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“That’s nice.”

“I’m calling it Modern Icons: An Idiot’s Guide to Today’s Dumbed-Down Talents.”

“Oh, he’ll like that. Being called dumb.”

“He’s an idiot. I don’t care, but there we have it.”

“Should be interesting.”

“I’ve promised to let him read it before I hand it in.”

“God help us all.”

“You have no confidence in me. It will be brilliant. Sarcastic, of course.”

“Of course. It’s a Constance Scotland piece, after all.”

“TheConstance Scotland, thank you very much. Of course it is.” She huffed. “And two sugars. Don’t try to fob me off with one.” She winked and once again disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing there stirring the tea with a huge black cloud over my head.

Flying. No. Not for me. But then?

She was getting to me, and she did make sense. If I was with the children, we’d all sleep better at night. A week away, and…

No.

Maybe.

And here she was again, dumping an armful of clothing at my feet.

“The washing machine is on your right. Big white thing with buttons on the front. The one saying START is really useful.”

“I taught you well. You’re almost fluent in sarcasm, Stewart.”

“I am indeed. The Constance.”

Gah. Getting manipulated by a child. Well. What was new?

“I’m, like, famous now. The Dieter posts about me.” She rolled her eyes, full of inflated ego, then laughed as I blew out hot air. These kids. My family. What had I become?

“I like tea.” Here was Phinney, taking a big gulp out of my cup. Oh gosh. And spilling it.

“Hot!” I told him, carefully removing the handle from his grip.

“Tea.” He smiled. “Where’s the biscuit?”

“We have…” I had to catch my breath. It was constant, the children, the keeping up, the having eyes in the back of my head again. And it was also constant smiles and arguments and not a minute’s peace. Just the way I liked it. Retired? Bah. I was in the middle of everything. All the time. “Oat crunchies, shortbreads, Hobnobs.”

“Yuck,” he said, the little nugget, as I ruffled his hair. “I like the ones in the blue packet.”

“Hobnobs,” I offered, holding the packet out.

“Chocolate.” He nodded.

Okay. “Chocolate,” I agreed. “Chocolate Hobnobs.”

“Two,” he insisted. I gave in. Because I was a softie, and he was grinning, and I spoilt him. But then…this. Laughter, and the way he reached out and took two more biscuits.

“For you,” he said, placing them neatly on my plate. “And for Constance.”