‘She’s coming tomorrow?’ said Luke and passed Jess the glass of water from her bedside table. ‘Cancel her. You’ve both had a shock. Get her to re-schedule the appointment.’
‘We can’t,’ said Jess, weakly.
I gazed at the black rings under her eyes. ‘It might be an idea,’ I said. ‘I’m over at Melissa’s in the morning and without your help, I’m not sure I’ll get this place spotless in time. It’s Deborah’s fault anyway. She knew about this ghost thing. I’m sure that’s what I saw written in her notes.’
‘That red scrawl could have said anything,’ said Jess.
‘Time I left this nuthouse,’ muttered Luke and disappeared onto the landing.
‘You aren’t going?’ I called after him. ‘What if that thing is still here?’ I caught him up in the hallway, downstairs. He turned around by the front door.
‘What the spooky ghoul?’ He smirked. ‘Make a cross out of two wooden spoons and sleep with that above your bed.’
‘Can’t you at least open the room at the front, upstairs? I’m sure I heard movements in there.’
‘Chill out.’ Luke went to leave. ‘Whoever it was is unlikely to come back. And, as I’ve found out the hard way, you’re good at defending yourself.’
Tears pricked my eyes. I wasn’t crying really. Not in front of him. I was tired, that’s all; in shock. ‘Whatever,’ I mumbled. ‘Thanks for coming.’ I headed for the Game of Thrones Room, wishing there really were some helpful warriors in there. Sitting at the bar, I grabbed the tube of Pringles and shoved in a handful, sideways on.
‘That is one wide mouth.’ Luke appeared at my side. He helped himself to a crisp. ‘Okay. I’ll kip on the sofa in the office upstairs – that’s if you control your attraction to the Adonis that is Luke Butler.’ He took another crisp and chuckled.
I was still spluttering with indignation an hour later as I took six cupcakes out of the oven. We all needed something to calm us down and what could be better than a mouthful of fresh, fluffy sponge, dolloped with melt-in-the-mouth buttercream icing? Comfort food at its best. Luke had said coffee and walnut was his favourite flavour and so I’d obliged, finding some nuts left over from Jess’s tofu stir fry.
As the sugary aroma floated upstairs, Jess had surfaced. Her nausea passed and she looked just like she needed a midnight – well, okay, two o’clock in the morning – snack. The topping, to suit my best mate, was made with decaffeinated coffee. But when it came to decorating Luke’s cake, a little bit of that demon spirit must have infiltrated me and I added some extra-strong caffeinated stuff I found in a cupboard. With any luck, that would keep him awake all night and he’d see smoke and scream in terror when a hooded figure clutched his leg.
However, by the time I’d changed, flossed and moisturised, irritating snores had replaced the whistling escaping from his room. Once again I lay star-shaped, under the crimson sheets and snug duvet. I turned towards the window and gazed through the chink of open curtain. The cloud had cleared. The light rain must have stopped. In retrospect (could say this now that the imminent danger had passed), the evening had been a thrill! I’d always wanted to see a ghost and better than that, I’d actually made physical contact.
At that moment, the familiar tune of White Christmas drifted into my room and I didn’t feel scared, convinced that the old man had helped protect me from the evil intruder, before. Walter, you’re here again? Did you get rid of that other spirit for me? Why is it in your house? Perhaps it lived on this land, years before you appeared. Is it keeping you here against your will? Let me help.
The music got louder and I sat up in bed. I could either wake Luke, to prove that I wasn’t lying, or grab this chance to communicate with the old fellow.
‘Knock three times if you’re there, Walter,’ I said, out loud to the moonlit room, deciding that maybe the spirit couldn’t read my thoughts. ‘You don’t scare me. I know now why this house feels like a home. It’s because you’re still around. You were – are -– a good person. So, why haven’t you joined Lily at the Pearly Gates? I know it’s not you trying to harm me. We could be friends. Just let me know you’re here.’
OMG! There were three low thuds.
My KimCakes Ltd venture was almost over before it started as:
I got up late – having hardly slept after Walter’s thuds. It was too tempting, you see, not to ask him everything I’d always wanted to know about ghosts: “Can you still eat chocolate?”, “Do you spy on people having sex?”, “Can you walk through walls?” and “Have you seen Michael Jackson or Elvis yet?” Strangely enough, there was no further response. I’d try again soon and find out why he was hanging around Mistletoe Mansion.
Once up, showered and hair blown dry, I then wasted time trying to decide what to wear. By the sounds of it, the local golfers’ wives were a conservative bunch. I didn’t own many outfits that hid my knees or covered every centimetre of my boobs. Then, by chance, I stumbled across an apron in the kitchen, draped over a chair, as if it had been especially left out. It was navy with white stripes, your standard butcher’s job. Tied around my black skirt and white top, it really made me look the part of professional caterer. To add the final touches, I pinned my freshly straightened hair into a bun. Instead of my bronze foundation and purple shimmer lipstick, I plumped for a brush of translucent powder and smear of Vaseline. It’s what Cut-Above-Couture’s style guru called the “chameleon effect”: sometimes, rather than stand out, it was better to blend in.
I had to ring Deborah to tell her the appointment with her clients was off. Her voice lost its warmth until I mentioned the terrifying ordeal of the night before. Cue apologies from her that we hadn’t slept well – guilty conscience or what? She duly bumped the appointment to eleven o’clock the next morning. I raced upstairs to tell Jess the good news but – asleep or not – she was hidden under the covers. I hadn’t the heart to wake her up.
Luke, on the other hand, got up early and sat in the kitchen like a bed & breakfast guest, so I rustled up soft-boiled eggs with toast. No doubt he’d spent ages trying to look so effortlessly appealing, just to wind me up. I did my best to ignore him swaggering around in nothing but boxer shorts, sitting really low on his flat waist, and a man’s dressing gown he’d found upstairs, which he left deliciously – I mean annoyingly – undone. There was something so basic about him… Almost dirty. My cheeks flushed. I certainly didn’t, in any way, feel the urge to run a hand, fleetingly, across his thighs. If the paparazzi guys were around, and IF (that’s capital letters) I fancied Luke, this scene might just grab Adam’s attention, coupled with the headline: “Handy Hunk Dips his Soldier into Kimmy’s Yolk.”
I still had business cards to make, so put something simple together on the laptop and cut them out. Each was a small rectangle of paper with “KimCakes Ltd” written at the top, my full name underneath, then my mobile number.
Worst of all, Melissa rang me (although that’s best of all too, I mean, how cool is that?) to remind me to set up at half nine and – get this – to ‘not forget the savoury nibbles’. Huh? When I hinted that we’d only spoken about cakes, the velvet tones disappeared and she suggested I sort it out toot sweet. ‘No problem, see you soon,’ I’d cheerily replied, before screaming silently on my fist.
‘Thanks, Terry, you’re a lifesaver,’ I said and stood back as he came into the hallway. I’d rung him as soon as I put the phone down on Melissa. Thank God for my brainwave. Laden with packets of frozen food, we hurried into the kitchen. The worktop was