And sometimes, when he’s lolling about on the sofa on Sunday mornings, testing Jude on her knowledge of the stock market, I don’t even bother thinking that. I just find him soothing and amiable and steady – easy to have around. I’m used to him, I suppose. He’s part of the furniture. I honestly believe, if he and Mum got married, I wouldn’t mind.
‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Not at all?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘Hmmm.’
She wrinkled her nose suspiciously, but she didn’t argue. She just sat tight for a few seconds, thinking. I didn’t disturb her.
Then:
‘Of course, Toad-shoes is different. He’s not like Goggle-eyes at all. He’s awful. I’ll tell you what he’s like. He’s –’
A frightful banging on the door interrupted her. I thought for a moment this was Liz again, back to screech another public service announcement through the lost property cupboard door. But this particular visitor was no ineffectual knob-rattling slouch. With one sharp tug, the door flew open. Helly and I were blinded by the light.
Mission Control.
I don’t think, for all her great insight, Mrs Lupey is any more cut out to be a Samaritan than I am. Considering the last time she set eyes on Helen Johnston Helly was a gibbering, blubbering wreck, I thought the tone of voice was somewhat waspish:
‘Are you two ever planning to come out?’
I stumbled to my feet. Oh, agony! Pins and needles! While I was doubled with pain, grinding my foot against the floor, Mrs Lupey put poor old Helly through the third degree.
‘Feeling better, dear?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Lupey. I’m ever so much better. I think I’m fine now, honestly.’
‘You don’t want to go home?’
‘No, really. I’m all right. I feel much better.’
‘You’ve been in this cupboard for an awfully long time.’
‘Kitty’s been telling me a story.’
‘Oh, yes?’ She turned towards me, and I think she winked. ‘I’ll say one thing for Kitty. She spins a good yarn.’
Helen was busy now, brushing the bits of fluff off the sleeves of her woolly. She answered perfectly cheerfully:
‘I can’t believe Kitty and I have been in here all morning!’
‘Oh, well,’ said Mrs Lupey, standing back to let her out. ‘That is the power of the story-teller for you.’
(It’s one of Loopy’s Great Theories. She’s always on about it. Living your life is a long and doggy business, says Mrs Lupey. And stories and books help. Some help you with the living itself. Some help you just take a break. The best do both at the same time.)
She may be right. One way or the other, I’d certainly cheered up Helly Johnston. She strode right out of that cupboard smiling, and, patting me warmly on the hand for thanks, ran off upstairs to have lunch with her mate Liz without so much as a backward look.
Mrs Lupey took hold of my shoulders, and turned me to face her.
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘I knew that I could count on you. You’ve done a good job, Number Twenty-two.’
Fortunately she was as hungry as I was. She didn’t hang about to find out any details about what was bothering Helly Johnston. She took straight off.
Good job, too. I’d have been stumped to tell her anything except the villain’s name: Toad-shoes. And I’m still standing by, waiting to hear the full story. Helen’s so busy and cheerful again these days, she won’t take the time off to fill me in with all the grisly particulars.
I’ll just have to keep waiting. And so will you.