Laying the Ghost (29 page)

‘
Nothing?
’ Tess’s voice was screechy. ‘I don’t believe you! You were out
all night
with him! All alone among the scary spooks!
Something
must have happened!’

‘I’ll make stuff up, if you like.’ Mimi yawned. She wanted to have a long, steamy shower, put her pink velour trackie on and her big furry Garfield slippers (Christmas present from Seb – for the sake of mutual credibility they’d agreed to pretend they were ironic but she loved how soft and snuggly they were) and just lie on the sofa all evening watching trash TV. She wanted to make it up with her mum. They could watch
Casualty
together and some easy comfort telly like six back-to-back reruns of
My Family
. They should eat something lovely like her mum’s
lasagne.
Or just chips. And oooh she felt a sudden deep longing for fish fingers, like an overtired six-year-old. Fish fingers with ketchup.

‘No, don’t make stuff up. That’s no good. You know what I want to know … did you … you know. Did you
do it
?’

Mimi felt slightly sick. ‘Tess, do you know how much like some old perv you’re sounding?’

‘Oh really?’ Tess snapped. ‘You’d know, would you? OK then, don’t tell me anything, and don’t bother to ask me how much trouble you got
me
into. It’s not all about
you
, you know. Just don’t ask me – not
ev-ah
– to cover for you again. Alibis are
not
us, got that?’

‘Got it,’ Mimi told her. ‘But, Tess …’

‘What!’

‘I’m sorry. I’m
really
sorry. And, OK, I’ll tell you. We had a bottle of champagne and we got giggly and felt really pissed. We did a bit of snogging under this tree and it got really uncomfortable and we were getting a bit further on … like …’

‘Like what? Did he …?’

‘No … he got under my clothes a bit, that kinda stuff, but by then I was feeling slightly ill from the drink and it was getting dark. It was freezing too and I kept thinking hey, everyone else here’s dead. It doesn’t exactly make you feel sexy, that.’

Tess giggled. ‘You are
so
mad. So you haven’t done it. Not even close to.’

‘That’s all you wanted to know, isn’t it?’ Mimi laughed. ‘No, I haven’t. I’ll probably end up ancient, like nineteen or something, and still a virgin. Even Joel went off the idea once we realized we might be locked in. In the end we spent the whole night shivering under this picnic rug under some chapel arches. I thought I’d
die
. And we kept hearing weird noises. It was, like, for
ever
? Never, ever again!’

‘You’re still going out with him, though?’

‘Suppose. He’s still talking about going to the coast but I’m grounded for a week. Maybe when it’s warmer, but I don’t know.’

‘So it wasn’t worth it?’

Mimi laughed again. ‘Er … no? Good snogger, though.’ She just about managed to stop herself adding, ‘Almost as good as you.’

‘Better than me?’ Tess whispered down the phone.

Mimi bit her lip and wondered if being friends from seven years old really made you psychic.

‘Nowhere near, babe.’ She giggled. ‘But if you lend him that lipgloss you wear – that’ll help.’

There was one conclusion that frightened Nell, out of the only two logical ones to choose from. If Patrick hadn’t had her original letter he couldn’t have sent a reply, which meant that someone else had. So Patrick hadn’t had the letter because either someone who lived with him had intercepted it,
or
it hadn’t been posted, and the person
who
hadn’t posted it could only have been … Steve. Nell’s brain kept going round in confused circles and had been doing so since she’d received Patrick’s email. She hadn’t yet replied to it and was still working out what on earth to say to him. And of course she might, depending on what he said back to her, have to tackle Steve. But today was Sunday and she and Mimi were now on their way to Guildford to have lunch with Gillian. She hoped that getting some distance from home would mean she could put both Steve and Patrick out of her head and simply relax a bit.

‘Did I really have to come …?’ Mimi was still grumbling, even though they were now on the A3 and well past Wisley. She was slumped down in her seat twiddling with her iPod, feet on the dashboard.

‘Yes of course,’ Nell told her, ‘and it’s not part of your punishment; it’s just a nice family lunch with your gran.’

‘She’d rather it was Seb,’ Mimi said, with some justification.

‘She loves you both,’ Nell said. ‘And she’ll be thrilled to see you. She doesn’t often, these days. You’re always busy or out.’

‘I’m
supposed
to be out; I’m a teenager. Wouldn’t you worry if I had like no
friends
?’

