CHAPTER EIGHT
the one with the moon ritual

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

"MARY, FOR THE last time, it was just a bee..." Effie tries to keep the exasperation out of her voice, or the sanity wrung clean out of her body at this point. How much time has she wasted on this? A few more years shaven off her eternal existence as a ghost? It feels like forever — it all started when a bee flew into the room, sending Mary into a fit of panic, practically clawing at the windows with her superstitions. Then Effie has spent however long since trying to bring her back down to earth, the bee still buzzing irritatingly around their heads.

"But don't ye know?" Mary frantically replies. "Bees be the vessels of mystery, intelligence an' 'oliness. And if one should fly into your home, it foretells the visit of a stranger... as well as good fortunes, I s'pose."

     "Or, it means that Mike and Alison need to get new windows."

     A beat passes. Mary hums in consideration at this, although still wrought with underlying paranoia at who could be around the corner. This is no way to spend your life as a ghost, Effie thinks. Panicking about every little thing. With a sigh, the flapper girl tries to steer her carefully away from getting sucked into what she considers superstitious nonsense.

     "Look, Mary," Effie says, "you need to just relax. I'm pretty sure there isn't any stranger here for miles, who'd want to walk all the way over here and meet—"

     "Bitches! Bitches! Bitches!"

     The bizarre name-calling from outside stops both of the ghosts in their tracks. That tone seems far too familiar to Effie. Still, she rushes downstairs with Mary to get a better look. A flurry of dogs are loose in the house, their paws scuffling against the floorboards, and behind them in the doorway is their owner — a short man with silvery hair tucked under a tweed flat cap, stood confidently in his green wellington boots and puffy body warmer.

"Told you a stranger would come," Mary mumbles in quiet triumph, as they descend downstairs and watch Alison and Mike go to greet him.

"That's no stranger, alright," Effie grumbles. "I've seen that whiskbroom before..."

"Barclay," the man says, his accent refined and posh.

"Erm—" Alison says, but is cut off again.

"Beg-Chetwynde."

"Wh– what's that?" Mike stammers, looking a little lost.

"That's me," says the man. "Barclay Beg-Chetwynde."

"Oh!"

"From next door."

"Oh!"

"Yes, about a mile that way," Barclay points in the direction of his home. "I own the... you know the village?"

"Yeah?" say Mike and Alison.

"Yes, I own that," he replies casually. "We summer in Tuscany, but got back and saw you'd moved in. Thought I should come say how do?"

The Coopers are soon letting Barclay into their home, much to Effie's reluctance. She can't for the life of her remember why, but something about him feels off, or untrustworthy. Sometimes her memory is like that... foggy, unrecognisable, a few loopholes in the tapestry of time. Barclay strolls in past the flapper girl and joins the flurry of dogs he has brought with him. One of them, a golden retriever with a glistening coat of fur, barks incessantly at Robin — the caveman gruffly imitates the barking and only riles it up even more.

"Tally! Tally!" Barclay chortles. "Must've seen a ghost."

A beat passes. Mike and Alison exchange a startled glance with each other, along with the plethora of other ghosts now crowded around their neighbour.

"Didn't you know? This place is absolutely riddled with them. So legend has it. There's a lady who falls from a window in the west wing—"

"East wing!" Fanny insists on correcting him, although he can't hear her.

"Dressed in white—"

"Grey!"

"Georgian—"

"Edwardian!"

"Attractive, early twenties."

That silences Fanny rather quickly, but this time Effie takes her turn to add, "In your dreams."

"Oh, do be quiet, Effie," Fanny snaps back in disapproval.

     "And a strange creature that roams the grounds — half man, half ape..." says Barclay. For this one, however, it doesn't take rocket science to deduce which it is. All the ghosts slowly turn their gazes around to Robin, who squirms under their scrutiny.

     "Well, I haven't seen anything," Mike tries to shrug it off.

     "He hasn't..." Alison adds weakly; right on cue, Effie wiggles her fingers at her in a wave from opposite.

     "It's probably all tosh and piffle. Anyway, reason I called, incepto ne desistam..."

     As Barclay launches into a long-winded speech, Julian is up close scrutinising the man and trying to match him to memory. The penny suddenly seems to drop: "Oh, I remember this berk!" he announces loudly, drowning out anything Barclay has to say for the ghosts. "Met him at a party fundraiser here back in the day. Rich as Croesus. Loves the sound of his own voice. Which reminds me of a very funny story I heard once on a golf course. Now, there was Brucie. That's Brucie Forsyth... guys! Guys, anecdote!" Julian starts calling after the other ghosts, who have started wandering off in boredom. "Anecdote alert, right in the middle of one."

