‘It’s usually taken by people as a last hope...’ said Rona, not meeting her eye.
‘Last hope?’
‘Yes. When the chemo’s stopped working.’
‘Oh,’ said Midge, and then because she wasn’t quite sure what else to say, ‘Thank you.’
Rona left her at the bottom of the stairs, staring thoughtfully up at the gap in the display of rifles.
Chapter50
Extract fromThey Do It With Stringspodcast
‘The Tin House’: Episode Four
[Sound of shovels and earth being moved]
Noah:On a wintry afternoon in late December, a group of knowledge-hungry investigators gathered in the Atherton cemetery to begin their grisly task. Clouds blotted the watery sun, hiding its view of the blasphemous sight below. The companions circled a tiny, grey stone hidden by the moss of time, determined to uncover the secret of Beth Hallow once and for all.
Bridie:Moss of time?
Harold:You don’t half talk some drivel, Noah.
Noah:I’m creating an atmosphere. Podcasts rely on this sort of thing. You can’t just say ‘we turned up and dug around a bit’.
Harold:Well, some of us did.
Noah:If that’s aimed at me, that spade you gave me wasn’t strong enough to get through the frozen ground.
Harold:Something wasn’t strong enough.
Noah:I didn’t realize how far we would have to dig down.
Midge:I don’t think any of us are overly familiar with grave robbing.
Noah:It’s not robbing, is it? We’re not taking anything. In fact, there’s nothing there. No bones.
Midge:Well, there are, but you are right...
[Sound of clinking]
... these are definitely adult bones. So where is the baby?
[Silence, except for the sound of breathing]
Chapter51
Noah had baked some cookies in an attempt to get Gloria to eat and to cheer up Rona.
Rona had not taken the digging up of Beth Hallow very well at all, and had disappeared back to her room, where Midge heard several more chairs being dragged across the floor. Not wanting the cookies to go to waste, Midge was on her way upstairs to deliver them to Gloria when she caught sight of her through the wooden balustrade of the landing just above her head. She was wrapped up in her husband’s dressing gown.
Midge cleared her throat. ‘Gloria. Can I help?’
Gloria stopped and leaned her head over the banister in confusion. ‘Hello?’ she called down, squinting in the gloom of the hallway.
‘Wait a moment.’ Midge put down the plate of cookies she was carrying and hurried up the stairs, anchoring herself with her cane. When she reached the top, Gloria grabbed at her arm with a hand that was cold and clammy. ‘I can’t find Andrew,’ she whispered, pulling Midge close. ‘He said he was going to find Robert, but he hasn’t come back.’
Midge had only delivered the death notification once as a young probationer. Sergeants would actively seek out fatal accidents on the police radio to send their charges to, in order to get the task ‘under their belt’. However, none of the training had covered delivering the same death notification to the same person, twice. Midge stared hard into Gloria’s wide eyes. Was she sleepwalking again or had the shock turned her mind?
