Something rotten

'You stay out here,' I said to Pickwick, 'and don't let Alan misbehave himself

It was too late. Alan, small size notwithstanding, had already terrorised Mordecai and the other dodos into submission. They all shivered in fright beneath the hydrangeas.

'Are you staying for long?' enquired my mother. 'Your room is just how you left it.'

This meant just how I left it when I was nineteen, but I thought it rude to say so. I explained that I'd like to stay at least until I got an apartment sorted out, introduced Hamlet and asked whether he could stay for a few days too.

'Of course! Lady Hamilton's in the spare room and that nice Mr Bismarck is in the attic, so he can have the boxroom.'

My mother grasped Hamlet's hand and shook it heartily.

'How are you, Mr Hamlet? Where did you say you were the prince of again?'

'Denmark.'

'Ah! No visitors after seven p.m. and breakfast stops at nine a.m. prompt. I do expect guests to make their own bed and if you need washing done you can put it in the wicker basket on the landing Pleased to meet you. I'm Mrs Next, Thursday's mother.'

'I have a mother,' replied Hamlet gloomily as he bowed politely and kissed my mother's hand. 'She shares my uncle's bed.'

'They should buy another one in that case,' my mother replied, practical as ever. 'They do a very good deal at IKEA, I'm told. Don't use it myself because I don't like all that self-assembly � I mean, what's the point of paying for something you have to build yourself? But it's popular with men for exactly that same reason. Do you like Battenberg?'

'Wittenberg?'

'No, no. Battenberg.'

'On the River Eder?' asked Hamlet, confused over my mother's conversational leap from self-assembly furniture to cake.

'No, silly, on a doily � covered with marzipan.'

Hamlet leaned closer to me.

'I think your mother may be insane � and I should know.'

'You'll get the hang of what she's talking about,' I said, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.

We walked through the hall to the living room where, after managing to extract Friday's fingers from Mum's beads, we managed to sit down.

'So tell me all your news!' she exclaimed as my eyes flicked around the room, trying to take in all the many potential hazards for the two-year-old.

'Where do you want me to begin?' I asked, removing the vase of flowers from the top of the TV before Friday had a chance to pull them over on himself. 'I had a flurry of things to do before I left. Two days ago I was in Camelot trying to sort out some marital strife and the day before � sweetheart, don't touch that � I was negotiating a pay dispute with the Union of Orcs.'

'Goodness!' replied my mother. 'You must be simply dying for a cup of tea.'

'Please. The BookWorld might be the cat's pyjamas for characterisation and explosive narrative, but you can't get a decent cup of tea for all the bourbon in Hemingway.'

'I'll do it!' said Joffy. 'C'mon, Hamlet, tell me about yourself. Got a girlfriend?'

'Yes � but she's bonkers.'

'In a good way or a bad way?'

Hamlet shrugged.

'Neither � just bonkers. But her brother � hell's teeth! Talk about sprung-loaded . . . !'

Their conversation faded as they disappeared into the kitchen.

'Don't forget the Battenberg,' my mother called after them.

I opened my suitcase and took out a few rattly toys Mrs Bradshaw had given me. Melanie had looked after Friday a lot as she and Commander Bradshaw had no children of their own, what with Melanie being a mountain gorilla, so she had doted on Friday. It had its upsides � he always ate his greens and loved fruit � but I had my suspicions that they climbed on the furniture when I wasn't about, and once I found Friday trying to peel a banana with his feet.

'How's life treating you?' I asked.

'Better for seeing you. It's quite lonely with Mycroft and Polly away at the fourteenth annual Mad Scientists Conference. If it wasn't for Joffy and his partner Miles popping round every day, Bismarck and Emma, Mrs Beatty next door, Eradications Anonymous, my panel-beating class and that frightful Mrs Daniels, I'd be completely alone. Should Friday be in that cupboard?'

I turned, jumped up, grabbed Friday by the straps of his dungarees and gently took the two crystal wineglasses from his inquisitive grasp. I showed him his toys and sat him down in the middle of the room. He stayed put for about three seconds before tottering off in the direction of DH82, Mum's bone-idle Thylacine, who was asleep on a nearby chair.

DH82 yelped as Friday tugged playfully at his whiskers. The Thylacine then got up, yawned, and went to find his supper dish. Friday followed. And I followed Friday.

'�in the ear?' said Joffy as I walked into the kitchen. 'Does that work?'

'Apparently,' replied the prince, 'we found him stone dead in the orchard.'

I scooped up Friday, who was about to tuck into DH82's food, and took him back to the living room.

'Sorry,' I explained, 'he's into everything at the moment. Tell me about Swindon. Much changed?'

'Not really. The Christmas lights have improved tremendously, there's a Skyrail line straight through the Brunei Centre and Swindon now has twenty-six different supermarkets.'

'Can the residents eat that much?'

'We're giving it our best shot.'

Joffy walked back in with Hamlet and placed a tray of tea things in front of us.

'That small dodo of yours is a terror. Tried to peck me when I wasn't looking.'

'You probably startled him. How's Dad?'

Joffy, to whom this was a touchy subject, decided not to join us but play with Friday instead.

'C'mon, young lad,' he said, 'let's get drunk and shoot some pool.'

'Your father has been wanting to get hold of you for a while,' said my mother as soon as Joffy and Friday had gone. 'As you probably guessed he's been having trouble with Nelson again. He often comes home simply reeking of cordite, and I'm really not keen on him hanging around with that Emma Hamilton woman.'

My father was a sort of time-travelling knight errant. He used to be a member of SO-12, the agency charged with policing the timelines: the ChronoGuard. He resigned owing to differences over the way the historical timeline was managed and went rogue. The ChronoGuard decided that he was too dangerous and eradicated him by a well-timed knock at the door during the night of his conception; my aunt April was born instead.

'So Nelson died at the Battle of Trafalgar?' I asked, recalling Dad's previous problems in the timeline.

'Yes,' she replied, 'but I'm not sure he was meant to. That's why your father says he has to work so closely with Emma.'

Emma, of course, was Lady Emma Hamilton, Nelson's consort. It was she who had alerted my father to Nelson's eradication. One moment she had been married to Lord Nelson for over ten years, the next she was a bankrupt lush living in Calais. Must have been quite a shock. My mother leaned closer.

'Between the two of us I'm beginning to think Emma's a bit of a tram� Emma! How nice of you to join us!'

At the doorway was a tall, red-faced woman wearing a brocade dress that had seen better days. Despite the rigours of a lengthy and damaging acquaintance with the bottle, there were the remains of great beauty and charm about her. She must have been dazzling in her youth.

'Hello, Lady Hamilton,' I said, getting up to shake her hand, 'how's the husband?'

'Still dead.'

'Mine too.'

'Bummer.'

'Ah!' I exclaimed, wondering quite where Lady Hamilton picked up the word, although on reflection she probably knew a few worse. 'This is Hamlet.'

'Emma Hamilton,' she cooed, casting an eye in the direction of the unquestionably handsome Dane and giving him her hand, 'Lady.'