She closes her eyes, and forces herself to take a deep breath. He just found out he's been dead for thirty years. He's allowed some leeway.

A knock at the door stirs her from the sofa, and she opens it to admit the rat with the waiter's trolley. She signs for it, and sends the creature along its way before he emerges again.

And then she pours herself a mug of tea, and pours him one as well. Hers gets doctored with milk and sugar, his with -- she counts them out carefully -- seven sugars. It's a seven sugar day.

When he emerges from the bath, she's waiting outside the door, patiently holding it for him.