     But Effie stays, along with Kitty who simply wants to follow Alison wherever she goes.

     "— Now, it doesn't really affect your grounds inside the gates," Barclay is saying, "but the path outside the gates is on my deed, so technically, you have to cross a strip of my land every time you enter your house."

     What a load of rubbish, Effie thinks. Now the memory of the man is clearer — she remembers the conversations he would have with Lady Heather, always trying to find a way to wriggle in and make some more money. In her eyes, Barclay Beg-Chetwynde was a regular con artist disguised as a country gent. Clearly so, because he has the Coopers right under his thumb.

"It's a simple thing to sort out, but probably worth a quick pow-wow at some point."

"Maybe you could come to dinner some time?" Alison offers.

"Splendid! See you at eight!" Barclay exclaims.

Well, not that soon...

"I'm free," Kitty interjects excitedly, to which Effie just shakes her head, as if to reply, Not now.

"I'll bring a Pelaverga!"

Flummoxed, Mike asks, "What's a...?"

But Barclay cuts him off again, adding, "Oh, and Bunny can't eat beef. Well, she can, but she shouldn't, if you know what I mean..." The three of them dissolve into awkward laughter that makes Effie's toes curl in her heels. Then the man clasps his hands together decisively and hollers, "Right! Once more unto the breach. Come along, bitches!"

"Is that all of them?" asks Mike sheepishly, watching a rush of dogs storm back out of the house before shutting the door. "What did you do that for?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," Effie interjects, although she knows Mike can't hear her.

"Because he's got some weird claim over our driveway, so we should probably keep him sweet," Alison replies coyly. "Besides, he's our way in."

"To what?"

"Society, Mike. We're posh now. We should be mixing with other poshos."

"But he's awful!" Mike rightfully points out.

"Some awful people have really nice friends," she counters. "I mean, look at your mate Greg."

"What's wrong with Greg?"

"Nothing..." Alison just mumbles quietly, before walking off. Effie takes the opportunity to fall into step with her, finding it her responsibility to talk some sense into the girl — they are stuck with each other, after all.

     "Mike is absolutely right, you know. Mingling with the upper echelons of society is a seriously overrated experience." Effie stops, huffs, as she thinks of another point. "Also, have you even met Fanny? She is walking-talking, anti-aristocrat propaganda!"

"Look, alright, I get it," Alison sighs. "But what would you rather be? Hard up on your money, or in the upper echelons?"

"That's not the point. Barclay is going to make you even more penniless if you're not careful! You're the one with something to lose here, not him."

"What other choice do I have, Effie? He's got some weird legal thing about our driveway, and the last thing we need is that kind of trouble on top of everything..."

With that, Alison leaves Effie hanging in the corridor, the flapper girl sighing to herself. Some people simply cannot be persuaded. At least she tried. She breezes back into the living room, where the other ghosts have gathered to lounge, while Alison and Mike rummage through the limited contents of their freezer for tonight. Effie reclines on her side across one of the sofas, her arm draped over the armrest casually. All of the ghosts seem rather caught up in their own business until Robin starts making a racket — pointing out of the window

Julian, taking it as a charade game, immediately starts trying to guess what he's saying. "Um... book? Film?" he asks. "Five words. The Importance of Being Earnest... Great Expectations... Tootsie! Tootsie! Tootsie! Tootsie! Tootsie! It's Tootsie... it's Tootsie! Tootsie! Tootsie—"

"Stop saying Tootsie!" the Captain finally snaps, much to everyone's relief.

"What be a tootsie?" Mary warbles.

"Round... er, covering... oh, it's an eclipse!" Pat guesses at last.

     "Moonah eclipse!" Robin confirms, enthusiastically pointing out of the window. For the caveman, this has been a time-honoured tradition since... well, the dawn of time, really. His bizarrely endearing infatuation with the moon always roped in the efforts of the other ghosts, every time he wants to pay tribute to its pale light on every lunar eclipse.

     "God, not this again," the Captain grumbles.

     "Must we humour this bull calf?" Thomas complains, "It's absolutely asinine."

     "It is a wonderful group activity," Pat justifies, "and he doesn't ask for much."

     "He can't ask for much..." Fanny mutters, looking the primitive caveman up and down.

     "Hey! Me speak good!"

