She tried so hard to have a little tantrum but she’s so expertly managed, she doesn’t stand a chance

I am trying to establish the house phone’s whereabouts. 

It’s ringing very, very faintly, as if buried by a cushion but persistently, as if the caller knows full well that I’m running tiptoe round the house with my ears pricked like a dog’s, searching through soft-furnishings: it can only be my mother.

“So where did you find it this time?” Mum says.