Mistletoe Mansion (25 page)

‘“Tee”. Very funny. Good golfing joke,’ he grinned. ‘Won’t Jonny be wondering where you are?’

She shook her head and leant back. I tried not to stare at her huge, pert boobs which emerged from the water like a pair of buoys. ‘When we’ve rowed before he stays out for the night; sleeps over at his agent’s house.’

His
agent’s
house? I looked at Terry and knew he was thinking the same as me.

A flash of red appeared in the kitchen and Jess came over. She opened the patio doors.

‘Has one of you been smoking inside?’ she mumbled, hair dishevelled, pillow creases indented into one of her cheeks.

‘Ghastly habit,’ said Melissa and reached for a bowl of strawberries. ‘Don’t people realise it yellows teeth and gives them premature wrinkles?’

I glared at Jess, willing her not to make some sarcastic comment like “oh yes, that’s far worse than the fact it rots your lungs.” But I needn’t have worried as she shushed us. ‘Listen. I also heard…’ Jess shot a look at me, ‘… a funny wind noise.’

I stared back at her. Was that troublesome spirit back? Perhaps Jess was scared and needed some company upstairs.

‘I’m shattered,’ she continued. ‘Why don’t you lot call it a night?’

‘No wonder you’re bushed, darling,’ said Melissa. ‘Little one kicking yet?’

Jess evil-eyed her.

‘What?’ said Melissa.

Terry sat up. ‘I didn’t know you were preggers, Jess.’

Melissa picked up another strawberry. ‘Sorry. Forgot no one else knew. But you’re hardly hiding it by eating a whole packet of ginger biscuits tonight. Ginger is a classic cure for nausea, plus no one eats a whole packet unless they’re pregnant or bulimic – and no offence, Jess, but you’re clearly not interested enough in your body image for it be the latter.’ She stepped out of the water and reached for her towel. ‘You’re very lucky,’ she said eventually, in a small voice. ‘Guess we should quieten down. The bump needs its sleep.’

At that moment, the lights went out.

‘I’ll sort out the fuse box,’ I said, and jumped out of the water. Quickly I dried myself down and grabbed my cardigan, whilst Melissa bombarded Jess with advice about folic acid. I felt my way to the cupboard behind the hallway desk and… presto! The lights switched back on. But there was thick swirly smoke coming from upstairs. It didn’t smell of burning, just that familiar sweet odour. Oh God. A coldness iced the inside of my chest. That thing was back. What if it grabbed me again?

‘Jess! Quick!’ I called, in a wobbly voice, and the others hurried into the hallway. Nervously, Terry looked up at the smoke.

Melissa giggled. ‘Spooky! Don’t tell me – this place is haunted.’

‘Yes!’ I blurted out, shivers tickling my spine. ‘That’s why it’s not selling; that’s why the housesitters never last long.’

‘Has it ever hurt you?’ asked Terry, wrapping his humungous towel tightly around his tum. He bit his lip and stared up the stairs once more.

‘Something grabbed me the other night,’ I said. ‘It tried to drag me across the room.’

Melissa beamed and clapped her hands. The whole episode seemed to have cheered her up no end.

‘Aren’t you scared?’ I asked her, as we hurried back into the kitchen.

‘Me? Afraid of some spirit? When, daily, I have to deal with those lens-shoving leeches outside? Then there’s the bitchy comments from other women and patronising questions from journalists… No, I can deal with something that won’t make a pass at my husband or point at my cellulite. But what if it attacks Jess?’ She tutted. ‘You’ve got a child to think about now.’

Jess folded her arms, just before the lights went out again.

‘Back in a second,’ I muttered, body shaking. Walter would look after me. I’d be all right. But where was his White Christmas music? Come on Mr Carmichael, how about some teamwork.

Eyes wider than those belonging to cute Beanie Boo toys, I felt my way along the kitchen wall, out of the doors, around the front of the staircase, towards the hallway desk and… Oh God! I stood rooted to the spot. Breathing came from behind me. Someone, something, must have been waiting on the stairs.
Walter, help!
But there was still no music. My heart pounded. Should I turn around or dive under the desk? This dilemma was solved when it lunged and with a hideous cackle, pushed me towards the cupboard. I let out a scream and before I knew it, I’d been bundled in, next to the fuse box.

‘Come out or make a noise at your peril,’ said a raspy voice. The door closed in my face. Teeth chattering, I sat as still as I could. Please don’t let that thing come at me again. Please, make it go away… A sob was just about to escape my lips, when… What was that scratching sound?

