The Ullswater Undertaking Rebecca Tope (good books to read for young adults .TXT) 📖

Ben found most of it online. And she was obviously special if the nephew’s writing her biography. Anyway, Ben wants me to call him. It sounds as if there’s more to tell us.’

‘You mean after you’ve fed Young Sir, and checked the post, and listened to whatever Humphrey might have to say, and had a cup of tea?’

‘I thought you could do most of that – and I can speak on the phone while feeding. I factored some of that in anyway when I told Ben it might be an hour before I get back to him. I doubt if Robin will want anything for a while, anyway. He’s spark out, look.’ She twisted round to inspect the baby on the back seat. His head flopped awkwardly, almost touching his chest. ‘That seat’s terrible,’ she said. ‘He’d be much better off in a carrycot, like in the olden days.’

‘Tell that to the health and safety police. They’d fine you just for thinking it. What if the car rolled over? What if we were in a head-on crash and he shot through the windscreen. What if – um – a horse fell on top of the car?’

‘Shut up,’ said Simmy.

The plan to call Ben was comprehensively thwarted, first by the hassle of unloading a crochety infant from the car, then by Humphrey as predicted by Christopher. The builder tousled his own hair, grinned sheepishly and admitted he had taken it onto his own initiative to decide which way the new door into the third bedroom should open. ‘I know people have their own ideas about that sort of thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve made it open outwards – gives you more space inside the room, see. But might not be to your liking?’

‘Couldn’t it have waited an hour or two?’ Christopher asked crossly.

The builder shrugged. ‘Not really. Everything else depended on it. We’ve done the panel, look. And no way could we start painting till the door was sorted. Still haven’t got the proper stones for the fireplace downstairs, and the rest is done for now.’

For now echoed in Simmy’s head and made her feel tired. If the work went on much longer, Humphrey would begin to feel like one of the family, exploited in small ways such as baby-minding and answering the phone. And when he finally left, she would miss him. ‘You don’t have to do all the painting,’ she said, not for the first time. ‘I’d quite like to do some myself. I started the door frames – did you see?’

‘Opening outwards is fine,’ said Christopher, before looking at Simmy and adding, ‘Isn’t it?’

‘What did we decide for the others?’ She went along the new corridor and opened the door to the main bedroom. ‘Inwards,’ she discovered. ‘I don’t remember even thinking about it until now.’

‘Inwards is the usual way,’ Humphrey said patiently. ‘But this is a small room, look. And there’s often trouble with carpets, if you want a nice tufted one. The door can catch it you don’t set it high enough.’

‘It works all right in our room,’ Christopher said. He operated the new door. ‘It does feel peculiar, pulling it instead of pushing. Won’t it be even more of an obstacle like this?’

‘I can change it,’ sighed Humphrey. ‘I had a feeling you wouldn’t like it.’

Simmy forced herself to think about doors and paintwork and carpets, telling herself she ought to find it all exciting and comforting and properly domestic. ‘Does that mean replacing the door frame?’ she asked.

‘No, no. Just a bit of cutting. The door will have to be set higher, see, and new holes made for the hinges, and …’ he tailed off with a helpless expression.

‘Doesn’t look especially arduous to me,’ said Christopher. ‘And I still can’t see why it couldn’t have waited. What have you actually done that’s so dependent on which way the door opens?’

Simmy didn’t wait for any more. Robin was downstairs in his little seat, wanting attention. The men were being all too annoyingly male about the whole business. Humphrey was in the wrong, and everybody knew it, including him. He’d been impatient and cavalier, for no convincing reason. Christopher was right to make him change it, given that they would have to live with the damned door for the next twenty – thirty – fifty – years. Children would burst out of the room sending each other flying when the door hit them. It might even knock them downstairs, since the room was quite close to the top of the staircase. Whatever Humphrey had been thinking, it was wrong. But she didn’t want to listen to her fiancé telling him so.

She had only been downstairs for a minute when someone knocked on the front door. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what the sound was. Then she found herself weirdly wishing they had a dog, which could warn them of impending visitors. ‘I’m a very peculiar person today,’ she muttered to Robin. ‘Had you noticed?’

Four men stood quietly outside, only one of whom she recognised. ‘Sorry about this,’ said Fabian Crick. ‘This is Uncle Ambrose, and these are my cousins Keith and Petrock. They’re Uncle Richmond’s sons.’

‘So all we need now is him to show up and we’ll have the complete set,’ said Simmy. She was cross, curious, suspicious and bewildered all at the same time. ‘Christopher!’ she shouted, much too loudly. ‘Can you come down here?’

In her arms, Robin started to scream, even more loudly than his mother’s shout.

There was nowhere for so many people to sit. Uncle Ambrose was as small as Fabian, and they perched together on the two-seater wooden settle that Christopher had got from the auction house. Keith and Petrock found chairs in the kitchen and carried them through to the main room. Simmy and Robin bagged the only armchair and Christopher had to make do with the bottom step of the staircase. Robin nuzzled and whimpered, wanting a feed. Even Angie, thought Simmy, might baulk at baring her breast in front