     "Well, me speak well– I!" Thomas cringes, realising Robin's stunted grammar has rubbed off on him.

     "I'm not actually free tonight," Kitty tosses her hair with a childish mimicry of responsibility, "but I could do Thursday."

     "No. Eclipse is tonight!"

"Alright, alright, alright!" Captain caves in, waving his swagger stick around. "We'll do it, provided I can do the reading."

     In retaliation, Thomas stands up and flails his loose-sleeved arms around as he protests, "Not a chance, sir! Me always do the reading– I!"

    "Very well. We'll put it to the vote. Who would like to hear speak more — me or Thomas?"

     The question posed leaves the ghosts in an uncomfortable silence, sharing equally distasteful glances. Eventually, it is Mary who quietly asks, "... Be there a third option?" At this, Effie sits up in the couch and sighs, as if she is deeply considering the question.

     "Well, I suppose I could always chip in..."

     "Fantastic!" Pat claps his hands, "Effie will be doing the—"

     "But... I just don't know if I'm bothered," Effie shrugs leisurely, examining her manicured nails; still impeccable. "The ritual gets a little repetitive after a few times a year throughout the last century, don't you think? Anyway, I think I'd rather spend the evening living vicariously through some real human interaction — other than Alison being hounded by us, or watching Mike floss his teeth in the morning."

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

"NO, you heathen! Spoon on the outside, spoon on the outside– oh, I can't look..." Fanny barks, looming over Mike's shoulder as he arranges the cutlery on the laid table for dinner. To top off the catastrophe, he tries to make a sophisticated shape with the napkin, but ends up stuffing them in the bowls to more closely resemble a used handkerchief — in Lady Button's eyes, it might as well be blasphemy.

Meanwhile, Effie is trailing in front of Alison, announcing: "And now, the grand reveal..."

     Alison walks in, wearing a velvety red dress with puffy sleeves, and pearls around her neck. Her hair has been fashioned into a stylish up-do. Effie had been upstairs with her helping to choose an outfit — admittedly, Alison wanted none of her input, but it was at least nice to pretend she was the one in charge.

"Is that what you're wearing?" the Coopers ask each each other; then, "Me?!"

     "You look like Downton Abbey," Mike says.

     "Downton Abbey's not a character, Mike. And, for your information, this is entirely appropriate evening attire for entertaining guests of such refined social standing," Alison fires back, before starting to repeat for verbatim what Fanny is reciting: "The Beg-Chetwyndes are de-facto gatekeepers for the county's social calendar, and are possessing of a very fine—"

     "Oh, please!" Effie exclaims. "You can't even pretend you're posh!"

     "You're the one who dressed me in this, and said it was what posh people wore!"

     "Well it looked posh. I don't know what you all wear on a night out these days."

     "What did you wear?" Alison asks, to which the flapper girl frantically gestures to her bejewelled dress.

     "Look," Mike sighs, "I'll put on a shirt if you lose the pearls."

     "Deal."

     The shrill tone of the doorbell drifts through the house, leaving a reverb that culminates into panic for the two hosts. Effie and Fanny stand by to watch them scurrying around, preparing things last minute — they could have sworn the Beg-Chetwyndes were early, for it is still very light outside. They follow them through the corridor, along with an ecstatic Kitty, to welcome in the guests. Effie can't help reserve a cynical stare for the old man in his tweed suit.

     "Staring is rude, Effie," Fanny scolds her.

     "Oh, he can't see me anyway," she snaps, "that's the downer of it all."

     "Ah, Annabel!" Barclay exclaims, upon seeing his neighbour.

     "Alison..." she corrects him quickly.

     "This is Bunny," he gestures to his wife, short and slightly spaced out next to him. "Bunny, this is Annabel—"

     "Alison."

     "Sorry we're early, I drove here."

     "See?" Effie whispers to Alison, "He strikes when your defences are low!"

     "Shh, you're starting to sound like the Captain..." the woman whispers back through gritted teeth. Then, upon realising her neighbours have noticed her talking to what must look like thin air, she forces an awkward laugh. "Splendid to welcome you. Please do come in on... on in through," Alison ushers them in, nervous perspiration already accumulating on her skin.

     "Bunny's been so looking forward to meeting you," Barclay announces.

     "Have I?" the woman asks cluelessly, but disregards that fact when her husband pulls out a special gift for the guests — a bottle of wine with a decorative bow tied around the neck. Effie instantly feels herself perk up at the sight. Handing the bottle of Pelaverga to the Coopers, she peers over Mike's shoulder and gets a good look herself.

