‘What?’
He fiddled with his manbag for a moment. ‘It’s getting late. I never know when to stop chatting. You get off, to unpack. Why don’t I call in, some time, erm, in the daylight? I know Walter’s house inside out and could show you around. Luke can sometimes be a bit… He’s a busy man, but his heart is in the right place.’ Terry cleared his throat. ‘Only if you two girls want, though – an old fogey like me might cramp your style!’
‘You cramp our style?’ I said, with a wink.
Terry clapped me on the back. ‘I’m going to enjoy living next to you.’
‘That would be great if you could show us where everything is. Thanks… Terry.’ I tugged my head towards the Winsfords’ place. ‘Must be cool for you, living two doors down from a golfing legend.’
‘Legend? That would be Greg Norman or Seve Ballesteros. Whereas this rookie…He’s done okay. Bit flash, though. But his wife’s brought a breath of fresh air to the sport. Some of her clothes are just fabulous.’ His face lit up. ‘And I’m sure I saw that pushy brunette from morning telly at their house the other day, for some sort of interview. Then there was the time Antonia… ’
‘Not Antonia Hamilton who won last year’s Strictly Disco?’
He clasped his hands together. ‘Yes! She visited. I think she took time off from her tour to help choreograph Melissa’s fitness DVD. I looked through my backlog of Starchat and sure enough, they both went to school together. They’d been photographed together by the paparazzi at some school reunion.’
‘You keep a backlog of Starchat magazines too? My boyfriend never understood why I did that.’
‘Neither did Ken.’
‘And Infamous magazine?’
‘Shh! It’s our little secret! We really ought to be reading some more upmarket coffee table magazine in Harpenden.’
I grinned again.
‘You’ll have to come round some time, Kimmy. Now must go. Frazzle will be wondering where I am.’ He tilted his cap. ‘Ciao, sweetie! Any problems, I’m just next door.’
Frazzle? Was that a nickname for some new boyfriend? He paused for a few seconds to look at Mistletoe Mansion, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, then changed his mind.
Mrs Winsford! Antonia Hamilton! Living here was going to be so cool. Maybe I’d become good mates with Melissa, we’d go shopping and she’d tell me the latest gossip about her famous chums. Perhaps she’d advise me on keeping your man, and help me win back Adam.
Humming quietly, I led Groucho up the drive, when he suddenly ground to a halt. His chocolate button eyes stared right up at the locked front left room. I followed his gaze and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. In that top window, staring straight back, appeared a…a strangely illuminated, transparent face. Every millimetre of moisture drained from my mouth and my legs felt wobbly. I squinted as it darted from side to side, my heart racing and hands feeling clammy. OMG! Not only did we live next to a celebrity – now we had our very own ghost.
OF COURSE! The G word that Deborah had managed to hide… That red writing, under the hole-punch… The Gh must have meant… I swallowed hard: Must Love Ghosts.
I’d always wanted to appear on Most Haunted, that programme where they investigated spooky goings-on. Now I had my own live show. Stumbling slightly, I scooped up Groucho and looked around for Terry, but there was no sight of the bright anorak. I forced myself to gaze up at the window again and jumped back – it was still there.
‘Cooee!’ I warbled and waved with a trembling hand. Appear friendly. Don’t show you’re scared to death (unfortunate use of words, there).
The face stopped still for a minute then darted manically. My stomach scrunched. Perhaps I’d upset it. Who knows what other ghouls were in this place? With a deep breath, I charged towards the house. There was no time to lose. Practically wetting myself with fear or not, I had to get in the house and warn Jess.
Go on, you beast, do your worst. Turn into some incisor-flashing, blood-drooling werewolf… Try and take a bite. I’m not scared.
It was no good. My attempts at telepathy were useless. Groucho merely rolled onto his back, batting his chocolate button eyes for a tickle. Clearly he’d be no help fighting against some spirit risen from the dead. I was trying to convince Jess that there really was evil afoot in Mistletoe Mansion. ‘Officially nuts’ – that’s what she thought I was.
‘A ghost?’ she’d eventually said. ‘You’ve been watching far too much Most Haunted.’ Just because I’d tried to impress her with what I’d learnt from the show and talked of light anomalies and residual energies. But she didn’t laugh out loud until I suggested asking this astral being I’d spotted to knock three times to prove it was there.Tears had run down her face as she’d waved me out of her room. ‘It’s late,’ she’d said, and giggled. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow. And no, this isn’t Blue Peter, so I’ll decline your request to help you make a Ouija board out of cereal boxes and loo roll.’
Still spooked, I’d then played dirty and questioned her love of a certain supernatural zombie series. She’d shaken her head. Didn’t I know those shows were fictional?
Squinting at the shafts of morning winter sunshine, I dumped my shopping on the kitchen floor and made an extra strong coffee. Last night I’d hadn’t slept a wink, due to all my senses being on red alert, homing in on every suspicious creak or thud. Yet when Jess popped into my room before work – with my first caffeine shot of the day and with the daily to-do list Luke had mentioned (Jess had edited it of course, and written on several other things she thought were important) – we had a good laugh. Maybe she was right. The face I saw could have been the moon’s reflection. As if a cut-throat estate agent would believe in, let alone jot down notes about, ghosts.
Not that Jess was happy when I finally told her about Deborah running after us, trying to stop our car. She worried there might be something wrong with the tyres or exhaust. Not likely. Adam gave my car a thorough check-over, once a month.
Tucking my slightly frizzy hair behind my ears, I gazed out of the kitchen window, onto the sweeping back garden and the cloudless, crisp December sky. A smile inflated my cheeks. I had to update my Facebook status to “Kimmy Jones is…” What’s that expression? Living the life of Riley? No, living the life of Kylie, more like! After the shock of Adam dumping me, my stomach still twisted when thinking of him, but the waves of nauseous hurt were now alleviated by my belief that me helping to sell Mistletoe Mansion could bring me and Adam back together.
It was great to be back in this bubble of luxury after my quick trip to the supermarket. I’d been tempted to drive into Harpenden and explore the upmarket food shops. But I’d found some cash for our expenses, in with the list of instructions, and it wouldn’t stretch too far. So, I’d headed to my usual store and bought the essentials (Pringles and Oreos) before buying baking ingredients and other groceries. I’d also picked up some cheap garlands of tinsel, to drape over the pictures and portraits, otherwise – my broken tree apart – no one could tell Christmas was only two weeks away. Despite the storm, my car started straightaway, after its first ever night in a garage. What fun I’d had with the remote – at the touch of a button: garage door up, garage door down.
I finished my drink, put away the shopping and ticked off the first entry on Jess’s list (“Stock up”). What an awesome kitchen, with its pristine cupboards that opened properly and shiny worktops. And what an array of utensils, some of which looked surprisingly old. Walter must have kept more reminders of his wife than Terry knew about. There were Tupperware boxes, pastry cutters, jelly moulds, pie funnels, whisks and spatulas… Yet the inside of the double oven was spotless.