountant." Even Charles's dog appears to have committed suicide - although (along with the question of JuJu's guilt) appearances in this story often prove to be misleading.

There is an air of desperation that hangs over the novel, but Cartwright is always slyly sympathetic to his characters and it's almost impossible not to become engrossed by the Judds and to root for them to achieve some sort of redemption.

The fact that they might succeed is hinted at by the name of the window JuJu is accused of stealing: resurrection. But it's also evident in the love that somehow survives the disappointment.

The Judds may not be perfect but at least they never forget that they are a family and all accept the responsibility to do whatever is possible to keep the others afloat. Cartwright does hint that perhaps they believe in each other only because they have so little else to cling to, yet their solidarity is touching nonetheless.

In Britain (where Cartwright has racked up other honors as well) "The Promise of Happiness" received a 2005 Hawthornden Prize. Readers there seem particularly drawn to his skill at tempering flashes of feeling and insight with dampening sarcasm.

"JuJu and Charlie and Sophie have never been out of my thoughts," Charles tells himself as he lies in the hospital recuperating from pneumonia. "I have been selfish and foolish, but if anybody asked I could honestly say I have never passed a single day without thinking about them."

Cartwright quickly adds: "It's probably the effect of the drugs, but he feels warmly affectionate toward his absent children." That's about as cozy and cuddly as this story ever gets, but somehow, it's enough.

• Marjorie Kehe is the Monitor's book editor.

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