an older man? Someone more experienced?' Another nod. 'Well, it might have been, but I doubt it. Sometimes you have to learn about a person. Sometimes you have to be married to them before you can really relax and enjoy it. When you're young, a young man, that is, you tend to be impatient, not as considerate as you ought to be. Talk to Digby, I'm sure he'll understand. The important thing is not to worry about it: don't develop any hang-ups and don't believe everything you read in Cosmopolitan. If you love each other the sex bit is just a bonus. You're a lovely lady, Sophie, and I suspect you're just too much for young Digby, but he'll settle down once he realises that you're not going to run away from him.'
'Am I being stupid?' I heard her whisper.
'No, you're not being stupid. You'll be OK, just don't expect perfection every time.' I decided that sex therapist was not my calling and changed the subject. 'What's Digby's second name.'
'Merriman-Flint.'
''Struth! With a hyphen?'
'Yes.'
'Blimey. So will you be Sophie Merriman-Flint or Sophie Sparkington-Merriman-Flint?'
'Sophie Jennifer Sparkington-Merriman-Flint,' she replied.
'Of course. It suits you.' I held her for a while, swaying gently to the music, then said: 'Do you love him, Sophie? Really love him?'
She turned to face me and I was alarmed to see tears welling up in her eyes. I pulled her back into my arms and hugged her tight, but the tears turned into full-scale weeping.
'What is it, Sophie?' I whispered. 'What's the problem? I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems. We'll work ifout.'
'I'm pregnant, Uncle Charles,' she sobbed. 'I'm having a baby.'
'Oh Sophie, Sophie.' I wanted to say I was sorry, rocking her back and forth, then decided it might not be appropriate. Every thought that came into my head sounded more fatuous than the one before. 'How… how…' I began, stumbling for words.
'The usual way,' she sniffed with a tearful smile. 'Clever clogs, know-it-all Sophie has gone and got herself pregnant. It's right what they say: It's always the nice girls that get banged up.'
'I meant… how long have you known?'
'Since Friday morning.'
'And how… how long..?'
'How far gone am I? About four weeks.'
'That's not long. Are you sure?'
'Positive.'
I wiped her cheek with my fingertips. 'So what are you going to do?'
'Have a baby, I expect. Not what I'd planned but I'm growing used to the idea.'
'Does Digby know?'
'No. You're the only person I've told. I don't know what Digby will say. Maybe he'll be mad at me, not want to see me again. I'm scared, Uncle Charles, really scared.'
I gave her an extra squeeze. 'He won't be mad at you,' I assured her. 'If he's the sort of person I would expect you to go with he won't be mad at you. He'll be surprised, confused, for about twenty seconds. Then he'll be the happiest man in the world, believe me.'
'What if he isn't? What if he doesn't want me?'
'In that case, you come back to me and we'll run away together, to somewhere where your dad would never find us.'
'Like where?'
'Antarctica, but I'm sure it won't come to that.'
'That would be nice. I do love you, Uncle Charles.'
'And I you. So when will you tell him?'
'Tomorrow, and when he gets over the shock I'll ask him if the offer still stands.'
'It will, I'm sure. Then there's the little matter of your parents.'
'I know. I'll tell them about the engagement first, if there is one, let them get used to that, then take it from there. There's no hurry, not for a while.'
'Your dad will be disappointed.'
'That's true, but only until he's a granddad, then he'll be as soppy as ever.'
'No, I meant about having a son-in-law called Digby.'
'Mmm, that is a problem.' She chuckled and sniffed at the same time and I found a tissue for her in my pocket. 'But there are compensations.'
'Compensations?'
'Yes. His family own half of Shropshire.'
'Ha ha! Good for you. Which half?'
'That's what Dad will say.'
There was thunder in the distance through the night. Just before dawn it trundled off the hills and away down the valley like a powerful army, content to have reminded us of its presence. I spent the night on the settee, listening, until with a final rumble the storm shook its fist at the town before skulking off and I fell asleep.
Sophie slept through the dawn chorus and through the noises of the people next door hitching their caravan to the Volvo, dad shouting orders to everyone, before they went off for a day's fun queuing on the bypass. I had some Frosties and a cup of tea, and at ten to nine took a tray upstairs.
I knocked at my own bedroom door and asked if I could come in. A sleepy voice granted me permission.
Sophie was sitting up, the duvet drawn up under her armpits. Holding the tray on the fingertips of one hand I pulled the drawstring for the curtains to open them slightly, letting the morning sunshine spill into the room. Her hair had fallen on to her shoulders and it shone like spun gold where the sunlight caught it. She yawned and made noises of contentment, stretching her arms and smiling at me.
I said: 'Orange juice, coffee, Frosties and toast. Will there be anything else, Ma'am?'
'Ooh, thank you. I like this hotel. No, that should be everything. I wasn't asleep, just dreaming.'
'Did the thunder disturb you?'
'Thunder? No, did it thunder?'
'Just a little. Flattened two houses down the street and blew the roof off next door.'
'Well, I didn't hear it.'
I placed the tray on her lap and dropped another pillow behind her head. 'Don't be all day,' I told her. 'There's a faint chance that your dad might call.'
'Is that why you told me to bring my shoes and bag upstairs?'
'Yes.' She laughed and called me silly, but I told her that there was nothing silly about self-preservation.
I turned to go, but she said: 'Uncle Charles.'
'Mmm.' I stopped and leaned on the doorjamb, my hand on the handle.
'About last night.'
'What about it?'
'I'm glad we… you know… that we didn't.'
'Good. So am I.'
'But somehow, it feels as if… as if it was still a bit special. I feel… closer to you, if you know what I mean. I was upset when I decided to come to see you, all mixed up. You were the only person I could think of. Thank you for looking after me. I love you, I really do. You're my best friend.'
'Yes, Sophie,' I replied. 'I know what you mean, and I love you more than ever. That's not always the case, the morning after, believe me. Now eat your breakfast. I want you downstairs in ten minutes.'
As I crossed the landing I heard her call: 'Can I have a shower, please.'
'Yes!' I yelled back.
I drove her down to Cambridge and we breakfasted at a Little Chef on the Al. Sophie said she was determined to get her degree, even with a baby to look after. If Digby stayed on for his masters it shouldn't be a problem. Near Cambridge we stopped again and had a chat sitting in a car park outside a greasy-spoon. I warned her that her mother's birthday was looming large and that she'd be in big trouble if she forgot to send a card. She
