‘Gloria!’ snapped the doctor. ‘Be careful, it’s sharp.’
Midge couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t actually offer to take over until his wife had already put the last shard into the rubbish bin. Gloria, however, didn’t seem to mind, and her face lit up as she spoke to him. ‘It was Robert, I’m sure of it. He always hated washing up.’
‘It wasn’t Robert,’ said the doctor, fiddling with a teaspoon on the table. ‘Harold most likely knocked the sideboard with all his banging around at the sink. None of this old stuff is very stable. And I’m including him in that observation.’
‘I did nothing of the sort,’ protested Harold.
‘Well, then it would have been the military, probably letting off some explosives on the moors.’
‘How are we ever going to get out of here?’ cried Rona, taking a long drag from her roll-up, which she had finally managed to piece together.
‘Listen, if we really are stranded, then we need to start rationing,’ said Harold. ‘Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here for,’ he added.
‘I agree,’ said Noah. ‘Someone’s already worked their way through all the KitKats.’
‘I don’t think we’re quite at the stage of drinking our own piss yet,’ sighed Rona.
Given the state of Harold’s tea-making, this was exactly what Midge assumed they had been doing, but she thought it impolite to say so. Unable to bear it any longer, she rescued the solitary dinner plate from the top shelf and squeezed it in between the others on the row below.
‘First thing they teach you, though,’ said Harold. ‘Ration to survive.’
As Midge watched Harold return to scrubbing the blood out of his shirt, she couldn’t help wondering what else he’d been taught in the army. Despite Noah’s continued protestations of ghostly intervention and crockery-wielding poltergeists, Midge was certain that Rendell had been murdered by someone in the group. And yet, for some reason, Harold still seemed absolutely determined to point them all in the direction of suicide.
Chapter23
Harold had insisted on trying to show Noah how to light a fire in an effort to heat the drawing room.
‘Were you never in the Scouts?’ he asked, as Noah attempted to balance the kindling, his slight frame completely swallowed up by the giant marble mantelpiece.
‘It’s a patriarchal, outdated system of reinforced servitude,’ said Noah, frowning at the pile of wood in front of him in a way that reminded Midge of Bridie playing Jenga.
‘And they didn’t want you in the army?’ murmured Dr Mortimer. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Actually, it was a mutual decision. I wanted to do a Computer Science degree instead. And to be honest, as far as the Scouts go, if I was that desperate to be molested as a young boy, I’d have joined the church choir,’ continued Noah.
‘Heavens!’ said Gloria.
‘My Linda joined the church choir,’ said Harold. ‘She goes out practising on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday evenings.’ Midge thought four times a week seemed a little excessive, but a full-time hobby when married to Harold was probably a necessity.
‘Actually, the church can be a great source of comfort, sometimes,’ said Gloria so quietly that Midge wasn’t sure if she was talking to anyone but herself.
‘Hey!’ Noah, who had been trying to pour some antibacterial gel on to his hands, protested as Harold whipped the bottle away from him and squirted the fireplace.
Suddenly, the smouldering wood went up in a whoosh of flame, causing Noah to scramble backwards.
‘See, that’s something your ghosts can’t teach you: common bloody sense.’
‘You’re off your head,’ said Noah, plonking himself down next to Midge on the sofa, which wasn’t quite big enough for two, meaning she had to move her cane again.
‘We won’t need to light fires soon anyway, with all this global warming,’ said Rona, who had suddenly popped up from behind the chaise longue, where she had been practising her yoga salutations.
‘I’m not sure that’s quite how it works,’ muttered Noah. ‘Anyway, when was the last time you lit a fire?’
‘Never,’ shrugged Rona. ‘I’ve always had a “Harold” to do it for me.’
Midge’s mind boggled at a universe with more than one Harold.
‘What will you do if you can’t get home?’ Rona asked him from behind the couch. ‘Won’t your wife be getting worried?’
