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have much more fun with my female friends than I do with most of the men I know.’
    ‘You don’t know the right sort of men, obviously.’
    ‘Well, no. You’re not the first to say that.’
    ‘Hmph. And what’s your father and brothers doing about it? Making sure you meet the right sort?’
    Horror and hysteria at the thought of any of her malerelations finding her suitable men caused to Sophie to choke with laughter. She took a large sip of tea to calm herself down.
    ‘I’ll take that as a no, then?’ said Uncle Eric.
    ‘Uncle Eric!’ Sophie was shocked. ‘That’s a very modern expression!’
    Uncle Eric looked extremely pleased with himself. ‘I like to keep up with modern times.’
    ‘No you don’t!’ said Sophie, reaching over and patting his hand. ‘You just like to shock people, same as I do.’
    ‘I’ve washed all the ornaments and put them back on the mantelpiece,’ said Sophie later, after Uncle Eric had woken from what he described as his ‘postprandial nap’. ‘Now what can I do?’
    ‘Goodness, child, you need constant entertainment! What is the matter with you? Mrs Thing doesn’t need things to do all the time!’ Uncle Eric tried to appear displeased with Sophie but she wasn’t fooled. He was thriving on the disruption to his very circumscribed life. One week into her visit and Sophie had had a visible effect, both on Uncle Eric and on his house.
    ‘Mrs Thing – Mrs Brown even – must have a high boredom threshold.’
    This time he looked hurt. ‘Some people find caring for an elderly gentleman a very satisfying and fulfilling task. A privilege to stay in my lovely house! Should do it for nothing.’
    ‘Of course it’s a privilege to count out your pills and make sure you don’t overdo the nightcaps and fall down the stairs, but it isn’t enough to keep me occupied. And your house is large, but it is not lovely! You should pay me extra for having to walk such long distances. As you’re not going to do that, you mustn’t object if I need projects.’ She paused. ‘I’ll start sorting out your desk if you like.’
    ‘Absolutely over my dead body! I’m not having my valuable documents pored over by a flibbertigibbet who won’t understand their significance!’
    Sophie was unfazed. ‘I won’t throw anything away. I’ll sort everything into neat piles. Then you can file or recycle them, or even burn them.’ She smiled at him encouragingly. ‘In fact, that’s a good idea. They’ll help you keep warm until you get your winter-fuel allowance.’ Her great-uncle made the sort of face that encouraged her to go on. ‘After all, there can’t be anything that recent, the papers are all covered in dust. And the rest of the room looks quite tidy. The desk spoils it.’
    He harrumphed, frowned and snorted but then said, ‘Oh, very well, child, if you must. But you have to promise not to read the papers, just sort them.’
    Uncle Eric was wearing a very moth-eaten cardigan Sophie had begged to throw away but he had refused to be parted from it. The sight of it now made her rebel a little. ‘I can’t sort them if I don’t read them. Don’t be silly, Uncle-Eric-dear.’ She used her pet name for him, devised so she wouldn’t accidentally call him Evil-Uncle-Eric.
    He sighed, having made his token protest. ‘Well, please yourself then, child, as you always do.’
    ‘I abandoned my iPod for you, didn’t I?’ said Sophie. ‘I only listen to Radio Four now.’ She actually found she enjoyed it, picking up bits of information that otherwise she would never have known, but she didn’t want to tell him that. Their game depended on each maintaining their chosen stance.
    ‘You mean the machine that makes buzzing noises? You should be grateful.’
    ‘It doesn’t make buzzing noises if you’ve got the earpieces in, you hear the music. Maybe you should get one?’
    Uncle Eric tutted appropriately. ‘Well, I’m going for my nap now, and maybe finish the