Page 34 of Murder Most Haunted

That night, Midge dreamed of a Ouija board.

The same word was spelled out, every time.

A. D. A. M.

The baby’s name.

She woke with a gasp, tangled up in her sheets and a dull throbbing in her knee, which had been aggravated by the thrashing around.

Her whole body itched with the tiresome, unsettled feeling that always overcame her when dealing with a misplaced object.

Of course, had she been more romantic in nature, she may have put the discomfort of the night down to missing Bridie lying next to her.

But Midge was nothing if not practical when it came to matters of the bedroom, and had been rather enjoying the extra space.

Reaching into the drawer next to her for a couple of anti-inflammatories, she stifled a sigh when confronted by the empty space in the row of canary handkerchiefs.

Thinking this the culprit of her bad night’s sleep, she determined to retrieve the missing hankie from Noah as soon as she was washed and dressed.

This time, because Bridie wasn’t here to comment, she opted for the sink in her own room and a flannel. She dressed quickly in another navy jumper and trousers, lacing up her boots tightly for extra support and leaning more heavily on her cane than usual.

When she entered the kitchen, Gloria was fussing over Noah, insisting that he sit while she made some breakfast under the belligerent gaze of her husband.

This was excellent timing as far Midge was concerned, who took out a plate and cutlery in the hope that Gloria would feel compelled to serve up for her too.

‘Actually,’ said Midge to Noah, ‘while I’m here, I believe you have one of my handkerchiefs. The one with the canary on it?’

Noah frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I lent it to you when we arrived,’ prompted Midge. ‘When you were indisposed by the sheep.’

‘Indisposed?’ Noah shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. If you did, I don’t remember. You mean when I was being sick?’

Midge was astounded. Surely vomiting was no excuse for misplacing another person’s belongings. ‘You mean you don’t have it?’

‘I’ll have a look later.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

Sorry? Sorry hardly covered such carelessness. At the thought of one of her ladies lost in the wilderness and unaccounted for, Midge started to feel queasy. Forcing herself to take several deep breaths, she focused on the conversation between Gloria and her husband.

Dr Mortimer said he wanted to leave. He had decided enough was enough and it was about time that someone manned up and went to get help.

The good doctor obviously taking the view that her lack of a scrotum disqualified her from risking her life, Midge left it to the others to argue about.

Unabashed sexism was, for once, a relief.

‘Any tea in the pot?’ asked Rona, who had swept into the kitchen on an overpowering cloud of perfume. On top of her head was a slouched, oversized beanie which drooped in the manner of a sad armadillo. ‘Noah, be a sweetie and pour me one.’

‘Are you actually capable of making a drink for yourself?’ asked Noah.

‘There’s something wrong with the bloody kettle,’ snapped Rona, pointing at the offending appliance. ‘Every time I put it on the cooker thing it melts.’

‘Jesus Christ, it’s a bloody electric kettle, you can’t put it on the range!’ said Noah. ‘How the hell have you got to your age without being able to tell the difference between an electric kettle and a stovetop one?’

Rona’s eyes widened. ‘I’m a pop star, Noah. I don’t make my own drinks, or food.’ Rona considered something for a moment. ‘Or even eat, for that matter. I smoke.’

With a sigh, Noah laid down the book that he had been reading and began to set out some cups. Harold entered, completing their party.

‘We need to get the police here as soon as possible,’ said the doctor, annoyed at the interruption. ‘And start rationing.’ Which was an easy thing to say for a man who had just polished off all the bacon again, thought Midge, sourly.

‘I said yesterday we should be rationing,’ pointed out Harold. ‘And it’s all very well saying someone should set off into the snow for help, but those are live firing ranges out there, and a closed gate.’

The doctor scowled back, as if the MOD’s strategy for the weekend had been entirely to inconvenience him. ‘There was a guard station, wasn’t there? If someone can make it to there, they can get help.’

‘If,’ replied Harold. ‘Anyway, that place looked pretty abandoned when we came through.’

‘Either way, we need to wait for a break in the firing,’ conceded the doctor.

Harold snorted as he opened what was, to Midge’s knowledge, the last packet of biscuits. ‘You’d still have to deal with the unexploded devices that they bury all over the place.’

‘For God’s sake! We can’t just sit here.’

‘I can,’ said Noah. ‘You don’t understand how these things work. It’s not every day that you get to experience visitations like this. We’re privileged, really.’

The doctor glared at him. ‘Privileged? This has gone beyond a joke. This kind of stress is not good for Gloria. I need to get her away from here as soon as possible.’

