‘Ha!’ smiled Harold, filling his own glass. ‘What’s it they say? You’ve got to let the spirits in to let the spirits in!’
‘I don’t think anyone says that,’ pointed out Midge. ‘It doesn’t make much sense, nor does it scan particularly well.’
Rona placed her hand over the glass. ‘No,’ she replied firmly, this time locking eyes with Rendell. ‘I’m a recovering addict.’
Rendell held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m not offering you heroin, sweetheart. Just a wee drink.’
‘I’m on a step programme,’ explained Rona. ‘Step one is admitting powerlessness over the addiction. So, there is never just a “wee” drink for me.’
‘Presumably step two is developing an unhealthy obsession with the paranormal,’ said Dr Mortimer.
‘What are you talking about?’ frowned Rona.
‘They all do it, don’t they?’ agreed Harold. ‘That fat one from Take That, he was off chasing aliens in Utah, wasn’t he? Spent a fortune on it.’
‘Oh yes.’ Gloria nodded. ‘What was his name again?’ she asked Midge, who wondered if Rona’s orange lipstick was giving the impression that she was knowledgeable about the music scene.
‘Robbie Williams?’ suggested Rona, tipping her head to one side. ‘Actually, I spent a lovely weekend at Coachella with Robbie. He was desperate to do a collab, but his star was on the wane and ours on the rise...’
‘What’s Coachella?’ asked Gloria.
‘Coachella!’ snorted Noah. ‘Another festival where hundreds of pop stars fly in on their private jets and then spend their time preaching to the crowd about the dangers of global warming.’
‘Easy, Greta Thunberg,’ said Rendell, holding up his hands.
‘Excuse me!’ said Rona. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve always put the environment first in my work. All my riders insist on fair trade chocolate. And on my last tour, we only allowed electric buggies around the stadium. Which, when you add up the carbon saving of that, far outweighs your monthly donation to Greenpeace, so you can keep your virtue signalling for someone else.’
‘Or you could just stop touring,’ said Noah. ‘Save the planet that way.’
‘Well, I have to now, so...’ Rona fell silent.
‘Noah? You’ll have a drink, surely?’ Harold was pushing a bottle towards him.
‘I don’t drink,’ said Noah, flatly. ‘Quite frankly, it’s ridiculous that the only way your generation can relax is by poisoning itself.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ whistled Harold, slumping back in his seat. ‘And how exactly do millennials have any fun?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Noah. ‘If you must put a label on everything, Rona’s the millennial, I’m Gen Z.’
‘I’m not a fucking millennial!’ cried Rona. ‘Take that back.’
‘Tell that to your suitcase full of branded shoes,’ smirked Noah. ‘It probably cost more than the national debt of a developing country.’
‘Leave my shoes out of it!’ said Rona, taking a big gulp from her glass of water. ‘You can’t put a price on art.’
‘Well,youseem to have managed to,’ said Noah. ‘How much were the tickets on your last tour?’
‘I’d no idea you were a fan, Noah,’ said Rona, smiling sweetly.
‘So, if you don’t drink, how do Gen Zs have fun, then?’ asked Harold. Midge was unaccustomed to quite so much conversation at mealtimes. Classic FM was the only noise needed while eating according to Bridie, although privately sometimes Midge would have quite liked to listen toThe Archers.
Noah shrugged and placed a forkful of food into his mouth. ‘By being in the present.’
‘Says the man chasing ghosts,’ muttered Dr Mortimer.
Midge agreed with Noah. She only ever had a glass of vermouth at Christmas and, if she was honest, that was only to stop Bridie complaining about drinking on her own. Given the debate around the table, she decided to accept a glass in order not to draw any more attention to herself. But, as it turned out, no one asked her anyway.
‘What time should we expect the ghost?’ asked Rona.
