I’m kidding myself, I do want to know. ‘What?’
‘Just . . .’ He stands, and my gaze lifts with him, my eyes demanding an explanation. Using the table for support, he leans over towards me slightly. ‘Oh dear, dear, me.’
I jump up and scoot around the table to assist him. ‘What do you mean, Mr H?’
‘Oh dear.’ He shakes his head in genuine despair, and it hits me.
‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘Oh no, no, no. Really, no “oh dear” whatsoever.’
‘Oh dear,’ he says once more. I want to scream my frustration. ‘Casanova strikes again,’ he quips. His attempt at humour isn’t funny at all. There is genuine despair underneath it.
‘But he hasn’t.’ I laugh nervously. ‘Honestly, I’m immune.’ I’m about to tell him exactly how immune to his grandson I am, but I’m interrupted by the kitchen door opening, halting another delusional lie from leaving my lips.
Mrs Potts stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. I’m relieved, despite her looking rather cross. ‘Eleanor, dear, would you mind peeling some carrots for me?’
‘Of course,’ I answer swiftly. Carrots I can do – anything to escape more oh dears.
‘Donald, you’re supposed to be having a nap.’
‘Put a lid on it, woman,’ he grumbles. ‘We have a problem.’
‘We do?’ she says, ignoring his order.
‘Yes, we do.’ He takes my hand from his elbow and gently holds it, affectionately patting the back of it with his free hand. ‘Eleanor here thinks she’s immune to Becker boy.’
The overjoyed smile that jumps on to Mrs Potts face actually makes me feel better. ‘That’s wonderful.’ She scurries over and takes my hand from Mr H’s, repeating his move and rubbing furiously. ‘I’m so pleased.’
‘Me too,’ I agree, soaking up the praise. Even if I don’t deserve it. Because I’m a fraud.
‘Oh, for the love of Hercules.’ Mr H pulls my attention away from a pleased Mrs Potts. ‘No, Dorothy.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘She thinks she’s immune.’
My eyebrows meet in the middle. ‘I am immune,’ I say, keen to put their minds at rest. That I’m in denial is of no consequence. I realise the importance of repelling Becker, and not just because he’s a player. It seems Becker didn’t succeed in his attempts to settle his grandad’s worry when it comes to me, so it’s imperative that I do.
My eyes cast between the two old folks, as they slowly turn their attention towards me again. They’re looking sorry for me. ‘What?’ I shift nervously on my heels. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Oh, dear me,’ Mrs Potts breathes.
‘Oh my God,’ I say in frustration. ‘Really, no “oh, dear me”.’ I sound desperate. I am desperate. I will not go there.
‘Yes, dear.’ Mrs Potts places a pacifying hand on my bare arm and rubs soothingly. ‘Anything you say, dear.’
‘See?’ Mr Hunt mumbles, starting to drag his heavy feet across the tiles to the kitchen door. ‘Immune,’ he scoffs.
If he wasn’t so unstable and old, I’d drag him back and make him listen to my denial until he’s convinced, but this little episode has exhausted me. My shoulders drop, and I give up, watching as Mrs Potts catches up with the old man and slips her hand through his arm. ‘I feared the worst,’ she says quietly, like she doesn’t want me to hear. But I do hear. Perfectly.
‘Oh, Dorothy,’ Mr H replies, opening the door and gesturing for her to go first, a perfect gentleman, even though he still has to hold on to her as she takes the lead. ‘The worst is yet to come.’
The door shuts.
And I’m alone.
‘No “oh dear me”,’ I yell, looking around the kitchen for something to take my frustrations out on. I settle on the table and march over, giving it a firm slap, imagining it’s Becker’s face. What does this even mean? Will they sack me? Send me packing before the worst comes? And what did they mean when they said the worst is yet to come, anyway?
Woof!
I swing around to find Winston at my feet. If I wasn’t totally sane, I’d suspect the happy pant he’s got going on right now is him agreeing with the two old people. ‘Don’t you start,’ I warn. Totally sane? I’m talking to a bloody dog.
Woof!
‘What?’ I ask, like he might answer. Funnily enough, he doesn’t, but he does trot across the room and nuzzle at a leather dog lead hanging off the back of the door. ‘You want to go for a walk?’
He barks and nuzzles the