Midge nodded, remembering the lights and voices in his room. ‘And how did that go?’
Noah, who wouldn’t look at her, shrugged. ‘He was pretty rude, actually. In fact, he got so drunk that I had to give up.’
This didn’t come as much of a surprise to Midge, who was trying to decide if she should get up and put more bread in the toaster, as no one else had – and if she did would she then be expected to offer it to the others, in the same manner as refilling the teapot? Further to that, would there then be an expectation to butter it for them?
‘Probably sleeping off the hangover as we speak,’ said Dr Mortimer, disapprovingly. ‘That’s no way to run a business.’
‘Is a second helping permitted in the cost of the breakfast, do you think?’ asked Midge.
Harold shrugged and pointed his knife at the doctor. ‘Dunno, why don’t you ask Lord Sugar?’
Which Midge thought wasn’t terribly helpful, on top of which, the chances of helping herself to anything more than bread had now been made impossible by Harold’s ring-fencing of the sausages by his strategically spread elbows.
Noah pulled a leather journal from his jacket pocket and placed it on to the table. The edging was worn and the paper inside curled at the corners. ‘Mr Rendell did give me this, though. An old diary of some sort belonging to the Atherton family doctor. The current owners uncovered it and lent it to him to help with the tours.’
At that moment, Rona entered in a kaftan and sliders that would have been more in keeping on the French Riviera. ‘Good morning, gorgeous people. And you too, Noah.’ She smiled before scooting over to Midge and plonking herself down. She continued, her voice gravelly, ‘Midge, you saucepot, why on earth are you wearing that thing? You look like you’re going to war.’ To Midge’s surprise, she was talking about her police-issue navy jumper. Midge was about to point out that the colour blue had been chosen by Sir Robert Peel himself to distinguish it from the red of the military, but decided against it. Anyway, Bridie had always admired her in her uniform sweats. At the thought of Bridie, she couldn’t help picturing her getting ready for the chemotherapy session all alone. Midge felt atwinge of discomfort at her own churlish behaviour when they had parted.
‘Is the breakfast organic?’ Rona asked, helping herself to Midge’s last mushroom.
‘I believe the bread might be,’ said Midge, hoping that Rona would offer to load the toaster and resolve her dilemma.
‘Organic?’ blinked Dr Mortimer, scrutinizing his own plate.
‘You need to be careful,’ said Rona, pulling out her rolling tobacco. ‘The amount of chemicals they leave on things nowadays. I’ve been buying only organic for years.’
Dr Mortimer cleared his throat. ‘Does that apply to your cigarettes? You do realize that each roll-up will contain at least two hundred chemicals?’
Rona’s hand stopped, the tobacco leaves pinched between her fingers, before turning to Midge. ‘I’ve had the best idea while I was asleep. Why don’t we all help with Noah’s podcast investigation? Zhoosh it up a bit.’
By the look on Noah’s face, anyone would think that he was the one who had just had his breakfast pilfered. ‘Zhoosh it up?’ he repeated.
‘Yeah, you know. All those podcasts nowadays, they’re all made up of re-enactments and stuff.’
‘And stuff...?’ replied Noah, weakly.
‘It’s what the listeners want. Interviews with experts and dramatization. Make it sexy.’
Midge’s ears burned. As she chewed on a particularly tough bit of rind, she wondered when precisely the world had decided that everything needed to be so sexy.
‘My listeners want scientific methodology,’ said Noah, resuming his eating.
‘He wrote and told you that, did he?’ asked Rona.
‘Ha. Ha.’
‘What listeners want is CONTENT – and to be perfectlyhonest, Noah, your entire show could do with a rebrand.’ Rona considered him from across the table.
‘Rebrand? What are you talking about?’
‘God, let’s start with the name...They Do It With Strings... I mean, what does that even mean?’
‘It’s a reference to Agatha Christie, as well as the mechanics that are used to create dramatic ghostly effects,’ said Noah. ‘Obviously.’
‘It sounds like an S and M podcast,’ said Rona.
‘Now, I might listen to that,’ said Harold, causing Midge to gag slightly on the rind.
‘That catchphrase is a bit suspect too,’ continued Harold.
