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I turned, jumped up, grabbed Friday by the straps of his dungarees and gently took the two crystal wineglasses from his inquisitive grasp. I showed him his toys and sat him down in the middle of the room. He stayed put for about three seconds before tottering off in the direction of DH82, Mum's bone-idle Thylacine, who was asleep on a nearby chair.
DH82 yelped as Friday tugged playfully at his whiskers. The Thylacine then got up, yawned, and went to find his supper dish. Friday followed. And I followed Friday.
'—in the ear?' said Joffy as I walked into the kitchen. 'Does that work?'
'Apparently,' replied the prince, 'we found him stone dead in the orchard.'
I scooped up Fr
iday, who was about to tuck into DH82's food, and took him back to the living room.
'Sorry,' I explained, 'he's into everything at the moment. Tell me about Swindon. Much changed?'
'Not really. The Christmas lights have improved tremendously, there's a Skyrail line straight through the Brunei Centre and Swindon now has twenty-six different supermarkets.'
'Can the residents eat that much?'
'We're giving it our best shot.'
Joffy walked back in with Hamlet and placed a tray of tea things in front of us.
'That small dodo of yours is a terror. Tried to peck me when I wasn't looking.'
'You probably startled him. How's Dad?'
Joffy, to whom this was a touchy subject, decided not to join us but play with Friday instead.
'C'mon, young lad,' he said, 'let's get drunk and shoot some pool.'
'Your father has been wanting to get hold of you for a while,' said my mother as soon as Joffy and Friday had gone. 'As you probably guessed he's been having trouble with Nelson again. He often comes home simply reeking of cordite, and I'm really not keen on him hanging around with that Emma Hamilton woman.'
My father was a sort of time-travelling knight errant. He used to be a member of SO-12, the agency charged with policing the timelines: the ChronoGuard. He resigned owing to differences over the way the historical timeline was managed and went rogue. The ChronoGuard decided that he was too dangerous and eradicated him by a well-timed knock at the door during the night of his conception; my aunt April was born instead.
'So Nelson died at the Battle of Trafalgar?' I asked, recalling Dad's previous problems in the timeline.
'Yes,' she replied, 'but I'm not sure he was meant to. That's why your father says he has to work so closely with Emma.'
Emma, of course, was Lady Emma Hamilton, Nelson's consort. It was she who had alerted my father to Nelson's eradication. One moment she had been married to Lord Nelson for over ten years, the next she was a bankrupt lush living in Calais. Must have been quite a shock. My mother leaned closer.
'Between the two of us I'm beginning to think Emma's a bit of a tram— Emma! How nice of you to join us!'
At the doorway was a tall, red-faced woman wearing a brocade dress that had seen better days. Despite the rigours of a lengthy and damaging acquaintance with the bottle, there were the remains of great beauty and charm about her. She must have been dazzling in her youth.
'Hello, Lady Hamilton,' I said, getting up to shake her hand, 'how's the husband?'
'Still dead.'
'Mine too.'
'Bummer.'
'Ah!' I exclaimed, wondering quite where Lady Hamilton picked up the word, although on reflection she probably knew a few worse. 'This is Hamlet.'
'Emma Hamilton,' she cooed, casting an eye in the direction of the unquestionably handsome Dane and giving him her hand, 'Lady.'
'Hamlet,' he replied, kissing her proffered hand, 'Prince.'
Her eyelashes fluttered momentarily.