     "Let me see it! Let me see it!" Kitty pleads behind Alison.

     Not thinking, Alison passes the bottle behind her and says, "Thank you, that is most kind—"

     Smash! The wine bottle plummets to the floor and fragments, berry red seeping into the floorboards. Its alcoholic aroma instantly laces the air, spicy with a hint of black currant, sending Effie's head into a spin. Oh, what she wouldn't give to be able to have a sip now. Watching it glisten on the floor in a puddle is one of the most tragic sights for the flapper girl...

     "Oh! I am... so sorry..." Alison gasps, while Effie glares daggers at her.

     "My wife recently had a head injury," Mike covers it up, "which has caused some of her behaviour to be a little—"

     A pigeon cooing instantly distracts them all — Effie knows exactly the one too. It has been pestering the Coopers and the ghosts alike, flapping around Button House with no clue of how to escape. But the manor is simply too vast to track it down and release it, so they are often stuck with whichever time the pigeon decides to intrude... like right now. As if this visit couldn't get any more whimsical so far.

     "Mike, why don't you pop down to the cellar and try and find us another bottle of wine? I'll show our guests through," Alison deflects. Once her husband disappears to locate another beverage, she leads Barclay and Bunny through to the dining room, adding, "Do come in on. The building work is still under way, so you may have to adjust your—"

     "Bra strap!" Fanny hollers.

     Sliding it up over her shoulder as instructed, Alison falls victim to a slip of the tongue and says, "... bra strap– expectations!"

     Later around the table, Effie and Fanny still refuse to leave as they observe the spectacle. It's more the latter who is the most overbearing, looming over Alison and criticising her every move — the flapper girl prefers to think she's here to help keep things relaxed. Although, nothing about this dinner is relaxed or entertaining so far. There is mostly silence or forced small talk, as brief intermissions between the clattering of cutlery against plates.

     Alison is breaking a sweat trying to come across sophisticated. "So, indeed, they advised myself to just sell the house without even seeing it," she pops a vegetable into her mouth, "but I said—"

     "Don't speak with your mouth full!" Fanny tells her off.

     So, with a sigh, the living woman laboriously tries chewing as fast as she can; the rest of the table left in awkward silence as they anticipate the rest of her sentence. God, this is painful, Effie thinks. When finally Alison swallows the mouthful, she continues, "... but I said that... sorry, it's gone."

     Moving on from the secondhand embarrassment, Mike turns to Barclay and says, "So, yeah, the idea is to turn it into a hotel."

     "A hotel, eh? Mmm," Barclay hums. "Could be a nice little earner."

     "Oh, come on! You can practically see the pound sterling signs flashing in his eyes!" Effie exclaims, which Alison tries her best to ignore. Lady Button, meanwhile, seethes with disapproval at the girl's outbursts.

     "Well," says Alison, "it will not be easy—"

     "Elbows!" Fanny barks.

     Her elbows slide off the table ungracefully as she adds, "but I think we're on top of things."

     Suddenly an incessant bleeping sears through the house, the noise tearing through everyone's eardrums. It is only from hearing it once before that Effie knows what it is — a smoke alarm, apparently, to prevent one's house going up in flames. When she heard it the first time, it has frightened her to death... if that was even possible to do. It just turned Mike had burned the tikka masala he was cooking (evidently, from the smell of curry and coriander that lingered on the ground floor for days on end).

     Odds are that it was Alison's turn to burn something. Of course, Mary will end up getting blamed, for she was let in charge of watching the pheasant — shot by Mike himself, with the Captain's posthumous help — but what could she do as a ghost?

     Kitty isn't helping either. "Me, me, me!" she sings. "What's louder, me or that? Me, me, me!"

     "Sorry, I just need to go and have a word with my... myself," Alison announces, placing her napkin on the table and rushing off to the kitchen. Once the alarm blaring stops, Effie sighs in relief.

"Honestly," Fanny huffs, "this evening is a nightmare."

"You're telling me," Effie shakes her head. "The only entertainment I have left is to watch de-facto gatekeepers for the county's social calendar, and yet I'm still stuck with one of them in purgatory."

"Do you intend to mock me? You know, Effie, your manners for a young lady are appalling."

"Why, thank you very much," the flapper girl curtsies sarcastically.

