Page 154 of Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

She moved down the counter, rummaged some more and found a bottle of cooking sherry. She poured a generous helping into one of my mother's teacups. I looked at the saddened woman and wondered if I'd end up the same way.

'We'll sort out Lavoisier eventually,' muttered Lady Hamilton sadly, downing the cooking sherry. 'You can be sure of that.'

'We?'

She looked at me and poured another generous – even by my mother's definition – cup of sherry.

'Me – and your father, of course.'

I sighed. She obviously hadn't heard the news.

'That's what I came to talk to my mother about.'

'What did you come to talk to me about?'

It was my mother. She had just walked in wearing a quilted dressing gown and her hair sticking out in all directions. For someone usually so suspicious of Emma Hamilton, she seemed quite cordial and even wished her 'Good morning' – although she swiftly removed the sherry from the counter and replaced it in the cupboard.

'You early bird!' she cooed. 'Do you have time to take DH-82 to the vet's this morning? His boil needs lancing again.'

'I'm kind of busy, Mum.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, sensing the seriousness in my voice. 'Was that business at Vole Towers anything to do with you?'

'Sort of. I came over to tell you—'

'—Yes?'

'That Dad has— Dad is— Dad was—'

Mum looked at me quizzically as my father, large as life, strode into the kitchen.

'—is making me feel very confused.'

'Hello, Sweetpea!' said my father, looking considerably younger than the last time I saw him. 'Have you been introduced to Lady Hamilton?'

'We had a drink together,' I said uncertainly. 'But— You're— you're – alive!'

He stroked his chin and replied: 'Should I be something else?'

I thought for a moment and furtively shook my cuff down to hide his chronograph on my wrist.

'No— I mean, that is to say—'

But he had twigged me already.

'—don't tell me! I don't want to know!'

He stood next to Mum and placed an arm round her waist. It was the first time I had seen them together for nearly seventeen years.

'But—'

'You mustn't be so linear,' said my father. 'Although I try to visit only in your chronological order, sometimes it's not possible.'

He paused.

'Did I suffer much pain?'

'No – none at all,' I lied.

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