The Secrets of Ghosts (8 page)

When Katie arrived, Gwen delayed talking by making smoothies in the blender. As the fruit and ice whizzed noisily and Katie fetched tall glasses and straws, Gwen tried to think of a gentle way of explaining what she’d just read. Katie reached across and switched off the KitchenAid. ‘What?’

‘It’s not good.’

‘Tell me,’ Katie said. ‘I’d rather know.’

‘Okay.’ Gwen poured out the smoothies. She added a shot of vodka to her own and offered the bottle to Katie who, as always, shook her head. Outside in the garden, Cat was stalking something in the undergrowth and the scent of lavender hung thickly in the air. The evening sun still had plenty of warmth, but it was gentler than earlier in the day. Gwen sat on her wooden bench, passing one of the cushions to Katie and rearranging another behind her own back.

Katie was gripping her glass and ignoring her smoothie. Gwen wanted to take away her tension, wanted to comfort her, but when she put her hand on Katie’s arm, she shrugged it off. ‘Please tell me you found something?’

‘There was some information on haunting. Apparently, spirits do get trapped sometimes. They’re either attached to a place, or an object, or a person.’

Katie sat back. ‘Okay. So, Mr Cole is attached to me. I mean, he spoke to me through the magpie, so he’s not stuck at the hotel.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Gwen said.

‘So, how do I get rid of him? Not get rid, I mean, help him.’

‘There isn’t really anything about that. Iris is very cagey about speaking to the dead. She refers to it twice and both times she says it’s a really bad idea.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Apparently her grandmother could speak to the dead. Sort of.’

‘What does “sort of” mean?’

‘She touched corpses and knew how they’d died.’

‘Like in
CSI
?’

Gwen nodded.

‘Gruesome power,’ Katie said, but she didn’t look especially shocked. More intrigued. Gwen kept forgetting how strong she was, how motivated. She had to stop thinking of her as a frightened fourteen-year-old. ‘So. What do I do about Mr Cole? Is there any way I can try to talk to him? Instigate contact, kind of thing. I mean, he’s obviously trying to talk to me and if I want the nightmares to stop, maybe I should try harder to listen.’

That made perfect sense. Gwen felt uneasy about it, but she couldn’t think of any way out of it. Katie was asking for her help. And since she was probably the one who had cursed her with this, she had to get rid of it. Cure Katie. ‘There’s a spell we can try. Like a sort of summoning.’

‘Like a séance?’

‘I suppose. Iris has put down the bare details but with so little description, it’s clear she didn’t approve.’

‘Good thing she’s not here, then,’ Katie said. ‘Can we get on with it?’ She drained her smoothie, making sucking sounds with the straw.

‘I thought you’d say that.’ Gwen went back into the house and picked up the first candle to hand. It was a bergamot pillar candle she used in the kitchen to get rid of the smell after cooking curry. Back outside, she put it on the floor in front of the bench and sat cross-legged on the grass. Katie abandoned the bench and sat opposite.

Gwen lit the candle and reached for Katie’s hands. They were cold and she squeezed them gently.

Katie looked excited, as if they were having an adventure. ‘What should I be doing?’

‘I think we just listen,’ Gwen said. She stared at the candle flame and willed herself to relax.

‘Focused or meditative?’ Katie said, after a moment. That girl really had been reading her books.

‘Meditative. We need to open a space for Oliver Cole to enter.’

‘He’s not entering me, thank you very much,’ Katie said, but then she closed her eyes and went quiet.

Gwen did the same and, after a while, she felt herself slip into the dream space between waking and sleeping. Instead of a man who might be Katie’s Mr Cole, she saw Katie lying in the hospital bed, aged fourteen and close to death. Gwen opened her eyes. Katie was in front of her. Twenty-one years old. Healthy. Alive.

Gwen was covered in goose bumps and she squeezed Katie’s hands. ‘Sorry. I can’t.’

Katie opened her eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, evidently seeing something alarming in Gwen’s expression. ‘I’ll find his watch. I don’t need his help.’ She smiled. ‘I actually met someone else who is looking for it. He seems like the kind of person who gets what he wants. If I stick with him, I bet he’ll lead me to it.’

‘He?’ Gwen said. She’d seen the kind of smile Katie was wearing before and knew exactly what it meant. ‘Would this be an attractive kind of “he”, by any chance?’

‘Maybe,’ Katie said. ‘But don’t worry, I’m being very sensible.’

