Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett
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 covered with an array of herbs and salad items. That was the good thing about sharing with vegetarian Jess – there was always plenty of fresh stuff in the fridge and cupboards.
‘Are you sure about this?’ said Terry. Today he wore a pea-green jumper over tight, tan plus fours. ‘I’d stay to help, but despite the poor weather forecast, I’m due to tee off in half an hour.’
‘You’ve done enough already. I’ve just got time to make this lot look presentable.’
He sniggered. ‘Just imagining Melissa’s face if she knew her savoury nibbles were actually my leftovers from BargainMarket.’
‘It’s not funny! My reputation’s at stake.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He patted his portly stomach. ‘Once they taste those cakes, those women will be in sugar rush heaven and won’t want to eat anything else.’ A whistling attracted his attention. ‘Luke’s here?’
I stifled a yawn.
‘Late night?’ He winked.
‘You think me and Luke…?’ I pulled a face. ‘I’d rather become a nun.’
‘Kimmy! Have you seen his pecs? And from behind, in just the right pair of trousers…’
We both giggled.
‘Honestly, Terry. He acts as if he’s some megastar and I’m his groupie.’
‘What’s he doing here, so early?’
‘Last night… I couldn’t sleep. There were noises… smoke.’ My stomach scrunched as I recalled that thing grasping my ankle. ‘It’s a long story.’
His cheeks burnt red.
‘Terry?’
‘Really must go, now,’ he muttered.
‘You knew about all this? Why didn’t you warn me?’
‘Um…’
‘This house… Sometimes…strange things happen,’ I said. ‘How long has this been happening?’
‘Apologies…’ Terry shrugged his well-rounded shoulders. ‘You’re right. Once night-time falls, I know from the other housesitters that scary stuff happens…Ever since Walter died, this funny business has been going on. It’s held up every sale. I hoped this time would be different. New, permanent neighbours would be great.’
‘You know, something grabbed my leg last night.’
Terry bit his lip. ‘Jean, the last woman, said it clasped her arm and tried to pull her out of bed. No one’s ever been badly hurt though – just shaken up.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Did she ever mention random smoke or… or Christmassy music?’
‘No music, but yes, smoke, locked doors and a bizarre noise of a blowing gale. How about I fill you in properly later? Who knows, maybe if you stick around for long enough, whatever this thing is will get bored and disappear.’
Blimey. So I really was living with something paranormal. I didn’t know whether to gasp in fear or jump with joy.
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ I said and followed him back to the hallway. ‘Luke thinks I’m bonkers.’
‘Ever watched Most Haunted?’
‘I love that show!’ I said.
‘Me too! Aren’t the celebrity episodes hilarious?’
I grinned. ‘But Walter’s house isn’t ancient. And according to Luke, before Badgers Chase was built, there was nothing here but fields and rivers. No cemetery. Or jail. Or psychiatric hospital.’ I shuddered.
‘It’s a mystery.’ Terry ran a hand over his bald head. ‘Anyway, got to go. All the best for this morning. I look forward to hearing the details!’
I closed the door behind him and raced back into the kitchen. First things first: heat up the frozen goodies – most only took twenty minutes. Whilst they were cooking, I prepared the garnishes. When the buzzer went I took out the snacks and laid them on platters.
I reached for a jar of black olives. I could scatter those with some flat-leafed basil, in between the pizza and cheese bites. As for the mini hot dogs… I quickly fried up some chopped onion and put a spoonful on top of each with a squirt of mustard – that looked well cute. I’d lay the tempura prawns out on a bed of lettuce and sprinkle cherry tomatoes and slim cucumber sticks on top. Natural yogurt, another of Jess’s favourites, would help make yummy dips.
I looked at the time: nine o’clock. For good measure, I’d also take a couple of tubes of Pringles. Well, these guests weren’t celebrities.
I to-ed and fro-ed with all my boxes and plates,