“Daddy went away.” The reply was so matter of fact he must have said it a hundred times, until the words meant as little to him as yesterday's television.
Harold wondered if he'd ever had a daddy, or if his mum had been a single parent from conception to death. “And Mummy? Where's she?”
Darren's face clouded and he looked away from the television toward the hall. “Mummy went to the toilet.”
“Did she?” Harold followed his gaze. “Where's that, then? Is it one of the doors in the hall?”
The child nodded, his attention already drifting back to the inane drama on the television.
“All right.” Harold rose. He'd wanted to engage the child futher but it seemed to him that Darren was deliberately not thinking about his mother. He couldn't blame him. However he might complain about Ada, she'd done a fine job of looking after him as he grew up. Of course, his later discovery of her stewardship of demons to do all the housework went a long way to explaining that.
In the hall the two demons had stopped bickering and were engaged in a silent glaring match. He reached up to clip them both behind the ear. “Enough. We have work to do.”
Jasfoup looked away. “Where's the soul, then?”
“In the beat, baby.” Sefskapoi clicked his fingers several times. In his dark glasses and pork pie hat, he looked like an anaemic Cole Porter. Jasfoup scowled.
Harold coughed to hide his smile. “In the bathroom, according to the lad.”