‘Well, I’m not going anywhere,’ said Noah, firmly. ‘And what if someone comes to rescue us when you’re halfway across the ranges? We need to stay put and stick together.’

‘Perhaps we should put names in a hat,’ suggested Rona, pointing to her head.

‘I like your hat,’ said Midge, although she wasn’t quite sure that she did.

‘Do you?’ Rona seemed surprised and promptly pulled the headwear off, frowning as she examined it.

Dr Mortimer rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be so childish. Surely as grown adults we should be able to make a selection based on common sense and logic?’

Midge wondered if the doctor had been a guest at a different house for the weekend.

‘Perhaps we should be looking at who we can afford to lose?’ said Harold.

They were silent for a moment.

‘Agreed,’ nodded the doctor. ‘I’m sure everyone here adds something, but perhaps there are some of us who add a little less value than others.’

Midge kept her head down and pulled some embroidery on to her lap from her bag. ‘Value added’ and ‘lack of’ were terms she was more than familiar with. They had been bandied around many times at her last few yearly appraisals.

‘Are you seriously suggesting we sacrifice the weaker members of the group?’ asked Rona. ‘It’s not the fucking Hunger Games.’

‘Technically, the Hunger Games used the strongest in the group,’ pointed out Noah. ‘The ones with the best chance of survival.’

‘I think “group” is rather a strong term,’ announced the doctor.

‘It implies some kind of bond. We are merely strangers who have all had the unfortunate luck to have bought tickets for the same appalling show. But he’s right.

It makes sense to send whoever has the best chance of reaching the end goal. ’

Midge breathed a small sigh of relief.

‘And I think we are all agreed that I have the physical edge,’ said the doctor.

‘Physical edge?’ Harold raised his eyebrows with such ferocity that Midge half wondered if they were about to arm wrestle.

‘I’ll have you know I completed a marathon in 2021,’ said the doctor.

‘Wasn’t that during lockdown?’ asked Midge. The only marathon she’d completed during the pandemic was working through several seasons of Spring- and Autumnwatch on iPlayer.

‘It was a virtual one,’ snapped Dr Mortimer. ‘On my treadmill.’

‘Oh.’ The others shared a knowing look. Midge herself had virtually exercised during lockdown, in the sense that she had given up at every attempt.

‘I’ll go,’ said Harold.

Everyone stared at him.

‘What? I’m a yellow belt in Krav Maga,’ he said. ‘My survival skills are second to none.’

‘How is making paper swans going to help?’ asked Rona, wrinkling her forehead.

Midge blinked. ‘Krav Maga is a martial art used by the Israeli military. I believe you are thinking of origami.’

‘You’re not going to be fighting an artillery regiment with your bare hands, Harold.’ Noah was shaking his head.

‘Where did you learn Krav Maga?’ scoffed the doctor.

‘Let’s just say what happens on tour, stays on tour . . .’ Harold shrugged. ‘Anyway, what’s the alternative?’

Dr Mortimer gave a deep sigh and spread his hands out on the table. ‘Clearly, it should be me going. As a doctor I have seniority in an incident such as this, as well as being in the best shape.’

Strictly speaking, he didn’t, but Midge wasn’t about to correct him at the risk of volunteering herself for a suicide mission.

‘It looks like snow again,’ said Noah, peering out of the window. ‘Why don’t we at least try the engine house by the old mine first? There may be something there that we could use as a signal to alert people?’

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Harold. ‘At least you won’t be going over any landmines.’

‘The nearest village is only a few miles away across the ranges.’ The doctor appeared to be considering things.

‘If you have no luck at the old mine today, then I will leave first thing tomorrow. With any luck, the army manoeuvres will have finished by then. I don’t see that we have any choice in the matter now anyway. Votes in favour of me going?’

One by one, the others raised their hands. Midge was in the middle of a complicated cross stitch and so failed to lift hers in time, not that it seemed to matter anyway.

‘Right, that’s unanimous, then,’ said the doctor.

‘I still don’t see what the big rush is,’ pouted Noah. ‘Can’t we all just wait until the road reopens and then walk? That might be tomorrow, or maybe the day after, but we’ll probably never get an opportunity to experience a paranormal intervention like this one ever again.’

‘A man is dead! Upstairs and decomposing as we speak!’ shouted Dr Mortimer, banging his fist down on the table. ‘Grow up, boy. This isn’t a game.’

Noah raised his head and stared back at the doctor, his eyes blank. ‘I can assure you, I have never taken anything more seriously in my life.’