‘You’re only saying that to please me,’ she accused.
‘Not at all. His cheeks are fuller. Definitely.’
Robin was lying wakeful in his basket, while Simmy sat with a coffee and watched him adoringly. The peaceful interlude lasted barely half an hour before Fabian Crick pushed himself back into her thoughts. Had he deliberately given her and Christopher just enough to guarantee curiosity, while withholding any specific details? How could anybody talk on a subject for two hours or more and still leave his listeners in almost total ignorance? He had described his great-aunt as a person, dwelling on her younger days and her attitude to her relations. He had also described the Ullswater house, but not disclosed its exact location. There had been implications in plenty, but almost nothing concrete. On the other hand, it could be that Fabian’s near-death experience in Africa had damaged his brain somehow and rendered him incapable of sustained logical thought. His rambling presentation of his story supported that theory but did nothing to make the situation easier. The word ‘craven’ found its way into her head, as a fitting description of him. He had wanted something but had not found a way to fully articulate what it was.
She was going to have to run the whole thing past Bonnie next day and see what happened then. There was no discernible reason not to do so – Fabian had raised no objection when hints had been made about Ben and his skill at solving mysteries. He had made it clear that he was aware of Simmy’s little team of amateur sleuths, and – it occurred to her now – there was every chance he had approached Christopher with that knowledge in mind all along.
Robin then occupied the whole of the remainder of the morning by breaking with routine to such an extent that Simmy was thrown into panic. He participated in a little playtime, and then screamed when she tried to put him down at ten; fed heartily at least an hour earlier than usual and then still refused to fall asleep. Could it be the result of his late bedtime the night before, she wondered. He had woken only slightly later that morning, so it seemed an unlikely theory. She wrapped him in the sling and walked as far as the car park at the end of the tiny road that ran through the village. He was quiet but wakeful, wriggling and resisting instead of dozing as he normally did. Back at home, he violently objected to his nappy change and then finally accepted another feed, with a resentful scowl creasing his little face. And still he wouldn’t sleep. It was as if the fairies had crept in and left a completely different baby in his crib.
‘Growth spurt,’ said Angie, when Simmy phoned her in despair soon after midday. ‘Weren’t we expecting something like this?’
‘It’s awfully sudden.’
‘Hm. So what’s changed? Babies are very quick to detect an atmosphere, you know.’
‘We did have a visitor last night – but I wouldn’t say that did anything to the atmosphere. Robin just won’t go to sleep, even in the sling.’
‘Take him for a drive. That always works.’
‘Yes, but what’s the matter with him? He must be ill. Something hurts somewhere.’
‘Did you eat onions? Or whatever the other things are that they say upset a baby’s digestion?’
‘I didn’t eat anything much,’ Simmy remembered. ‘Christopher did a very boring thing with pasta and the visitor ate most of it. It did have onions in – but I’ve had them plenty of times before and Robin’s been fine.’
‘Well, just keep feeding him and make sure you get a good meal. Two good meals would be even better.’
The advice was rather more helpful than Simmy might have expected. Her mother had not enjoyed Simmy’s own baby stage and refused to contemplate further children. Could it be that she was secretly reading books or blogs or things on YouTube about the care of infants? It was not entirely impossible and Simmy felt warmed by the idea. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘I expect he’ll crash out eventually and sleep for ages. Not that I mind if he doesn’t sleep, but he seems so miserable.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘No. The builders are here. Humphrey seems to be quite good with babies, actually. I’ll go now and make myself a big cheese sandwich.’
‘You do that. And don’t be shy to summon Christopher home again. By rights, he ought to be with you all day. It’s not even three weeks yet.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Simmy said again, a little more briskly.
‘I’ll keep you posted. We’re coming into Windermere tomorrow. You can give me some lunch, if you like.’
Ten minutes later, as she balanced baby, sandwich and large glass of milk, her mobile rang. It was Christopher. Before he could speak, she was pouring out the day’s concerns, while Robin whimpered obligingly as confirmation of his new self. ‘He just won’t stop whingeing,’ Simmy concluded. ‘No matter what I do.’
‘My mother used to put us in a darkened room and leave us to cry,’ he said, with nowhere near enough sympathy. ‘Perhaps he’s overstimulated.’
‘I’ll take him for a drive later on, if he doesn’t settle.’
‘Right. Well, we’ve got troubles of our own up here. Josephine hasn’t shown up for work and isn’t answering her phone. It’s totally out of character. We’ve sent Fiona off to look for her. Something must have happened to her. Just when I wanted to have a good talk with her about Fabian Crick. We’re helpless here without her. Nobody else knows how to organise the online buyers and their purchases. And there was so much I wanted to ask her about Crickers.’
‘Oh.’ Cutting through her worries over Robin came the utter certainty that