It went on for several moments and then nothing – until footsteps got louder and Jess called out my name. A gasp of relief shot from my lips. She opened the door, switched the fuse and jumped as she saw me huddled up, in a tight ball, at the back of the cupboard.

Jess stood back to let me out. My legs still trembling, as we passed the desk I looked down. Scratched into the surface of the wood was one word: “LEAVE.” I swallowed hard.

We rushed back to the kitchen. Terry was refilling the kettle, whilst Melissa picked chopped nuts off one of the Christmas gingerbread cupcakes.

‘They weren’t cheap but did the job,’ said Melissa, to Terry. She looked up at me. ‘Just talking about a celeb acquaintance of mine who had problems – a poltergeist I think. Paranormal investigators got rid.’

‘Like the ones on Most Haunted?’ I rubbed the bottom of my back, which hurt where I’d been shoved onto the floor. Jess offered me a stick of gum and after a few minutes of manic chewing, my heart finally slowed from a canter to a trot.

Melissa nodded. ‘SpiritShooters they were called. I can get their number. If it were me, I’d get them around without delay.’

I sniffed; looked at Jess; gazed at her stomach. Nothing would make me leave this job unfinished, but things were getting dangerous.

‘They banish bad spirits?’ I said. Walter wasn’t evil. What about him? I didn’t like the name Shooters, but perhaps my spooky friend would know to keep a low profile whilst they were around. He mustn’t get moved onto those Pearly Gates until I’d helped him sort out his will.

‘Yes. I believe they can even arrange an exorcism.’

I nodded. Thank God Mr Murphy was visiting in the morning. I’d be honest with him; see if he’d pay for these ghostbusters. Blow what Deborah thought. As soon as he got here, I’d tell Mr Murphy the real reason Mistletoe Mansion wouldn’t sell.

Chapter 19

As hard as I could, I slapped Mr Murphy on the back.

‘Drink this water,’ I said, and passed him a glass. He sat at the bar in the Games Room – his favourite place in the house, apparently – tears running down his face. He’d almost choked on a mouthful of chopped nuts, whilst eating one of the cupcakes left over from the night before. Why? Because I’d told him about the haunting. Clearly his mind wasn’t open to the paranormal. Good thing I hadn’t accidentally given him one of the hen party cakes. A large marzipan willy down his throat might have proved lethal.

‘A ghost?’ he said, finally, and put down the water. It had dripped down his suit, which was navy with dark grey stripes. He wore a shirt which looked too tight around the neck. He wiped his eyes, took off his jacket and loosened his wide tie. On his little finger was a huge gold signet ring.

‘That’s priceless,’ he said. ‘Where on earth did Deborah get you from, love?’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder this place isn’t selling if she entrusts it to neurotic young women.’

‘Here’s proof!’ I said and showed him the note the previous housesitter left for me and Jess. ‘This was a warning from a sensible, retired lady who was into dressmaking. Don’t you think it explains why no one lasts here longer than it takes to say
Boo
?’

Mr Murphy rubbed his receding hairline. The little hair he had left was dyed just a bit too black. ‘You want me to fork out good money to pay some loony organisation – what is it called, SpiritShooters – to look around? As if trying to sell this place isn’t costing me a fortune, already. Plus I’m going to have to pay to have that scratched word removed from the hallway desk. In fact I might not bother. The house-clearers can have it.’

The doorbell went and, inwardly sighing, I got up. I hadn’t even had time yet to question him, to find out why his uncle was unhappily stuck in limbo. I’d tried to make a good impression by tying back my hair and wearing my most serious outfit – the black skirt and blouse I’d worn to Melissa’s Botox party. Although I got the impression Mr Murphy was a man who’d appreciate more leg and cleavage.

I opened the front door. Wow. Melissa was glammer than ever. Mr Murphy’s desires had been granted. Clearly she’d dressed up for the photographers, in the most gorgeous purple and silver bandage dress. It looked just like one I’d seen on my favourite celebrity-inspired shopping website, Bae Boutiquet.net. Her hair was sprayed to within an inch of its life and her make-up fashion-shoot perfect. An open aubergine suede jacket and silk scarf completed the ensemble.

‘Morning, Kimmy,’ she said, just the hint of dark circles under her eyes.

‘Feeling better?’ I said, softly.

‘Yes. Don’t know what you put in those cupcakes, but I woke up determined to pull myself together and show the world that I wasn’t bothered by those stupid rumours.’

I grinned. As usual, there was no grim situation a bit of sponge and icing couldn’t brighten.

‘We’ve made up.’ Melissa pointed to her necklace. ‘Like it?’