‘That’s not what worries me.’ Katie was always so cautious. She didn’t trust people easily and was careful of every possible danger. While part of Gwen had welcomed that, knowing that Katie was never going to drink too much or take drugs or get into a car with a drunk driver, another part of her worried that she was never going to live either. That her safe world was going to get smaller and smaller until it comprised her own flat, End House, and that mausoleum of a hotel on the hill. Maybe not even the last one if Mr Cole continued to harass her from beyond the grave.

Katie drank some smoothie and laid her head on the back of the bench. She stretched into an enormous yawn, one that could rival Cat, and wiped her face. ‘Sorry. Not sleeping well.’

‘Take a nap, here,’ Gwen said, taking Katie’s glass and putting it on the ground. She might not be able to solve the restless spirit or possible black magic, but she could feed Katie blitzed fruit and give her a safe place to rest. Sometimes that was all you could do and, sometimes, that was enough.

*

Gwen was deep in thought as she walked along the canal path from Pendleford towards Bath. She’d set off early, before six, so that it would be quiet, but there were more dog walkers than she’d anticipated. A man was on top of his canal boat, smoking a cigarette in the dewy morning, and he said ‘good morning’ as she passed.

After a couple of miles, the rhythm of walking had quietened her mind and she felt as if she might be able to work when she got home. Gwen wasn’t looking at the scenery, her mind was turned firmly inwards, so she didn’t notice the woman until she was right in front of her. She jumped nimbly from the side of her boat onto the path. ‘Gwen Harper, I presume?’

The woman had silvery grey hair, and a yellow headscarf tied halfway back on her head, peasant-style. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a padded gilet over a checked shirt. She looked healthy and outdoorsy and looked oddly familiar. ‘Have we met?’ Gwen said, trying to keep her tone polite rather than worried.

The woman shook her head, holding out a hand. ‘I’m Hannah.’

Gwen took the proffered hand. It was dry and the skin was a little bit rough, the nails cut square and short. Practical hands. ‘Did you want something?’ It was going to be slightly tiresome if people were going to start accosting her out in the open as well as coming to the back door at all hours of the day. No escape.

Hannah smiled. ‘Not really. I just thought we should meet. Maybe we can help each other one day.’ She shrugged. ‘You know how these things work. Tea?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Would you like to come in for tea?’ Hannah gestured to the canal boat. It had the word ‘Freedom’ painted on the side in curling blue letters.

Gwen was torn between a desire to see inside the pretty canal boat and the feeling that getting into a confined space with a complete stranger was the kind of thing she’d warn Katie not to do.

Hannah narrowed her eyes. ‘I knew Iris, if that helps at all.’

Gwen thought of Lily, her snake eyes and tiny teeth and the hard glint of insanity. She’d known Iris, too.

‘I’m not surprised you don’t trust people, after Lily Thomas.’ Hannah appeared to be a mind reader.

‘How do you—?’

‘Oh, come on. Did you think the Harpers are the only gifted family in the world? I’m Hannah Ash.’ She waited, as if expecting Gwen to do something. Gasp, maybe.

Gwen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’

Hannah whistled. ‘Wow, Iris wasn’t joking when she said she was the loner type. She really never told you about us?’

Gwen shook her head. ‘I didn’t actually know Iris. My mum and her had a falling out and we moved around a lot and—’

Hannah held up a hand. ‘None of my business. I just wanted to meet you, to say “hello”.’

‘Hello,’ Gwen said. She realised that she’d folded her arms across her body. Not very friendly. She forced them to unknot, put them by her sides.

‘There are a few old families still around. My lot, the Ash family, are Avon way, the Irons are Somerset, I don’t know the Willows very well but they’re in Dorset. You know what it’s like, can’t live too close. That just causes problems.’

‘Right,’ Gwen said. She felt a little faint.

‘I pass through this way at least once a month, usually around this time. Or you can ask one of the other river folk — they’ll pass a message on. Just if you ever need anything.’ Hannah gave Gwen a final look, raised a hand in a half-wave and jumped back onto the boat. She ducked through a low doorway and was gone.

*

Katie had arrived at The Grange for her afternoon shift. Anna was in the staff room, tying her hair into plaits and looking hot and bothered. ‘Can you believe we’ve got to work in this weather? It’s inhumane.’

‘Agreed,’ Katie said. Her back was damp with sweat just from walking through the grounds. She hung her bag on a peg and sat down to change her sandals for shoes. It was like forcing mini ovens onto her feet.

