Like not putting shoes on top of hats or clothes.

“I might well do,” she replied, examining her nails. “What do those wily foxes say the weather’s doing this weekend, then?”

Wily foxes.

That was something I’d never heard the Met Office called.

Could meteorologists be referred to as wily foxes? What was wily or fox-like about predicting the weather?

“There’s a storm coming in,” I answered, folding her favorite cocktail dress. “A pretty bad one. High winds. Predicted flooding. It’s supposed to be all weekend.”

“Oh. Then I won’t need these, will I?” She removed the sunhat and flip-flops from the suitcase. “Shall I pack my wellies?”

“It’s Wales,” I replied dryly. “You should always pack your wellies if you’re going to Wales for longer than a day trip. In fact, even then it’s worth throwing them in the boot.”

“Good point. You’ll have to take those clothes out, Gabriella. My wellies will need to go in the bottom.”

Sigh.

“Have you considered what you’ll do if you can’t get back? You know the roads flood and it takes forever for them to clear.”

“Well, if the bloody council would stop building on the flood plains, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Unfortunately, unless you suddenly become the person in charge at the council, there’s not a lot we can do about that.” I delicately placed her clothing to the side. “If the weather takes a turn for the worse, will you come home early or stay?”

“You’ll have to ask your father. I’m not allowed to plan trips anymore. Remember when I thought I’d booked a week in Lisbon and it was actually Lebanon?”

“How could I forget?” I shook my head. Nobody quite knew how she’d managed to not only mix up Europe and North Africa, but also how she’d mixed up a city with an entire country and not noticed.

Not to mention that she needed vaccines for Lebanon.

“However, I suspect we’ll stay. You know how your father gets while driving in the rain. He turns into some kind of monster, and he doesn’t appreciate my help from the passenger side.”

That wasn’t exclusive to rainy weather.

Nobody needed her help when they were driving. Ever.

Her so-called help mostly consisted of enthusiastic beeping of the horn at those she considered to be bad drivers and the yelling of more than a few strong words.

Words she’d give me a clip around the ear for saying because they’re unladylike.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So what about the animals? I don’t know what I’m doing with them. What if Caleb can’t get here either?”

“Ask him to stay over just in case. It’s not like there isn’t any room.” She paused. “Oh, if he can’t get here, neither can the staff. Never mind. There’ll be nobody to make him a room.”

“I’m perfectly capable of making a bed, Aunt Cat.”

“I know you are, but you don’t have to.”

“I change my own sheets once a week.”