‘Hello, Grandpa. Done what?’
‘Gone over the contracts, bian.’
‘But I will. I’ve already said so,’ replied Amanda, wondering why her grandparents had dropped in.
‘It’s a big step. A new working partnership with the inspector,’ Perran noted.
‘I know,’ she acknowledged.
‘What your grandfather means is that, before, while you were the witness in the Cardiubarn case, your relationship had to be professionally based. Now you are to be friends with official sanction.’
‘Yes,’ Amanda agreed slowly, then taking a sip her cocoa. ‘I do realise that. And if this is about my letting the inspector see what I do in the workshop …’ her voice trailed off as she stared into the warming flames in the hearth. Senara and Perran, turned on the television, set it to mute and started flicking through the channels, occasionally murmuring how much better the programmes were on their plane of existence, and leaving their granddaughter to her cogitations.
Friends ... partners ..., thought Amanda. She’d have to tell him what had gone on at The Manor and what had really happened at The Grange and how she’d known where to look to solve the murder at ... yes ....
And other things would come up too .... He’d probably wonder how she had come to have had certain experiences. Things that it may not have been likely that her grandparents had taken her to ....
Of course, Claire knew all about that. Was it girl-talk? No, because she always told Grandpa. In fact, there was little she didn’t share with him. It was only natural that on a Monday morning in the workshop, he’d ask how Amanda’s weekend had gone and he was so ... non-judgemental and encouraging that it was easy. Granny was more strident in her evaluations, but Grandpa .... Yes, the inspector may well wonder. Of course, failed attempts at romance and relationships were nothing to be ashamed of, as Granny had pointed out.
‘Claire’s forays into the world of both the brief encounter and the domestic partnership are no secret. And you know all about Thomas Trelawney’s disasters in that department.’
‘But Granny, that was only because that dreadful client of his mother’s practically announced it in front of me.’
‘Nevertheless, pet,’ Grandpa had replied, ‘after that, he did tell you more himself.’
It was true. Although the inspector had couched it in the most tactful terms, Amanda had gathered that, even though it had been years ago, he had had, if not his heart broken, certainly his trust betrayed. In fact, it did the inspector credit that he had neither become embittered nor jaundiced in his view of women in general. Amanda rightly suspected, however, that it had left him wary of treading the primrose path. She couldn’t blame him. She’d all but given up herself.
Amanda drank some more cocoa while she pondered this.
Friends ... friends ... she knew this train of thought was leading her somewhere ....
If only she understood Normals better. Granny and Grandpa had done their best to explain people in general and Normals in particular. However, some things Amanda would never understand.
Over the years, her grandparents had become accustomed to falling back on ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’. They had given this up when Amanda reached the age of 27, accepting the truth of their dear Swedish friend’s observation. Dr Bertil Bergstrom, who had given Amanda one of his patent Pocket-wands, had said,
‘Nine. Ahlvays nine’.
Where did most people make friends? Amanda asked herself. School. She had been home-schooled and had never been able to relate to her peers, but that wasn’t the case for most children. So … the students at the school must have had friends, friends they confided in. But no, because Lucy had said the students couldn’t really be friends because their first loyalty was to the school. Was that a dead end? Maybe find every single person who’d received an education at Growan House, and see if they did know anything. People who wouldn’t talk to the police but might talk to her! But where were they?
‘There has to be someone somewhere.’ Amanda had spoken aloud without thinking. Grandpa turned to her.
‘It’ll work out, bian,’ he said hearteningly. ‘You never know. Just like when you’re looking for your glasses and find you're wearing them, sometimes what you’re looking for is right under your nose.’
Chapter 33
The Trelawneys
Flossie Trelawney, small and wiry with short grey hair, opened the door and welcomed them in.
‘Miss Cadabra, nice to meet Tom’s colleague!’
‘New work partner, we understand. Come on in,’ invited Clemo Trelawney, a strapping man with impressive white eyebrows.
‘Please call me Amanda, Mr and Mrs Trelawney,’ she said, shaking hands with her hosts.
They both laughed at that. ‘Flossie and Clemo I’ll do just fine.’
‘Oh, come ere’ you big lummox,’ Flossie bade Thomas, ‘and give yer gran a hug!’
It was comically clear that they had been schooled by their son, Kyt, to whom Clemo nodded significantly and uttered,
‘Come in, Kyt. Good to see you, my lover.’ Kyt received a cuddle from Flossie and a clap on the shoulder from the most senior Mr Trelawney.
In his youth, Clemo had been briefly dazzled — bewitched, some said — by a Flamgoyne beauty, and had found himself married. It was brief, and something he preferred to forget. A year later, it was over, having produced a child declared useless by the Flamgoynes for magical purposes.
Clemo Trelawney was divorced and a single father of an infant, but not for long. Flossie soon took Clemo and his child to her ample heart. They went on to have other children, but she could not have loved the little Kytto more than her own flesh and blood.
As for Kyt, Flossie was the only mother he had ever known; to him, she was Mamm, mother in
