“Do you believe in ghosts, Mum?”
I met one in the very last house I lived in.
“Do you think the man knows about his Inner Father?” How would I know? You’d have to ask him. “Supposing they don’t know about their Inner Mothers and Fathers… but the Inner Parents know about each other, they look as if they do.”
Gordon Bennett. What are you talking about now? I just don’t understand you sometimes. I don’t, really.
“I know… You used to tell me that quite often.”
I’ve got the tea… perhaps I should magic up a biscuit as well.
“Now you’re being silly, Mum.” Oh…silly, am I? “You’re just trying to put the wind up me.” What do you mean “put the wind up you”? “Sshhh… Mum!” Don’t you “Sshhh” me. You always were a bit above yourself, Missy.
“Mum, stop it. People are staring.”
“I’m sorry, Mum. You can’t drink a cup of tea. You’re dead.”
I like a cup of tea. I’ve always liked a cup of tea. And I want one now. And if I’m dead, I can jolly well do what I want. “No, you can’t.” Yes, I can. “Prove it.” Prove what? “That you can do anything you want now you’re dead. Go on… Make a cup of tea.”