The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) by Lizzie Church Page A

for you. You go on and ask her. Tell her that Uncle Andrew has put you up to it.’
    Bob ran inside, delighted with the ride and full of anticipation as to what it was that his mama might have for him. Mr Berkeley followed him at a slight distance. Kathryn had retreated to the kitchen, where a kettle of water was coming to the boil. He followed Bob inside.
    ‘Uncle Andrew says that you have something for me, mama,’ shrieked Bob, running up to her in his excitement and pulling at her apron strings. ‘He says he wants to get you up for it.’
    Kathryn shot him a shocked look. Even Mr Berkeley looked somewhat embarrassed.
    ‘Hmmm,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘Not quite the message, Bob. I said that I had put you up to it – asking for your present, you understand.’
    This was such a relief for Kathryn that she omitted to censure her son for calling him his uncle. Instead, she laughingly handed him the parcel and suggested that he might open it on the table. Mr Berkeley came and stood close by her to watch . Bob tore at the paper impatiently and it was gone in an instant. The little boy’s excitement and delight when he discovered the nature of this wonderful new toy was a joy to behold. There was no way in which Kathryn’s annoyance with Mr Berkeley could survive such an onslaught as this. The pleasure of her son instantly transformed it into gratitude and he was rewarded with a heartfelt smile that truly lit up her face.
    ‘Can we go and sail it right away?’ demanded Bob. ‘I want to see how fast it’ll go. I bet it’ll go as quick as your carriage, Uncle Andrew.’
    ‘It is quickly, Bob – not fast, and not quick – quickly is the word you need, both times,’ corrected Kathryn, mechanically. ‘And I do not think that Mr Berkeley will like you calling him Uncle Andrew.’
    ‘Yes he would,’ said Bob, stoutly, ‘wouldn’t you, Uncle Andrew ? You told me so yourself and I don’t have any real uncles anyway – just an aunt, and she’s really old and boring...’
    ‘Humph,’ put in Andrew quickly, before Kathryn could get on her high horse again. ‘Yes, I want you to call me uncle – I have no more nephews than you have real uncles, after all, and I desperately want to have one - though I’m sure your mama would not want you calling your aunt old and boring and I’m sure she’s no such thing. I think you’ll have to ask her really nicely if you want to give the boat a trial. I have a suspicion that she is not too happy with either of us this afternoon.’
    Kathryn did not have the heart to scold them any more and when they both looked at her so pleadingly, with the same doleful eyes, what more could she do but grant her reluctant permission and tell them not to be too long. So off they went together, full of glee, racing each other up the trackway to the village with Mr Berkeley, as usual, seeming to get the worse of any encounter that happened along the way.
    A couple of days later Kathryn had need to go into Weymouth to visit Aunt Shepherd and undertake a few small transactions in the town centre. Although she was fond of her aunt, and knew that she was always delighted to see her, Kathryn was ashamed to admit to herself that she always felt just a tinge of reluctance to visit her. She had to force herself to do so each fortnight by rewarding herself afterwards with the treat of a cup of coffee at Harvey’s library on Weymouth Esplanade. Although she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had to agree with her son that her aunt could – well – just occasionally – be ever such a little bit boring. She was quite elderly, after all, and her interests were not the same as a younger person’s would be, centred, as they were, almost exclusively upon illnesses and their remedies. But more than that, Kathryn could never go to see her without a feeling that it was all her fault that the poor woman was spending the final years of her life in the utmost penury, forced to eke out a meagre existence by