Part 10 (1/2)

'I've fallen in love, with...llamas,' she finally announced, with a soppy smile. 'They're just so...beautiful. They make you feel happy,' she sighed. 'The way they walk along beside you, humming away-that's what they do, they hum-as if they're talking to you, and they're incredibly easy to lead. They're so soft,' she went on rhapsodically. 'And they're so sensitive and clever. It was like an epiphany,' she exclaimed. 'Before I went to Peru I'd never even seen a llama, and now I just want to be with them all the time!'

We thought she'd gone mad and that she'd get over it, but the next thing we knew she'd bought two males. Then six months later she bought two more. And then she bought another four-including, recently, Henry, who's a little bit tricky-and she decided to run llama treks. That's what she does now, most weekends. She walks over the South Downs with sixteen people-two per llama-and the 'boys' carry the picnic in their special llama backpacks. It's a very popular day out.

'h.e.l.lo!' I said as one of them came right up close to me. 'We haven't met before, have we? You must be Henry.' I stroked his piebald fleece, as soft as cashmere. 'Hey,' I giggled. 'Cut that out!' He was kissing me, planting his thick, mobile lips on my right cheek. Now he kissed me again. 'Hey!' I laughed, dodging his mouth.

'I can't stop him doing that,' said Mum. 'He's very pushy about it. He often chases me round the field demanding kisses, don't you, Henry? I don't mind one or two,' she confided, 'but the constant snogging can be a bit of a drag.'

'Why does he do it? Has he been spoiled?'

'Well, sort of, he had too much human contact when he was a baby. He imprinted on people because he wasn't socialized with other llamas enough. I'm trying to work on it though. Couldn't you feature him on Animal Crackers, Miranda? The publicity would be jolly handy as I'm a bit down on the bookings at the moment.'

'Well, I'll ask, but I doubt they'll say yes-my own mum. So you aren't that busy then?'

She shrugged. 'We are at weekends-depending on the weather-but we don't have nearly enough going on in the week. I really feel I ought to develop new things to do with them but I don't really know what.'

'You still do the charity work though?'

'Yes, I take Carlos to Eastbourne hospital every Tuesday morning, and he cheers up the patients. But I need them to make some hard cash. Pedro had an audition for a beer commercial last week, which would have been a nice earner, but I don't think he got it or we'd have had the phone call by now.'

Suddenly my mobile rang and the llamas' ears all rotated like satellite dishes, then they stepped forward, straining to listen.

'Is that Miranda?' asked a vaguely familiar male voice, as Henry gave me another fuzzy kiss.

'Yes?'

'It's Bill McNaught here from West Drive.'

'h.e.l.lo. Oh stop it, will you! Sorry-not you.'

'Erm...you were asking me about the Whites.'

'That's right.'

'Well, my wife happened to call me a few minutes ago, and I told her about meeting you. She does have a bit of information about them.'

'Really? That's great.'

'She says that although she doesn't know where they live now, she did hear from a friend of a friend that Derek White had died-this would be about eight years ago now-and that Mrs White had gone to live in Norfolk, near Michael. As for David...'

My pulse quickened. 'Yes?'

'Apparently he became a photographer. Up in London. Now, she didn't know any more than that, but I suppose it narrows it down a bit.'

'It does. He's a photographer? Well that gives me something to go on. Thanks so much for ringing. I'm really grateful.'

'What was that about?' Mum asked, as I flipped shut the phone.

'Oh-I'm just trying to find an...old...friend.'

'Who?'

'Oh, this chap called David.'

'David? That doesn't ring any bells. Did I ever meet him?'

'No. You didn't.' Neither did I.

'Anyway, let's have lunch.'

We began to walk back to the house. 'Mum, there's something I've got to tell you,' I ventured as she opened the gate.

'What?' She looked at me suspiciously.

I'd been dreading this moment. 'Well...it's about...'

'Your father?' she antic.i.p.ated. 'It is, isn't it?'

'Actually, yes-it is. I had an e-mail from him last week.'

'Really? And what did he say?' My mother, some twenty years on, is still hostile towards my dad. It's ridiculous.

'That he's leaving Palm Springs.'

'Oh. Is that all?' She sighed with relief. 'And where's he going? Florida again? Bermuda? Or some other golfers' paradise?'

'No. None of those. He's, um, decided to come back here.'

'Here?' She stopped dead in her tracks.

'Yes, here.'

'Here, as in the UK?' I nodded. Her face was a mask of incredulity. 'Why?'

'For work.'

'Running another silly golf club, I suppose?' she said, striding towards the house once more.

'Er, yes,' I said. 'That's right.'

'I just hope it's in John O'Groats,' she said crossly.

'Well...it's a bit nearer than that actually...'

She stopped again. 'Where?'

'Erm, about five miles away.'

She looked at me, dumbfounded, her mouth slightly agape. 'You don't, surely, mean five miles from here?'

'Ye-es. I do mean that.'