‘I feel sorry for the bride,’ Anna said. ‘I mean, everyone wants sunshine on their big day, but this…’ She waved one hand as if the heat had overcome her ability to finish sentences.

‘Agreed,’ Katie said again. She was trying not to think about Max, and failing. Raking through the lost property with him had been about the most exciting thing that had happened to her all year. ‘What? Sorry.’

‘Heatstroke,’ Anna said, as if that finished the matter. Then she slugged back some water from a bottle and pushed through the door into the kitchen.

Katie was working the main function room, ferrying plate after plate of melon and prosciutto and dodging Frank’s wrath. The sun was beating through the tall glass windows and everyone from the waiting staff to the groom was sweating.

As soon as she’d served the last of the starters, Katie went to find Anna. ‘We need more fans.’

She set up three more electric fans around the edges of the room and a woman with silver-grey bobbed hair smiled and said, ‘Bless you.’ The air movement helped, but the temperature was still very high. Katie wondered how many guests would nod off during the speeches and she hoped the family would keep them snappy.

Katie had just finished serving sparkling wine to every table and making sure the kids had lemonade or orange juice when the best man rose and tapped his glass. The room fell quiet, apart from the drone of the oscillating fans.

Katie retreated behind the serving tables and carried on working as unobtrusively as possible. She knew from bitter experience that if you waited respectfully while the toasts were being made, you ended up in a mad rush afterwards. Fascinators bobbed gently in the breeze from the fans and the best man’s voice, soporific in the best of circumstances, droned on.

‘He’s a bore, isn’t he?’

Katie had been quietly boxing up slices of cake and hadn’t noticed the woman approach. She had brown bobbed hair and a peach satin dress. Instead of the ubiquitous fascinator, she had a silver and black Alice band with a geometric design. She smiled widely at Katie’s appraisal and lifted a hand to her head. ‘Do you like it? It’s the latest thing. Du mode.’

The woman was younger than Katie had first thought. Younger than her, in fact. Katie smiled politely. She didn’t want to be rude, but carrying out a conversation, even quietly, was bad manners during the wedding speeches.

‘What kind of cake is that?’

Of course, ignoring guests was probably worse. ‘The bottom tier is chocolate cake, the middle tier is pineapple passion cake and the top tier is vanilla sponge. The boxes are labelled.’ Katie indicated the pile she’d already filled. ‘The bride wanted people to have a choice.’

The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘Fruit cake is traditional. You’re meant to keep the top tier and have it on your first wedding anniversary. Sponge will spoil.’

Katie looked around, anxiously, but no one seemed to have noticed their conversation. They were all watching the father of the bride and swigging table water, fanning themselves with wedding programmes.

‘I don’t understand the way people do things nowadays.’

Katie repressed the urge to laugh. The girl was seventeen or eighteen tops.

‘And look at that.’ The girl nodded towards the top table. ‘The bride is making a speech.’

‘And why not?’ Katie shrugged.

The girl pursed her lips. ‘It’s not traditional.’

Katie wanted to tell her that wedding traditions like wearing white and taking your husband’s name were throwbacks to a more sexist time but she didn’t want to argue with a MOP. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion that, given the opportunity, she’d be wearing one of those elegant ivory gowns, too.

‘I’m Violet, by the way.’ The girl trailed her hand lightly across the surface of the table. ‘Is this real linen?’

‘I don’t know,’ Katie said. She added ‘sorry’ to make it sound more subservient. Truth was, the girl was starting to make her a little bit uncomfortable. She had a very intense gaze.

‘Would you like some cake?’ Katie asked, holding out a slice.

‘Oh, no.’ The girl’s hair didn’t move as she shook her head; it made Katie’s eyes feel funny. Maybe she really did have heatstroke. ‘I don’t eat cake,’ Violet said. ‘It’s bad for the figure, you know.’

Fuck that, Katie thought. Out loud, she said, ‘Oh, come on. You only live once.’

The best man pulled down a projector screen with a loud clatter and began showing photographs from the groom’s life. Smiling pictures of the groom as a kid, groom as gawky teenager, and many, many pictures of him with groups of friends, red and grinning, drinks in hand. His life before meeting his beloved, of course. Back when he belonged to the best man and hadn’t been bewitched by a female. Katie had only been half listening, but the best man’s bitterness was seeping through.