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crossword.’
    ‘Would you like me to put the heater on for you?’
    ‘I’m quite capable of switching a switch,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not senile yet.’
    Sophie gave him the sunny smile he was after. ‘Oh good. When I’ve finished this lot I’ll help you with those last clues.’
    ‘Huh!’ said Uncle Eric with a derisive snort and pottered out.
    Sophie sighed fondly. She had never even looked at a crossword until she’d come here – her family whistled through them without ever giving her a chance. Uncle Eric, although very quick, was quite pleased to have someone to mull things over with. Now Sophie had learned some of the rules, she found she could get clues quite often. Staying with Uncle Eric had been good for her in many ways, and not only because his area was populated by excellent charity shops; her wardrobe was expanding.
    She took the vase off the round table in the middle of the room and straightened the chenille tablecloth. She needed space if she was going to sort out the desk. Unlike her siblings, who seemed to covet everything, the only thing Sophie wanted to inherit was his desk. As it was unlikely that she would, she wanted to at least clear it, dust it and polish it now. Then she could really admire the plethora of little drawers and pigeonholes, the possible-secret compartment and the craftsmanship that had gone into producing it. It might never be hers, but she could enjoy it for a few days.
    By the time Sophie went downstairs to give Uncle Eric his pills, she’d made a good start but there was still a mound of papers go to through. Cheating, really, she had emptied out all the papers on to the table so she could get to the dusting and polishing stage almost immediately. Now she had to go through all the old bills, bank statements, expired insurance certificates, estimates for work done on cars long gone and allthe other bits of paper trivia that people kept. But the desk itself looked beautiful.
    The following day, when she’d done all she could for Uncle Eric, including dragging him for a short, invigorating walk and separating him from his cardigan so she could wash it, Sophie went back to her task. She liked sorting things, putting into order that which had been chaotic. While she worked, she daydreamed about going to New York, shopping with Milly, visiting art galleries and museums, getting away from her family.
    At first when she saw the name New York on a wodge of papers that were stapled together, she thought she’d imagined it, but a moment’s inspection told her that she had read correctly. Unlike everything else on the table, this looked interesting. She was about to start reading them when she remembered that these were Uncle Eric’s private papers so, instead, she took them downstairs with her.
    ‘What’s this, Uncle Eric?’ she asked him, handing him the papers.
    ‘How the hell should I know!’ he said, having peered at them through the glasses round his neck. ‘Is it suppertime? I’m hungry!’
    This was a good sign. Uncle Eric didn’t have much appetite, but Sophie had noticed that since she’d been cooking small but tasty little snacks, he’d been eating more. She planned to leave Mrs Brown some recipes.
    ‘I’ll start cooking when I’ve given you your pills. You can have a look at those papers while I do it. You’ve finished the crossword, presumably?’
    ‘Oh yes. Didn’t need your help today.’
    ‘Then you’ll need something to keep you occupied. Why don’t you get a television? You’d love it.’
    ‘Dear child, you know perfectly well how I feel about television. Give me the papers and I’ll have a look.’
    Patting his shoulder as she left the room, Sophie said, ‘I’ll take you to the library tomorrow, to get you something else to read. Or maybe we could arrange for the travelling library to come a bit nearer?’
    While they were eating scrambled eggs with Marmite on the toast that evening, Uncle Eric said, ‘You know that bunch of papers you