‘No danger of that being a cause for worry – you never seem to be short of friends.’ Nell sighed. How many minutes had Mimi
not
been on the phone or computer
since
she’d woken up late on Saturday afternoon? She could probably count them on one hand. News of Mimi’s graveyard adventure must have reached every person she’d ever met in the whole world and her whole life, and it had been elevated to the kind of major drama that, in the retelling, had become highly enviable and hugely glamorous. Mimi was gleefully delighted to relive the entire event for anyone who asked. Even being confined to home made her some kind of star among her peers, and the words, ‘It’s like
so
not fair’ were the refrain of the day. Nell was half-inclined to give up on the going-out ban, in the interests of getting back to normal and depriving Mimi of glorying in victim status.

The driveway to Gillian’s house was overhung with drooping laurels and leggy hydrangeas and was clearly becoming too much for the once-a-week gardener. Thanks to Steve’s classes, all Nell could think was that the overgrown shrubs offered too much cover from which a lurking burglar could case the place. At some point she’d have to bring up the subject of security – Larchfield would be such an easy-peasy target with its simple Yale locks and fragile single-glazed windows. As well as feeling some despair about the house’s exterior, Nell felt mildly uneasy inside this house where she’d grown up. It wasn’t connected with reverting to childhood and unwelcome parental authority, but more to do with noticing small signs of her mother’s advancing age and incipient frailty.
Gillian
would not take kindly to being incapacitated even in a minor way (well, who would?) and Nell wondered how on earth, when the time came, she would be able to persuade her that there were easier ways of living than in this rambling, out-of-date, draughty house that must be ruinously expensive to heat.

Each time she was here, worrying new evidence of domestic decay and shabbiness presented itself. Last visit, she’d noticed the window frames looked rotten. Where paint had chipped off at the corners, damp had got in and the wood felt soft and spongy. A burglar wouldn’t need to concern himself with locks – he could just punch the wood away. Gillian had dismissed that as being down to a spell of wet weather, certain it would dry out and somehow mend itself. This time, too, the stair carpet had newly loose threads that would soon become dangerous. Gillian had a stalwart ‘it’ll see me out’ attitude to her home, an attitude that she wouldn’t dream of applying to her wardrobe, and Nell knew that a suggestion she get a new carpet would be met with a derisive dose of ‘don’t be so silly’. It was contrary in a woman who, only a few weeks ago, was delightedly buying an expensive outfit for a spring funeral for which the potential corpse had yet to stop breathing.

Now, in the kitchen, the fridge had a strange smell that told Nell that either cream or yogurt had spilled and gone mouldy in some essential tubes at the back. Gillian
simply
said, ‘Oh, I’ll put half a lemon in – that’ll get rid of it.’ Nell resolved to mention all this to her sisters, make sure they kept up to speed about how things were in the old family homestead, see if they would back her up on the matter of security. They didn’t turn up in Guildford very often; Sarah (the clever one) was busy being a GP in Scotland. Claire (the pretty one) lived a Wirral-society whirl of charity events, forever in cocktail dresses and a laser-white smile for the
Cheshire Life
photographer. When they made it back to Surrey they overlooked the creeping tattiness in the interests of not having to do something about it, somehow certain they could leave all that to Nell (the arty one).

‘Darling, you look terribly tired,’ Gillian said to Nell later, as she handed her a massive slice of tarte Tatin. ‘Have you been working hard?’

‘She’s been going out,’ Mimi told her, giving Nell a triumphant look across the table. They’d gone through the story of Mimi’s cemetery stop-out over the roast lamb, with Nell underplaying the fear aspect of it in favour of amusing her mother. Mimi hadn’t seen the funny side and minded very much being laughed at. Revenge, Nell now realized, was on its way.

‘
She
’s been going out with
men
.’ Mimi poured cream all over her pudding, smirking at her grandmother. Nell gave her a warning glare.

‘Have you, darling? So soon?’ Gillian’s eyebrows were up to her hairline.

‘What do you mean, “soon”? Soon after what?’ As if she didn’t know.

‘Soon after Alex … went.’

‘What am I supposed to do? Give it a decent period of mourning? Anyway, I wouldn’t call it “going out with men”. That’s a bit of an exaggeration.’ Nell could feel her voice becoming higher, defensive. Why did her mother still make her feel like this? Did it ever stop, or would she have to wait till Gillian reached her second childhood and it was all the other way round? Lord, would this be her and Mimi one day?

