“That's not very nice.”
“Isn't it? I just want the best for Lucy.” Gillian followed Harold into the kitchen where Jasfoup was just filling a teapot with boiling water. Frederick was in his customary seat in front of the television.
Harold crossed the kitchen, taking an extra-long step to avoid treading on the spot where Julie had lain. “I'll just take Lucy up to bed.”
“Wait.” Gillian looked at Frederick. “You've been here all day. Has Julie's ghost appeared?”
“Julie's ghost?” He looked from her to Harold to Jasfoup and back. “I haven't seen her.”
“You'll let me know if you do?”
“Of course...but won't you see her as well?
“Not if she appears in daylight, no.” Gillian tut-tutted. “Honestly, Frederick, I don't think you have the brains you were born with sometimes.”
“You're quite right.” Frederick turned back to the television. “I'd forget where my head was if it wasn't written down.”
Harold opened the door to the back stairs. “Jasfoup? Would you order a take-away, please? I'm starving.”
“What am I, an imp?” Jasfoup frowned. “Where are the imps, anyway?”
“They'll be around.” Harold went up the stairs with Lucy. She hardly stirred as he undressed her and put her in clean pyjamas. He switched on the nightlight and kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my lovely.”