But Fanny isn't done tearing into her yet, while the other three living people obliviously keep eating. "I mean, look at you!" she says incredulously, staring at the younger ghost in distaste. "Your ankles and, God forbid, your knees are on display. You lounge with the most terrible posture I've seen in a young woman, your eloquence is practically non-existent, and you have no sense of what is good and proper in a social setting. Absolutely preposterous!"

"Do you ever stop moaning about other people? I mean, were you born this dissatisfied with everyone and everything?" Effie snaps back, suddenly feeling like a nerve has been hit. She's heard this lecture so many times before, in so many different ways. Her mother-in-law's face looms before her: "Cover your legs, girl. You look like a prostitute," she remembers Mrs. Connolly saying while staring down her nose. Effie isn't prepared to hear that lecture again for the hundredth time from Fanny.

"I'm not the problem," Fanny protests. "You, and everyone else your age back in my day, were the ones who didn't know what you were doing — trying to break free of what is good and true, traditions that have stood the test of time and kept things the same."

"Maybe we wouldn't have had to rebel if you people weren't so stubborn!" she fires back. "There is so much more to the world than how to sit, how to talk, and what bloody spoons go next to which bloody plate... it's all so suffocating!"

Silence bloats between them. In the back, Kitty lets out a nervous laugh.

Effie can feel her blood boiling. She didn't know it could still do that. For some reason, deep-rooted issues she never realised she had with Fanny have risen to the surface. Perhaps they always knew they would butt heads here, their own grievances from their lives taken out on each other. But it's never been brought to the forefront like this before — nothing ever was until Alison came along. If anyone has shaken up any social order, it's her.

The two ghosts stay in grim silence as Alison returns, not even flinching when her chair scrapes against the floor. "Sorry about that," she chuckles. "Er, cremated the pheasant. But it's all sorted now! So, um, let's just pretend that this evening so far never happened, and start right..."

"Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona!"

The distant tribal chanting and a wolf-like howl inject instant dread into Alison's face. What immediately follows is the procession itself — the rest of the ghosts in what looks like a conga line, hopping along with the moon ritual chant which is so sacred to Robin, and completely drowning out Alison's ability to hear herself think. Kitty is also singing at the top of her lungs, and Norman's constant jingling as he dances is no help either.

     "So Alison..." Bunny slurs, having downed enough wine to knock out a large horse.

     "Annabel," Barclay corrects her.

     "Annabel—"

     But there is no way the hostess can hear her. The ghosts chant Moonah-stona! until the cows come home, and dance around the table, while Effie and Fanny watch in tired despair. "And now be thanks to the wondrous moon," calls out the Captain, "and the light it giveth between 2100 hours..."

     "Dramatic pause! Take a breath! Give it some light and shade!" Thomas seizes the opportunity to butt in. Crouching beside Alison like a Shakespearean actor onstage, he begins to recite his poetic rendition of the moon ritual. "Oh, blessed moon as spied from the Earth. Bright as thine eyes, round as thine eyes. Yet too far apart, like thine... no, I don't mean your eyes, I mean—"

     "Thorne! I'm doing the reading," the Captain reminds him, "I won the vote!"

     "To be fair," Julian interjects between the chants, "it was very close and entirely non-binding..."

     "— wouldn't you say?" Bunny slurs. After that conundrum, Alison and the other (saner) ghosts realise that she has just missed everything the woman just said.

"Yes, I would!"

"Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona!"

"Or would I?"

"Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona!"

"I was saying to Mike... just this morning!" Alison yells at the top of her lungs, to the confusion of her husband and guests, "It's been unseasonably warm for the time of year! BREAD?"

"No, thank you," Barclay shakes his head, somewhat perplexed. As if things couldn't get any worse, Robin walks into the centre of the table, raising his arms to the skies and tampering with the lights so that the electricity fizzes. Alison lets out a despaired, half-manic laugh at the spectacle.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Mary comes rushing in and warbles, "Stew update! All the water's turned to clouds." But upon seeing the absolute chaos unfolding, she slowly backs into the bookshelf she jumped out from again.

"A lady does not raise her voice in polite company!" Fanny scolds her.

Losing her patience, Effie snaps, "Oh shut up Fanny!"

"Moonah-stona! Moonah-stona!"

"Mike! Bit of a problem with the old... electrics again," Alison hollers above the moon ritual, as well as Kitty's singing which has still persisted throughout everything. "Maybe you should show our guests THE FUSE BOX?!"

"Right, fuse box," Mike nods, understanding what his wife is probably going through right now. "Yeah. This way then, guys."