‘Shall I go and make some coffee for you both?’ Mimi asked sweetly. She was smiling now; the grenade had been lobbed into the arena – job done. Nell could see her eyeing her bag, which contained her Gameboy. In ten minutes from now, the kettle would be boiling away (its automatic switch-off was long defunct – another cause for concern. She’d bring a new one next time, even if Gillian told her off for needless profligacy) and Mimi would be feet-up on the sofa, obliviously tap-tapping away at some daft game.

‘Oh please, darling, that would be lovely. And there are some minty chocolates in the fridge – bring those as well.’

‘Ooh great, I will.’ Mimi collected up the plates and sauntered out of the room.

‘Such a sweet girl,’ Gillian said as soon as Mimi was out of hearing range. ‘Now this boyfriend of hers, do keep an
eye
on him. I hope she doesn’t get too involved too young. It can only lead … well, you know what it can lead to.’

Nell laughed. ‘The boy I got involved with too young was that Marcus you set me up with!’

Gillian frowned at her. ‘I didn’t mean him and you know it. That chap who lived in the old house died, by the way, but only this last week. I was beginning to wonder if I’d get any wear out of the jacket and skirt I bought in Richmond with you that other Sunday; the weather’s turning so warm!’

‘Mum – you’re all heart!’ Nell laughed.

‘At my age, funerals are quite frequent social events,’ Gillian told her. ‘You pretend you owe it to the deceased to look smart, but really you’re along for the party after and you quite enjoy all the dressing up. Now – before we join Mimi with the coffee, tell me – who have you been going out with? Does he have … er … sterling qualities?’

‘Do you mean money?’ Patrick had been a rich boy. Gillian had approved of that aspect of him – but only that.

‘Yes. Of course I do!’ Gillian laughed. ‘If you have the choice of money or not-money, well, it can be a comfort in the difficult times.’

‘No it can’t,’ Nell said bluntly. ‘Difficult times are just that – whatever the circumstances. I should know. And no – I don’t think Steve is what you’d call loaded.’

He’s probably got a gun that is, though, she couldn’t
help
thinking. ‘He teaches self-defence, personal safety. He’s an ex-detective. I’ve been going to his classes – I told you about them.’

‘Ah, police. A solid citizen, then. He sounds a steady sort. That’s also important.’ Nell seemed to remember that A Steady Sort had been Gillian’s approving verdict on Alex, too.

‘Yes. You’d think he was.’ Nell didn’t much want to talk about Steve – she was saving dealing with him till she got home. Phone or email wasn’t going to be enough – she wanted to see him; find out, if the letter business
was
him, what he thought he was playing at.

‘Well, come on then.’ Gillian was impatient. ‘Do tell. Where does he live? Have you been there? What’s it like?’

Nell smiled. What to say? That Steve’s bed had a headboard with an extensive choice of convenient anchor points to which you could be chained or handcuffed; that he possessed a range of S&M gear that would be the envy of a brothel madam; and that if you got on the wrong side of him he had a cage you could be confined in while he debated the choice of weapon with which to beat your attitudes into shape?

‘He’s got a riverside flat in Putney. It’s really quite nice but … don’t rush out to buy the wedding hat just yet. I doubt if I’ll be seeing him again, not as a date. Not that it really was. It was only lunch.’

She wasn’t going to mention Ed. Gillian might consider
dating
one man to be a minor and forgivable event. Dating two would look close to desperation.

‘Oh!’ Gillian looked so disappointed, Nell almost felt sorry she wasn’t prepared to give Steve another chance. Maybe, in the interests of keeping her mother happy, she should try out a little light spanking. ‘Never mind,’ Gillian continued, ‘but do give any passing men a sporting chance. After all, at your age …’

This was new, Nell thought. Maybe she would – one day – mention Ed.

‘Oh thanks!’ Nell laughed. ‘At my age I’m supposed to be grateful for any attention going!’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to say that … and I wouldn’t ever suggest a lowering of standards … but …’

‘Good. Because I’m not looking for anyone, OK? I’m perfectly all right on my own.’

‘Quite. And you’ve got the children. Remember you wouldn’t have those if you’d stayed with …’