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Consoles remained locked away for only a week, but on their return I wassurprised to find Mum had changed the parental lock password (I couldfathom why she'd do so) and I could think of no good reason to ask herfor the new one, nor was I able to find it written down anywhere. I triedall the normal ones - newkidsontheblock80, or bridgetjones999 - but cameup blank every time. This resulted in a most frustrating morning ofsitting in Amelia's room (and trying to ignore her discarded nightie inthe wash-basket and all its horrible portentous meaning), and findingmyself truly emotional at the thought of my saved game being lost forever.I should, of course, have used the opportunity to ween myself off thegame, but finding myself with the kind of addiction other weaknesses haveclinics for, and suspecting that Amelia's time with the game was at anend, I instead found myself loading up her save game, and thereforesuddenly in control of her "AmeliaXXX" bear, dressed in what appeared tobe a. "I wasn't sure at the time. Anyway you were so business-like and there was no way you would associate Mrs. Wilman with the Marilyn you knew all those years ago. Because I wasn't certain I said nothing rather than make a fool of myself." I nodded. It would have been a confused conversation over the phone. "Would you like a coffee?" She asked. I certainly would."Strong one please, Marilyn a little milk and one sugar. I need to get my heart beating again." She walked through the lobby to a breakfast room that looked out over the fields towards Dartmoor."Grab a seat, the coffees made, I'll bring it through." I took a seat on one side of the table. It looked as if it was hewn out of one huge log about five hundred years ago, and those years of polishing had given it a patina that could never be reproduced with modern methods. Marilyn came back with a cafetiere of freshly brewed coffee, cups, saucers, milk, sugar and a plate of shortbread biscuits. She poured the coffee and passed the cup.
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