13 The Runny Sausage

The Runny Sausage Ebenezer did not have a good night's sleep, because his attempts at slumber were constantly interrupted. No matter where he put the memory book, whether under the tombs in the Egyptian mummy suite or locked in the exotic tea pantry, it always found a way back to his bedroom. The book didn't do anything to hurt Ebenezer, but it didn't do anything to put him at rest, either. It insisted on reminding him of

the beast—showing edited highlights of their time together and reminding him of all the gifts that had been vomited out over the centuries. The more the book tried to rewrite the past, the more Ebenezer relived the horrors of his real life with the beast. Eventually, Ebenezer could take it no more. He went downstairs but found that he wasn't the only one up at an early hour. Bethany was hard at work preparing for the apology party, and she had already moved on to the sandwich section of proceedings. It seemed that every ingredient in the house was out on display; jars of pickled turnips lurked ominously next to overripe avocados, and there was a mixing pot on the go, which contained a foul-smelling mixture of plum jam, mayonnaise, ketchup, treacle, brown

sauce, and honey. Ebenezer dreaded to think what sort of sandwich abominations would be made by the end of the day. "How's it going?" he asked. "Awesomely. I'm making fourteen different types of sandwiches, all the fizzy drinks are in the fridge, and I've got everything I need to set the table," said Bethany. "Everyone's gonna let us do so much do-gooding by the end of this party, it'll be flipping ridiculous." "Us?" asked Ebenezer, groaning inwardly. "Heck yeah," said Bethany. "Don't think I'm letting you wriggle out of it. I know you didn't go to the retirement home yesterday—your car was in the exact same place." "As a matter of fact, the retirement home came to me," said Ebenezer, terribly pleased with himself. He was significantly less

pleased with himself when he saw the confused scowl on Bethany's face. "I mean… an older gentleman came round. Mr. Clinke was his name—a frail yet fierce sort of fellow. I invited him in, let him criticize the house a bit, gave him a teapot—that sort of thing." Bethany stopped stirring her pot of menace. She looked up at Ebenezer with a strange expression on her face. "You actually did some do-gooding? You listened to me?" she asked. Ebenezer realized that the expression on her face was one of pride. He didn't know what to do with this, because no one had ever been proud of him before. "Well… um, you know," he said, shuffling awkwardly. "Thought I'd give it a go."

Bethany resumed stirring. The look of pride quickly gave way to her usual scowl. "Good start, but now you've gotta take it up to the next level. You need to go to the retirement home today—go and give your company to some other oldies as well," she said. Ebenezer pulled a face. He rather thought that giving an old man a teapot would cover his do-gooding quota for the year. "Hold on a mo. This isn't his, is it?" asked Bethany. She fished her pockets and produced an earwax-covered hearing aid. "I found it on the stairs." "Oh yes, that's Clinke's all right," said Ebenezer, taking it from her. "Mind if I have the earwax? It smells a bit cheesy, so I thought I could use it in my

mozzarella-and-marzipan recipe," said Bethany. She scooped off the wax and rubbed it into some nearby slices of bread before Ebenezer could stop her. "It'll add a flavor the guests are just gonna love. I can't wait to see their faces." "Indeed, I imagine they will be pulling all manner of interesting expressions," said Ebenezer. "Who is coming to enjoy these very special sandwiches, by the way?" "Oops. Good point," said Bethany. Even though she had spent most of the night preparing the invitations, Bethany hadn't sent them out yet—and she was planning for the party to kick off in the early afternoon, so she'd still have plenty of energy left for her first shift at Miss Muddle's in the evening.