by Simon Brett
And outside Woodside Cottage she had kissed and hugged Jude rather more effusively than she sometimes might have done. But it was only when she fumbled with the keys of High Tor and had difficulty getting the relevant one into the lock that it occurred to her she might be a little bit drunk.
‘Cold water,’ she thought. ‘Drink lots of cold water.’
As she moved towards the kitchen, Gulliver rose from his favourite position beside the Aga to greet her. As the dog looked up, she wondered if she was being fanciful to see reproach in his large, melancholy eyes.
Then she noticed the single red digit on the answering machine. She fumbled for the playback button and pressed it.
‘Mother,’ said the rather formal voice of her son Stephen, ‘I thought you might like to have some explanation of these stomach upsets Gaby’s been getting. Well, we’ve had the twelve-week scan today and it’s confirmed. We thought you’d like to know … you’re going to be a grandmother again.’
