‘And what obvious is that?’ she asked.
‘That he’s a bender.’
Beverley rolled her eyes and turned back to the ghost. ‘You’ll have to forgive my son,’ she said. ‘He thinks he’s being funny but, actually, he just likes to shock.’
‘You talk to each other in a curious way,’ said the ghost.
Beverley looked from her ghost to her son and back again, uncertain whether she was being insulted.
‘There’s nothing shocking about being a bender,’ continued Achilles. ‘Everyone is these days. I tried it myself once but, you know, there was just something missing. Or rather, there was something there that I wished was missing. You’ll never believe who it was, Mother.’
‘I don’t want to know, thank you very much,’ said Beverley, pouring herself a large glass of white wine but not offering any to either of her dining companions. ‘Your sexual shenanigans are of no interest to me whatsoever. Or, I imagine,’ she added, turning to the ghost, ‘to you.’
‘Not even slightly.’
‘Clearly, you already find us terribly strange,’
‘I do, a bit,’ agreed the ghost, which made Beverley frown. She’d been hoping for some backtracking.
‘My mother and I have always been close,’ said Achilles, wondering whether he could make her blush. ‘Tell her about Film Club.’
‘Oh, I loved Film Club!’ replied Beverley, looking nostalgic. ‘Why don’t we do that any more?’
‘Mum likes to stay cultured, so when I was about fourteen, she set a night aside every week where she and I would curl up on the sofa and watch films together, then discuss them afterwards.’
‘We started with that trilogy about colours,’ said Beverley. ‘Blue, White and Red. By that Polish man.’
‘It was about colours all right, but you’ve got the wrong ones. It was Fifty Shades of Grey.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Perfectly. My psyche still bears the scars. Remember, I tied myself up a few nights later and then I couldn’t undo the knots and Dad had to break down my bedroom door to set me free. Elizabeth took pictures and tried to upload them to Instagram, but they were deleted on the grounds of gratuitous nudity.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, shuddering. ‘I’ve tried to put that incident from my mind. And I shall ignore your inference about Nelson too. Until he tells me otherwise, I shall assume that he’s perfectly normal.’
‘That’s not a very PC thing to say. You could be cancelled for less. And anyway, gay, straight or pansexual, he’s anything but normal,’ said Achilles. ‘Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he really did fancy the ghost. Anything’s possible.’
Beverley shook her head, looking annoyed now. The last time she’d been this offended was the afternoon two summers previously when she’d been denied access to the royal box at Wimbledon due to the presence of what she referred to as ‘parvenu duchesses and their families, hogging all the best seats’.
‘I didn’t realize she was taking advantage of her position to infiltrate my family,’ she continued now, shaking her head. ‘An appropriate line needs to be drawn between an employer and the help. No offence, dear,’ she added, turning to her ghost. ‘I don’t mind you eating with us. You have impeccable table manners.’
‘None taken,’ said the ghost. ‘I don’t consider myself the help anyway. I think of myself as a professional being paid to do a job.’
‘Of course, it was easier in the olden days,’ continued Beverley, ignoring this unexpected burst of Bolshevism. ‘The staff were sequestered underground. Like the latrines. And the rest of us were gathered above stairs, engaged in improving conversation and whist.’
‘What is whist?’ asked Achilles.
‘It’s a card game. You’ve never played a rubber of whist?’
He stared at his mother. ‘I genuinely feel as if you’re speaking a foreign language to me right now,’ he said.
‘Never mind. My point is that a person instinctively knew where he or she belonged and they stayed there without ambition or complaint. I’m sure Nelson would have grown tired of her soon enough anyway. Was he terribly sad when the lion ate her?’
Achilles offered a half-smile. ‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘I mean, he wasn’t thrilled.’
Jeremy Arlo
Love to. How’s the rest of your week looking?
‘I can’t believe he never mentioned any of this to me,’ said Beverley. ‘Or, as far as I know, to your father. Are you sure you’re not making all this up?’
‘Why would I do that?’ he asked.
‘Well, I don’t know, do I? But you have a history of making things up just to cause trouble.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘You’re an incorrigible liar,’ said Beverley. ‘But I do love you so. And when it comes to Nelson, if this is in fact true, then I would hate to think that he’s grieving and is unable to talk about it. I mean, these things happen, don’t they? People get eaten by lions, one is sorry for them, but there we are.’
‘Quite,’ said Achilles, reaching for the black pepper. ‘That’s the wonderful thing about my mother,’ he added, turning to the ghost. ‘She has a very tender heart. Overflowing with sympathy and compassion for all.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Beverley, patting his hand. ‘That’s very kind of you to say. It’s true that I do feel more than most people. Perhaps that’s why I’m a writer. I have great empathy.’
‘I saw a clip on YouTube the other day,’ said the ghost, ‘about a gorilla who saved a three-year-old boy when he fell into its enclosure at the zoo. The other gorillas tried to get to him, but she brushed them away, keeping him safe, then she carried him to the little door that the zookeepers use when they come in with food.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’ asked Beverley. ‘Why are you talking about gorillas?’
‘We were discussing lions,’ said the ghost. ‘And I wanted to point out that sometimes animals can behave in unexpected ways. I know you’re keen to have a lion scene in the new novel—’
‘It should be handled very sensitively, though,’ said Beverley. ‘I wouldn’t want your predecessor’s ghost feeling that I was taking advantage of her misfortune.’
‘The ghost’s ghost?’ asked Achilles, looking up. ‘This gets better. What do you call a dead ghost anyway? Is it a double negative? Is a dead ghost just, like, a living person?’
‘I mean her family,’ said Beverley. ‘Honestly, Achilles, must you always mock? You’re like a teenage boy, never happy unless you’re poking fun.’
‘I am a teenage boy,’ he replied.
‘But that’s no reason to act like one.’
‘Regarding the lion scene,’ said the ghost.
‘Yes, let’s just make sure that the lion never touches her face. Otherwise, the hero might not want to marry her. No one wants to dance with a girl who has great claw marks down her cheeks.’
‘Wasn’t that Dorothy Parker?’ asked Achilles. ‘Men don’t drive cars, with girls who have scars.’