Pat had guided her into the common area for 'food club'. It's all too overwhelming. She sits in a chair, staring into the fireplace, trying to come up with a logical explanation to why she is here. All the while, the so-called ghosts of Button House discuss which foods they favoured and missed from when they were alive. Matilda still felt alive. She's hopeful this is a coma and she would wake up in a few days or weeks with an amazing book idea.
"Matilda, what's your favourite food?" Pat asks, having gone around the group, asking the same question.
"I, erm-" She stutters.
"Speak up; a lady never mumbles," the Edwardian woman sat pin straight on the couch snaps at her.
"I-" She begins again, feeling all eyes staring into her soul. "I need some space," she stands, quickly vacating the room, and walking straight through the front door out into the cold, late afternoon air.
Not that she could feel it. She couldn't feel anything. There's no pain from her head wound, and there's no shivering from the cold. That was a blessing at least since the paramedics had removed her coat. Matilda knows there isn't likely to be anything left on the country road to indicate a crash had occurred there, but she wanted to go back to the site anyway. She needs to be close to Marcus.
Matilda sets off down the driveway. It was a lot darker now as it nears the end of October. She hopes she can wake up from this nightmare before Christmas. As she nears the gatepost, she cranes her neck, trying to see the crash site over the broken wall, but when she reaches the end of the drive, she finds herself turned around walking back towards the house.
"What?" Matilda mutters, turning back around and trying to jog onto the road, only for the same thing to happen. "NO!" She cries, trying, again and again, tears streaming down her face, as she runs faster and faster, in her attempt to return to Marcus, and escape this hellhole.
On the first floor, Pat watches with unease from the window as their newest resident of Button House attempts to leave the grounds, over and over again.
"I should go help her," Pat states, feeling a sense of obligation, since he had been the first, and only one, to introduce himself.
"Leave her be, Pat. She asked for some time alone." The Captain reminds him, eyes glued to the laptop where Alison had put on a Netflix documentary, 'World War II in colour'.
Lady Button and Thomas have sat themselves either side of the Captain, feigning disinterest in the programme, but still paying attention. Kitty had somehow convinced Julian to turn the pages of her current book between games of golf on Alison's phone. Alison and Mike were in their bedroom, no doubt discussing current events. Mary and Robin were off in the garden, doing whatever they do when they disappear together. And who knows where Humphrey had gotten to, his head or his body. It didn't seem like anyone else was going to help their distressed housemate.
"It's my fault, we should have postponed food club, or cancelled it altogether. She needed time to adjust," Pat sighs, his heart heavy as Matilda drops to the ground, hugging her knees as she appears to be crying. "That's it, I'm going," Pat announces.
"If you're going will you just go, Pat, some of us are trying to watch this television programme," Thomas sighs, without taking his eyes off the screen.
"The lack of empathy is astounding," Pat reprimands them before storming off.
"Matilda?" Pat stands a few feet from the young woman. She's leaning against the gatepost, facing the road and quite audibly crying. "Oh, dear," he sighs sadly when Matilda looks up, her cheeks tear-stained.
"I'm fine," Matilda reaches up to wipe her eyes to find them already dry. She frowns, running her hands down her face to find no trace of her tears.
"Yes, that happens," Pat tells her, sitting down beside her. "We can't change our state of being for too long, so tears quickly dry, we don't get sweaty, our hair returns to it's perfectly styled do," his hand flutters up to gesture his own seventies styled hair, making Matilda chuckle. "And if I were to remove this arrow from my neck, it would return but moments later." He smiles sadly.
Matilda stares at the arrow, "I'm sorry, am I selfish? I'm just struggling to understand what's going on here. I wanted to be close to Marcus." She sighs. "I'm complaining again, sorry, there are much worse ways to spend however long we're here for, and I'm assuming none of you can leave either?" She asks.
Pat shakes his head, "It's a lot to take in, Matilda, but you'll get there." His face lightens up, "What's good though, is that we've all gone through the same thing, and we all complained about it, but we had each other to get through it. If you ever need a shoulder, we're here for you," he remembers his fellow ghosts currently watching the television. "Well, I'm here for you, anyway."
Matilda smiles sadly, "Thank you, Pat." She faces back down the drive, chin resting on her knees.
"And I am sorry for throwing you in at the deep end back there, with food club." He apologises.
"Do you have a lot of clubs?" She asks, turning to face him.
"Yeah, we've had tons over the years, but once you've been around a few decades, you run out of things to talk about," Pat explains. "With you here now, and when you feel like it, you can tell us about all the interesting things you did in your life." He suggests.
