12 “Think of all the lovely wool, madam,” said the dodgy- looking owner, who couldn’t look happy enough to be getting rid of the source of the lovely wool. “You’ve plenty of space, haven’t you?” “But… but!” For the first time in her entire life, Mum was speechless. I went up to the alpaca and patted his cream-colored, curly-furred nose. Straight away, the alpaca stopped spitting and stomping and nuzzled up to my arm. I like animals, so I don’t suppose it was much of a surprise that we got along, but this was love at first sight. He snuggled right up to me as though we were old friends... and suddenly we were. I looked at his big sad eyes and his crooked teeth looking like a hopeful smile. I reckoned we could find space in our crazy family and our even crazier house for one more. Hugo wanted to call the alpaca Paddington, after the beloved bear by that name, because Paddington came from Darkest Peru and the alpaca was from South America. I didn’t mind because I’d always loved the Paddington stories, so the alpaca became Paddington. Then we called him Paddy. I suppose I should tell you a bit about my ancestors, the parents of this crazy family of mine. Mum features quite a bit in this story. She’s a writer and spends much of her life pretending she’s somewhere else, getting attached to characters who don’t exist. Mum’s called Cordelia, after the girl in King Lear who is sweet, loyal, courageous, honorable… and gets hanged for her trouble. I asked her once why her parents had called her that, because they’re not even English, but she said that her father had learned all about England reading books and plays. Her ancestors came from a sunny island where everyone grew up believing that the British wear
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