Turns out that Dave's third eye couldn't handle the thorny moral dilemma of whether or not Dave should murder his insane wife, and simply popped out. It fell on to the floor with a plopping sound and rolled into a gap in the skirting, where it shrivelled up and turned into a walnut-soaked-in-vinegar-like thing. One day in the future a child will find it, and that child will probably grow up wondering why it has an adam's apple-style lump in its forehead which can read everybody's minds.
'Have you tried offering her a nice cup of tea Dave?' Geoffrey suggested. 'With a white chocolate digestive or two maybe.'
'What a good idea. I'll do that right now. Val! Nice cup of tea and a digestive for you! ' Dave rolled his eyes.
'A well-meaning but, dare I say it, a stupid suggestion Geoffrey,' I said. 'Especially when we have heavy duty drugs in our medical chest. Laudanum, opium tabloids, curare. Paraldehyde. Fetch the glass syringe and the blow-pipe Geoffrey. Let's get to work.'
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