"I'm only twenty-six," she scoffs "I've not done anything exciting. Marcus and I have booked a holiday to Italy in the summer actually. Three weeks backpacking from Palermo to Milan." She feels her mood brighten as she thinks about the future; she just hopes she can wake up and recover before then.
"Well, any old story is more interesting than the repeated rambles of that lot," Pat points out, nodding back to the house.
Matilda chuckles, leaning her head against the man's shoulder with a sigh. "Thank you, Pat. You've been the calming presence that I need." She tells him.
Pat's eyes widen with pride; he lifts his hand to pat her head soothingly. Memories of his son, Daley, flood back to the forefront of his mind. He feels himself tearing up and sniffles to prevent the inevitable.
"Are you alright, Pat?" Matilda asks, glancing up at him.
"It's been a while since I've had someone to comfort like this. I had a son, Daley; he was only seven when I died, he's got his own son now. He's got my name," he grins. "They visit once a year, on my death day."
"Do you celebrate your death day?" Matilda asks curiously.
"No, not really, it can be upsetting" He explains. "Actually, you're taking your day of death quite well."
"To be honest, Pat, I'm quite convinced I'm in a coma at the hospital and all this is some nightmare," Matilda admits, staring back off into the woods.
"I'm not sure how I can convince you otherwise," Pat says. "Only time will tell."
"At least you didn't dismiss it," Matilda smiles.
Pat smiles, suspecting they'll be there a while, he begins telling her stories of his time as a scoutmaster until the sky grows darker still. "Shall we head back?" He asks. "I can show you around the house."
Matilda nods, allowing Pat to help her to her feet. She had lost track of time, absentmindedly listening to Pat's stories. She was always getting lost in her own head, daydreaming the world away. It was how she and Marcus had met at university. She pauses when they reach the fountain, spotting dark spots on the wall where she had been leaning. Walking over, she realises that's her blood.
"Matilda?" Pat calls her attention.
She turns, smiling sincerely at the man. "I'll just be a minute; you go ahead."
As soon as Pat is inside the house, she sits on the fountain wall staring up at the clear night sky. She has always found the vast nothingness of space to be very calming. It's reassuring that, even though she's stuck in this hellish nightmare for the foreseeable future, the world is still spinning and moving forward. Matilda takes a deep breath, feeling very content all of a sudden. Perhaps the nurses have just given her a shot of morphine. Closing her eyes, she sighs, "I can do this."
"Look out below!" A voice calls from above.
She opens her eyes just in time to see a head fall into the fountain, and not make a splash. She scrambles to her feet, screaming.
"I'm sorry, Miss Matilda." The head speaks from beneath the water.
Matilda squeezes her eyes shut. "You're not real, not real." She mutters to herself, covering her ears to stop hearing the head's voice.
Pat had been catching up the Captain on the progress he had made with Matilda when they heard the frightening scream from outside. The two men share a look, before dashing out of the front door.
"We be sorry," Mary is trying to tell the new woman, who has her ears covered and is talking to herself.
"What the bally hell is going on here?" The Captain heads straight to Mary and Robin, both of whom start blaming the other.
Pat rushes over to Matilda, placing a gentle hand on her wrist, trying to pull it away so he can talk to her.
She screams again, opening her eyes as she jumps back in fear.
"It's just me, Matilda." He tells her. "You're okay. What happened?"
"The- the head," she stutters, pointing to the fountain.
"That's Humphrey," he explains.
"It has a name!" she exclaims.
"Course he has a name, he's a person."
"Bit rude, innit," Humphrey comments.
"Make him stop," she cries, hands covering her ears again.
"Yeah, Humphrey, I don't think you talking is helping, mate," Pat tells him.
"I'll zip it then," he hums.
"Robin, go get Humphrey," the Captain orders.
"Go get Humphrey," Robin complains, stomping over to the fountain and lifting Humphrey's dry head out of the water.
"I apologise, Miss Matilda," Humphrey calls behind as he's carried back into the house, Mary following after them.
"Well, that's that, Matilda, perhaps it's time we retired to our rooms for the night," the Captain suggests. "It's been quite an exciting day."
"Can we sleep?" Matilda asks, unsure since she's already convinced, she's unconscious in a coma. "Because I'm exhausted."
"Ah, yes," The Captain nods. "That's to be expected." He rocks on his toes, attempting to sound understanding, but failing.
"I can help you chose your room, Matilda." Pat offers.
"Thank you, Pat." She nods, following him closely into the house.
Pat points out everything he believes to be of interest as he guides her down the corridor of the first floor but Matilda is still too overwhelmed to pay attention.
