“I might be staying for a week or two.”
“See this?” he asks wiping the tiles with a cloth. “I thought it was just a lake, but it’s another blue lady.”
I move to the side so I can see what he’s working on. “Like the one in the stained glass above my door?”
“Not like. The same. We keep finding her in different incarnations round the house. I’m starting to think she has a story.”
Despite myself I’m intrigued. “In what way?”
“Not sure. This house is full of stories and secrets.”
There’s not much I can say to this so after a moment I ask what I came to ask. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do?” He peers closely at some speck on the wall.
“Do you need any help?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If you have a delicate touch?”
“Which is?”
“I can explain in a minute, just let me make sure this doesn’t need retouching then I’ll tell you all about it.”
I step back. “I don’t want to take your time, I’m just asking everyone in the house if they need help. Everyone had been really helpful. I’ll talk to Llewellyn next.”
He pauses, his hand still on whatever delicate task he’s doing. After a moment he says in a different tone. “Don’t worry about it. If I need help I’ll ask.” And he goes back to whatever he was doing.
Have I offended him?
“Ok.”
He doesn’t say more and I walk away feeling a little uncomfortable.
On my way to The Glyn, I stop at a shop in the village to buy biscuits. Bill said he didn’t like chocolate bourbons, but what does he like? I wish I’d thought to ask. So to be on the safe side, I buy four packets: Digestives, Hobnobs, shortbread fingers and ginger nuts.
Before even seeing the biscuits, Bill is delighted to see me walk through the doors of the games lounge. He welcomes me with a hug. A wonderful grandfatherly hug, which makes up for the professor’s cold shoulder.
Even his friends, Deniro, Gethin, Vanessa and red-haired Shirley are all excited to see me. The only exception is Mrs Jenkins the trolley lady. When she arrives with the tea and sees me, she scowls.
“Aren’t you going to offer our guest a cup?” Gethin wheels himself closer to me.
Trolley lady says nothing, but the tea she pours for me is the same tasteless hot liquid as before. She gives me a stony glare, as if challenging me to complain to her boss.
“It’s not the good brew, my dear.” Gethin leans closer to whisper into my ear. “But we daren’t say anything. You never know she might spit in our dinner as payback.”
“Stop looking down the young lady’s blouse, you old rascal,” Deniro says sharply.
My neckline’s not particularly revealing, not unless you’re leaning over to stare. But I do up another button on my shirt, anyway.
“She’s Bill’s granddaughter,” Vanessa tuts. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Give over. As if Deniro doesn’t have a stack ofHellomagazines in his room to stare at when he’s in bed.
To change to subject, I ask, “Why are you called Deniro?”
