The layout of the house was almost identical to the last one they'd been in, only in reverse. Where the bathroom at the previous house had been on the right, this one was on the left. More than likely they were made by the same builder in the post-war boom and it was a shame (to Harold but not to Jasfoup) that modern builders did not adhere to the same standards of craftsmanship. Of course, materials were different in those days – the builders of the last century had to make do with real wood and bricks and not the convenience of breeze block, poured concrete and chipboard.
At least the bathroom had been modernised. There was a shower with horizontal jets that could flay the flesh from a corpse if you turned the pressure high enough, a sunken bath deep enough and wide enough to hold a wheelchair and, disconcertingly, a French-style toilet. He was glad he didn't have to go.
He looked in the mirror but the bathroom in there looked as clean as the real*³ one. “So where's Mrs Fenshaw?”
Jasfoup pointed to the mirror. “She's having a shower, look.” He dragged Harold from the room and muttered the incantation for the reversal spell. The landing filled with steam and the sort of off-key grunting that might be produced by a zombie humming show tunes from 'My Fair Lady'.
*³ 'real' is always dependent upon the point it is being viewed from, of course.