‘Cool.’ What’s not to like about platinum and diamonds? ‘That must have cost him a packet.’

‘Jonny said you couldn’t put a price on my trust.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Thanks for, um, last night, by the way. It did me the world of good. How’s it going with Walter’s nephew?’

‘He thinks I’m totally bonkers,’ I whispered. ‘Deborah had been right not to tell him anything spooky. Charm had oozed out of him, until I’d mentioned the word “ghosts”.’

She straightened her skirt. ‘Let me talk to him and work the Winsford magic.’

‘He’s in the Games Room, to the left,’ I said and closed the door. What had I got to lose? At this rate, Mr Murphy was about to make me and Jess homeless.

‘Now I haven’t got all day, missy,’ said Mr Murphy, standing up. He turned around. His mouth fell open. ‘Mrs Winsford… What a pleasure!’ He flushed as red as the festive tinsel I’d trailed along the bar.

‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ she said in her most treacle-like tones. Melissa minced towards him, hips swaying, hand outstretched. What an entrance! ‘Walter always spoke very highly of you.’

What a liar! She’d never even spoken to her elderly neighbour. Cold air suddenly engulfed me and I smiled to myself – clearly Walter wasn’t happy with that lie.

‘Really?’ Mr Murphy pulled out a stool for the golfer’s wife. ‘He was a decent uncle. I was just so sorry when…’

Melissa sat down and wrapped her hand over his. ‘Mr Murphy, isn’t it? May I call you…?’

‘Mike.’ He smiled like a schoolboy who’d finally accessed the Red Hot Dutch TV channel, his eyes saying “you can call me whatever you want”.

‘It was terribly sad about your uncle,’ she purred, ‘but he would want you to move on; would want this place sold. You should listen to Kimmy. Everyone in the cul-de-sac knows about the Mistletoe Mansion Ghost.’

‘Pah, what a lot of…’

But he stopped mid-sentence as Melissa opened a jar of cocktail cherries, took one out and sucked on it hard. I bit the insides of my cheeks in a desperate attempt not to giggle. He reminded me of Groucho, who stopped dead if he smelt my favourite beef burger flavour crisps. In an attempt to control my laughter, I rearranged the snooker balls.

‘Love your suit, by the way,’ said Melissa and lightly brushed his knee with her hand. ‘I like a man who takes pride in his appearance. Just look at your watch.’

It was impossible not to notice it. Large, shiny, rather like a compass.

Mike loosened his tie further.

‘Harpenden is a small village,’ she said. ‘Close-knit. If word gets out of Badgers Chase about funny happenings here, you’ll never sell. But then you’re a clever man. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.’

He wiped his forehead with a hanky, before standing up and pacing the room. ‘You’ve got the number?’ he said. ‘For these…’

‘Paranormal investigators?’ said Melissa.

Mr Murphy nodded. ‘Reliable, are they?’

‘Ooh yes,’ she cooed. ‘They always give one hundred percent satisfaction.’ Slowly, she uncrossed her legs. ‘I think it takes a real man to admit that he needs help.’

‘I like to think I’m broadminded.’ Mike went back to his chair next to her and sat down. Immediately he jumped up and his eyes bulged. He rubbed his behind. There, on his chair, was a fork upturned. I looked skywards. Walter?

‘I’ll ring my friend now,’ said Melissa and took out her state-of-the-art phone.

‘Another coffee?’ I said to Mr Murphy.

He nodded. ‘And one for Mrs Winsford.’

By the time I got back, Melissa was playing snooker with Mr Murphy, splayed forwards across the table, legs parted.

‘Ooh… Aahh,’ she murmured as she concentrated on the shot.

Mr Murphy followed her every move, in that tight dress.

‘Why don’t you ring that number now, Mike?’ She stood upright. ‘Then we can finish our game before you head off for your meeting. Don’t you think Kimmy and Jess have been saints to stay here so long, in view of the frightening circumstances? Unlike the other housesitters, they haven’t let you down.’

‘Indeed. Apologies, Kimmy. Clearly there’s a problem here. I should have been informed.’

Whilst he dialled, Melissa and I headed over to the window with our coffees and I gazed at the sky which – yippee! – with all that sea-foam low cloud, looked as if it might snow.

‘Thanks,’ I whispered.

‘My pleasure… almost,’ she said and we giggled, before going over last night’s events.

‘Done!’ announced Mr Murphy. ‘They’re coming tonight – from what you told me, they felt the situation required immediate attention. They’ll be here at eight o’clock, a few hours after it’s got dark.’