They drove up from London Heathrow on Easter Monday and were back in their house before midday. They came over to our suburban mansion in the afternoon.
Little Margot was delighted to see us - smiling like the cat who had got the cream. Not too long ago she would grab roughly at my face without grace or decorum but yesterday her touch was gentle. One finger on my nose or a soft little palm on my cheek. It was noticeably different.
Of course they were all rather jet-lagged, only just beginning to tune back in to British Summer Time.
Phoebe seems to have grown. She was already quite tall for her age.
She gathered all the children's books she could find and began making what she called a "bookpath". It snaked from the bay window in our front room, through the hallway and through the kitchen to our back door. She invited me to walk along it, taking care not to put my feet on the floor where there might have been stingrays and sharks.
I love that new word - not a footpath but a path made of books - a bookpath! I am sorry I did not take a photo of Phoebe's bookpath so instead you will have to make do with the AI image I created.
When authors get their books published, I doubt that many of them imagine that their proud creations might become mere paving stones for a bookpath.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/RtZukpD