Alison keeps a tight, courteous smile until the guests and her husband have walked far enough away. Then she snaps. "Now, you listen to me! I don't know what's going on here, but... Kitty!" At her growl, the Georgian ghost silences her singing, just like the other ghosts have silenced the moon ritual at last. "But it stops right now, because I'm having a dinner party, which should be clear from the fact that I'm having a dinner party!"

"But this moonah eclipse very special!" Robin tries to justify.

"I don't care what it is! It stops right now."

"Now, hang on a moment," the Captain interjects firmly, "This is a time-honoured ritual that means a great deal to Robin and, frankly, I think he deserves a little respect."

"Yes, Moonah is—"

"Shut up, Robin!" he cuts him off. So much for a little respect, thinks Effie. "The point is, we were here first, so maybe you lot
should take your leave."

"No," Alison deadpans. "This is my house now, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, neither are we!"

"Quite right!" Pat pipes up, before whispering a small sorry as an afterthought.

"Wait there," she suddenly announces, disappearing from them all.

"Right. Stand firm, everybody," the Captain crouches in a defensive stance, "I don't know what she has in her arsenal, but we shall remain resolute against the tyranny that is—"

The plan lasts for about five seconds, because Alison returns with one of the most fascinating objects Effie has ever seen. It looks like a paper-thin, circular ring with a small hole in the middle, catching the light from the chandeliers and re-fracking it with every twist and turn. All the ghosts collectively gasp and gaze in awe, muttering their own exclamations of delight:

"What in the name of St. Cuthbert?"

"It's all the colours at once!"

"But what does it do?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Alison grins in triumph, walking back slowly. "Follow me..."

Julian is the only one unimpressed: "It's a compact disc," he shrugs, but still follows the gang as they flock after the disc in complete hypnosis. Robin only reluctantly follows, saddened that his moon ritual has been cut short. Alison soon has them all sat down in the TV room, Effie sat next to the Captain with Thomas perched behind her as she prepares the small theatre for them. She claims it is a DVD, of a television show called 'Friends' (the flapper girl has no clue what she's talking about).

"It's a comedy," says Alison.

"Like Vanity Fair," Thomas nods.

"No, that's a magazine," she furrows her brows, leaving him and some of the other ghosts confused. "And this is a box set, so, plenty where that came from. Have fun, don't leave the room and... don't leave the room."

"It just appears to be five people sitting around on a sofa," Thomas observes, without a shred of self-awareness. "What's so amusing about– hello... who is this?!" he instantly corrects himself, eyes widened as he is suddenly intrigued by the mysterious bride just appearing on the screen.

     Effie sits forward, trying to understand what is happening as the bride reunited with her old friends... hang on. She gets it now. Friends. There is still one thing that flummoxes her though. "Why are they laughing all the time? Who's laughing? Are we supposed to laugh?" Effie asks, pointing out the laugh track that ensues after every other line of dialogue. This whole 'Friends' business is just confusing her a little too much...

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

TIME means nothing to Effie anymore. Only 'Friends' matters now.

This box set is the most magical thing she has ever encountered. Not only does it contain moving pictures in the luminous discs, but it has seemingly hundreds of them all in one treasure chest of an invention. It is also dangerously addictive — Effie has no clue how many episodes they've watched, the passage of time only evident by the evolution of Rachel Green's hair. She clearly isn't the only one mesmerised...

     "She is beguiling, the Lady Rachel," Thomas whispers. "Is it her hair? Perhaps it's her hair. There's something about her hair."

     "Indeed," Effie nods in agreement. Although, she must admit she is alternating her gazes between the charming Rachel and the charismatic Joey — from the first episode where she saw him leather-clad in the armchair, she was a goner. Then of course, there is also Chandler, whose sharp wit is the perfect match for hers. Choices, choices, choices.

     "I'm Phoebe, and Lady Button's Monica," Kitty proclaims, and none of the ghosts are in disagreement. "And the Captain's Ross."

     "What? No! I'm clearly Chandler. It's a dry wit, but it's there," the Captain claims.

     Effie snorts. "Oh, please, no one else in this room could be more like Ross than you are."

     "I'm sorry, did we zip our lips? I think we zipped our lips," Pat speaks up, not wanting to miss a word of the episode.

     The fast-paced theme tune kicks in, showing images of the six friends dancing in a fountain. Effie enthusiastically claps along at the right parts with Kitty, having practically memorised the theme by heart now. "I danced in a fountain once," she announces, the memory slightly fuzzy as she shimmies to the music. "Although, to be fair, I was very, very, very drunk..."

