‘We live on ... Bol ... Bolton Road.’
‘Well done! And do you have any brothers or sisters!’
‘No!’
‘And do Mummy and Daddy like each other?’
Molly laughed a little at that. ‘Yes!’
‘Do we ever shout?’
The laugh became cheeky. ‘Sometimes! Especially Mummy!’
‘Sorry!’
‘You only shout when you are really, really, really tired and you say sorry so it is okay. Everything is okay if you say sorry. That’s what you say.’
‘Does Mummy go out to work?’
‘Yes. Sometimes.’
‘Do I still work at the shop where I met Daddy?’
‘No.’
‘What does Mummy do when she goes out to work?’
‘Teaches people!’
‘How does she – how do I teach people? What do I teach?’
‘Fill-o ... fill-o-wosso-fee ...’
‘Philosophy?’
‘That’s what I said!’
‘And where do I teach that? At a university?’
‘Yes!’
‘Which university?’ Then she remembered where they lived. ‘At Cambridge University?’
‘That’s it!’
She tried to fill in the gaps. Maybe in this life she had re-applied to do a Master’s, and on successfully completing that she had got into teaching there.
Either way, if she was going to bluff it in this life, she was probably going to have to read some more philosophy. But then Molly said: ‘But you are stopping now.’
‘Stopping? Why am I stopping?’
‘To do books!’
‘Books for you?’
‘No, silly. To do a grown-up book.’
‘I’m writing a book?’
