As Mr Huff (quite obligingly, I felt) started to lift his hands to his ears, one of his crutches became dislodged from beneath his armpit and clattered down on to the path. I ran over to retrieve it.

‘I would strongly advocate combining pressing your ears with sipping water rhythmically through a straw,’ Mrs Seaton suggested, ‘which naturally doubles your chances of success.’

The two Seaton men – after a brief discussion – lifted up the dresser again and recommenced their attempt to gain access to the bomb shelter. Mrs Seaton quickly trotted off to oversee this process.

I passed Mr Huff his crutch. We stared at each other, and I felt a sudden, overwhelming feeling of self-consciousness. Then Mr Huff hiccuped.

‘My mother always used to get me to stick out my tongue,’ I said.

‘Sorry? Hic!’ Mr Huff muttered. He looked a little flushed.

‘To get rid of hiccups. My mother always used to …’

‘I know, hic!’ Mr Huff nodded. ‘You already hic! told me that.’

‘Sorry?’ I frowned.

‘Forget hic! it!’ Mr Huff growled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Joyce devouring a couple of rotten windfalls from the old apple tree.

‘Joyce!’ I yelled, clapping my hands violently to attract his attention. ‘Away from there! Go on! Home! Home!’

Hic!

Mr Huff inspected my hands, grimacing, apparently deeply offended by the cacophony they’d just produced.

‘It can sometimes be of help if you gently cup your fingers over your nose and mouth but continue to breathe normally,’ I added.

‘It’s gone hic! way beyond that hic! I’m afraid, hic! Miss Hahn,’ Mr Huff groaned.

‘Or … or people often say that a sudden, you know, a sudden shock …’

‘Carla?’ Mrs Seaton called over. ‘I think we may need to take off the handles from the front. Will that be okay with you?’

Hic!

‘… to just … you know, to jolt the mind out of …’

‘Carla?’

Oh God. Oh God. I have to, don’t I? Tell Mr Huff?

Don’t I, though?

‘Carla?’

‘It was me, Mr Huff,’ I murmured (because desperate situations require desperate measures, I suppose).

‘Pardon? Hic!’ Mr Huff leaned forward slightly, struggling to hear.

‘Carla?’ Mrs Seaton repeated. ‘The handles!’

I turned, waved my acquiescence, and then, ‘Joyce!’ I yelled. ‘Away from the bins! Joyce! Joyce! Away! Away from the bins!’

‘What did hic! you just hic! say?’ Mr Huff persisted, his manner suddenly quite urgent, taking a hold of my wrist and pulling me still closer.

‘Oh. Um. Uh …’

Hic!

I gazed down at his hand. On my wrist.

‘Uh …’

Hic!

Oh well. Caution be damned. Here goes.

41

Mr Franklin D. Huff

It was her! It was her! She put the shark under my bed! Miss Hahn! She put the shark under my bed! My own landlady! Miss Hahn! She put the shark under my bed! The instant she told me, my hiccups stopped. For about a minute. From the shock. And I …