     Fanny rolls her eyes, but not bothering to argue with her this time. Meanwhile, the voice of another singer is starting to overpower a theme tune, and it's coming from one of the only ghosts not watching the episode — Robin is stood over by the window gazing wistfully at the moon. He bathes in its pale light as he gruffly sings, "There'll be a light... in the dark..."

     "Robin!" Pat cuts him off, "We're watching 'Friends' here, mate!"

     And yet another interruption comes their way. Alison comes rushing in, slightly out of breath, and announces: "Right, I need your help—"

     "Shhh!" the ghosts reply, all glued to the television.

     "No, no, this is important—"

     "As is this!" Thomas replies. "My empathy's hewn betwixt lovelorn Ross, and Joey, the Veronan lothario..."

     "No, you don't understand—"

     "No, young lady, you don't understand," the Captain counters, but still glued to the drama unfolding between Ross and Rachel on the screen. "You cannot banish us with one breath, and then demand our reinforcement with the next."

     "No moonah stone, no help lady!" Robin adds defiantly.

     Effie pays little attention to what happens next, too wrapped up in the drama between friends to care. The ghosts mindlessly watch episode after episode, rooting for their different relationships to work out, gasping at the various plot twists and guffawing even when the laughter track didn't prompt them to. It is all going so well... then all of a sudden, it all comes crashing down — they are met with a bright blue screen displaying the message: 'INSERT DISC TWO'

     "No! That can't be it! Where's Disc Two?" Effie despairs, not really knowing what she's saying, but fully aware that this Disc Two is now the most vital possession to exist.

     "We can't put it on without Alison," Julian points out. "We'll have to find her!"

     Deployed to track down the living girl, Effie, Julian and Pat scale downstairs and find Alison rigid with grief as she trails behind the guests leaving the dinner. The flapper girl does a double take at the bottom of the stairs... just how long have they been watching 'Friends'? Or was the dinner just very short? The three ghosts jump in front of her, and her last bit of patience seems to wither weakly away from her.

     "Ah, there you are," Effie sighs. "We're in rather dire straits here."

     Pat pushes up his glasses and gently says, "Now, it's saying load the next disc into the—"

     "We need Disc Two," Julian cuts straight to the chase.

     "Yes."

     "Where's Disc Two?"

     "Forget it, OK?" Alison throws her arms up in the air. "Thanks to you, we just lost £40,000!"

     Effie almost feels her jaw hit the floor, incredulously staring at the girl. "Are you joking?!"

     "No, afraid not."

     "What did we do?" Julian whines.

     "Nothing, that's the whole point!"

     "Now hold on a minute," Effie argues. "You were the ones who sat us down to watch 'Friends' and stay out of your way. I was perfectly happy to assist until I was introduced to Mr. Joey how-you-doin' Tribbiani, alright?"

     "Forty grand? To that gasbag? What did you do, play him at poker?" Julian chuckles, but when he sees the grin look on Alison's face, he turns sober. "Oh, you did, didn't you?"

     Alison can't take it anymore. She swivels on her heel and starts walking to the door, scolding herself over and over again. Effie knew it. A regular con artist disguised as a country gent. She only wished the woman had listened to her sooner.

     "Sorry, just to clarify, was that a firm answer on Disc Two?" Pat chips in as politely as possible.

     "Word of advice — never play someone who can afford to lose," Julian keeps talking. "Not as if he needs the money either. Unless it's for legal fees. Maybe they've finally found out about that bank account in Fiji..."

     Alison stops dead in her tracks. An epiphany. It occurs to her and the ghosts almost simultaneously — a way she can get Barclay right back. A mischievous smile spreading on her face, she tries to smooth it out again as she goes to bid the Beg-Chetwyndes goodbye, Effie following her to the door to see this for herself. "Now, keys," Bunny holds her hand out for the car keys.

     "Not sure you should drive, Buns."

     "Oh no, I'm fine! Look..." Bunny proceeds to display her (lack of) co-ordination, completely missing her nose with both fingers when she tries to test herself. The woman is beyond drunk — and for the first time that night, it releases a pang of shame in Effie's stomach. She recognises something in her. Something she isn't sure she wants to be reminded of. But she felt it tonight, just from the sheer temptation of seeing the wine bottle they brought, and smelling those aromas.

     Effie shakes her head, shedding the chill that has creeped over her skin with it.

     "Thank you for a lovely evening, Annabel—"

     "Alison."