"Who was the war officer?" Matilda asks, interrupting Pat midsentence.
"That's the Captain. He can be stern and a little bossy, but he keeps us all in line. I don't know the sort of trouble we'd be in without him." Pat adjusts his glasses.
"Just the Captain?" She asks.
"Yeah, he likes to keep to himself, but he's there whenever you need him."
"He sounds like a typical war captain," she comments, remembering her university module on European conflicts of the Early Twentieth Century.
"Most of us sleep on this floor." Pat goes back to his tour. "There's a couple of spare bedrooms down that end," he points. "Or there's one on the ground floor, and one on the second floor, which is technically the attic." Pat lists off the vacant rooms.
"Could I have the one in the attic?" She asks, excitement taking over. "I wanted the attic bedroom at home as a teenager, but my parents gave it to my brother." She explains.
"What's your brother called?" Pat asks. "It's important to remember, Matilda." He tells her, guiding her up to the attic bedroom, beside the attic library.
"Mathew." She tells him. "We never got on. He was three years older than me, but, at the end of the day, we always looked out for each other."
"Well, that's what siblings are for, aren't they?" Pat chuckles. "Actually, I don't know. The closest I had was my best mate, who my wife had an affair with and then married after I died." He shrugs.
"Sounds like a brother to me," she jokes, stopping as they reach her new bedroom.
Pat quirks his head with curiosity but doesn't question her. "Well," he goes to tap the door, forgetting as his hand falls through. "Not too many of the others venture this far up on the day-to-day. Just be careful of Humphrey's body." He warns.
"The head's body is here too." She states, wide-eyed.
"Oh, yeah, he tends to wander around like a headless chicken," Pat smiles.
Matilda grins, "You remind me of my dad. He was one of the happiest people I ever knew."
Pat squeaks, "Sleep well, Matilda." Then abruptly leaves.
Matilda watches him leave, then turns to face her new bedroom door. She wonders how she will open it when she remembers she can walk through doors, as she had earlier with the front door. Her brain really was trying to convince her that she was a ghost. She closes her eyes and steps through the door.
Opening her eyes, she scans the room. A double bed against the same wall as the door, two bedside tables either side, a wardrobe in the alcove beside the window overlooking the front of the house, and a chest of drawers against the chimney breast. There are three photo frames atop the drawers. Matilda walks over to inspect them. She recognises the older Edwardian woman in the frame on the left but doesn't recognise the man in the right frame or anyone in the family picture in the centre. She hopes her brain isn't twisted enough to imagine the ghost of a child. That's just too sad.
She glances out of the window, but it's far too dark for her to see anything. With little else to do right now, she perches on the end of her new bed and takes a deep breath. She needs to rest. Shuffling back, she lies her head on a plump pillow, and falls quickly asleep, despite her inner turmoil.
Back in the common area, Pat rushes in, full of excitement, interrupting an argument between Julian and Thomas.
"You'll never guess what, guys. Matilda said I remind her of her dad," he grins. "I always wanted a daughter, but Carol just wanted the one child, and I respected that, but I'd wanted a big family. I suppose that's why I became a scoutmaster," He reflects.
Lady Button stands, taking her leave for the peace and quiet of her room. Once Pat gets started, it can be a while before he stops, so gradually, the rest of them follow in Fanny's footsteps, off to their own bedroom.
"It's quite admirable of you to take young Matilda under your wing, Patrick," the Captain states, adjusting his tie.
"Thank you, Cap," Pat smiles. "It's exciting, isn't it?"
The Captain raises his eyebrows inquisitively.
"Having a new resident? Think of all the stories she'll be able to tell. It's been a while since any of us have had anything new to offer during our clubs." Pat explains.
"Quite," the Captain clears his throat, walking to the window to look over where the young woman had been alive on the driveway, only this afternoon. "I overheard you two talking on the second floor." He admits.
Put blushes beside him. "I didn't say anything wrong, did I?" He asks, not wanting to have insulted the Captain.
"Not at all, Patrick. You were both spot on. A typical war captain." He rocks forward on to his toes, then back again.
"I meant what I said; you're usually the first person I go to with a problem," Pat tells him.
"Thank you, Pat," he hides his small smile by walking into the centre of the room. "We shall have her introduce herself to the group tomorrow morning. I shall expect a good night's sleep has done her a world of good; we can see what she has to say for herself." He states, clearing his throat.
"Great idea, Cap," Pat grins. "I'll rally the guys right after breakfast," he giddily walks away.
"Right, well, good night, Patrick," the Captain tells the other man, marching off in the opposite direction towards his own bedroom.