     "— and no hard feelings about the whole, you know?" Barclay asks.

     "Oh, no, no, a deal's a deal," Alison smiles knowingly. "I was thinking of doing a bank transfer."

     "Ooh. Very modern. I'll email you my details."

     "Great, great... and is that for your current account or the Fiji account?"

     There it is. Barclay freezes with one foot out of the door, having been caught red-handed. It's impossible to know how he will react next for a moment, lashing out or growing cowardly instead — either way, Alison knows the tables have turned in her favour. Finally he turns around, and with a nervously forced laugh replies, "You know what? What's a little card game between friends, eh? Let's... Let's just forget this silly money nonsense. I'll sign over the access rights to you — gratis — and pop the papers in the post first thing. Come along, Bunny!"

     And with that, Barclay and Bunny disappear into the night, the latter being unable to walk in a straight line.

     "Nice one," Effie winks, and Alison gives a small triumphant shrug.

     The flapper girl ascends back upstairs, arriving just as Pat is breaking the bad news that Disc Two won't be coming any time soon. Robin couldn't care less, though. He still gazes up at the moon wistfully, eyes heavy with memories. Effie wonders what has made him so fascinated by it all this time — how he never tires of this ritual for all these centuries. She walks over to him, along with Pat, watching the lunar eclipse from behind glass.

     "You alright, mate?" asks Pat. The caveman gives his usual answer, which is a curt grunt.

     "Robin... what fascinates you so much about the moon?" asks Effie softly. "I don't get it."

     He thinks about it a moment, before finally coming up with an answer: "Before you was moonah. Before house was moonah. Everything come, everything go. But always there... moonah."

     "The only thing that's been here longer than you have," Pat sighs empathetically.

     Effie squirms under the moonlight, guilt setting in for not stopping to notice it earlier. This really is special to Robin — and really, how much time does it take out of her eternal purgatory? One evening is nothing. If she had something special she wanted the ghosts to do for her, wouldn't she feel offended if they all brushed it aside too?

     "Well, the lunar eclipse isn't over yet!" Effie pipes up. "I might have an idea..."

After Pat goes to consult Alison, the Coopers carry out the large sofa from the TV room, huffing and puffing until they get it into the courtyard. They set it down in front of the fountain, the night air fresh and crisp as all the ghosts sit on it or around it. "Right, so are you going to get the ghosts, or...?" Mike asks, trying to catch his breath.

"They're already here," Alison replies with a smile, looking around at the couch brimming with phantoms.

Pat pretends to hold up an invisible glass of champagne and toasts, "To old friends!"

"To old friends!" cheer the ghosts, lifting their glasses too.

"God, I miss booze..." Julian sighs, hand clenching around his non-existent glass. Effie just hums at that one.

"Robin, light pollution," whispers Pat.

Upon the command, the caveman gives a small grunt and a fizz of electricity, before the garden lights go out. It is only a small difference, but suddenly the sky seems clearer... or closer. Enveloping the skies is a blanket of twinkling stars, enlightened by the full moon. Everyone is fallen into mostly contemplative silence under the moonlight. Of course, Thomas tries to seize the opportunity, taking a leaf out of Joey Tribbiani's book as he looks Alison up and down.

"Pray tell..." says the poet, "how you doing—"

"No, don't," Alison just shakes her head.

Next to Effie, Fanny is silent and contemplative. The argument from earlier still hangs in the air, neither of them sure how to approach it from here. Finally, Fanny simply speaks up and says, "The moon is quite beautiful tonight, isn't it, Effie?"

"Yes, it is," she replies softly. They can at least agree on that.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 8th march, 2023 )
( edited: 16th october, 2024 )

ahhh, i'm sorry it's been so long! the last few months for me have just been crazy. not only that, but during that time i had major writer's block for this chapter, because i didn't know how to work effie into the plot of moonah ston. sorry you have all had to wait so long. i did manage to add some extra details — for instance, the dynamic between effie and fanny, which is definitely one with lots of friction. but if you have seen all of bbc ghosts, you may know that perhaps they are more alike than they realise... there were also some hints in this chapter to effie's alcoholism (from when she was alive). it isn't being explored fully just yet, but will be later on.

speaking of which, act one is almost finished! there are only two chapters left before that point, and expect some laughs, drama and utter chaos before then.

last time i was getting excited over 10K reads, and now we're at 13K?! i never expected this book to get the audience as it has, so a thousand thank yous to everyone reading this fic!

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