Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett

did he manage on his own?’ I asked, as we headed back to Walter’s.

      ‘As well as anyone can. Eventually he cleared the house of her things; even her fab pashminas and hats. Then he got a new kitchen fitted. She was a great cook – made a wicked lemon meringue.’ Terry sighed. ‘He couldn’t bear to spend time in the old kitchen – too many memories. He even got rid of her beloved Aga.’

      ‘Didn’t he keep anything?’

      ‘A few bits. She had this amazing recipe book that listed all her favourite cakes. Lily won lots of local competitions and there was a bit of a scrabble to find it after the wake, when her so-called friends from the Women’s Institute visited.’ He shook his head. ‘Not very dignified. Anyway, they were the kindest couple – traditional to the core. She never mowed the lawn and he never filled the kettle.’

      ‘You must miss them… ’ I liked Terry. He wasn’t at all what I’d expected – not stuffy nor snooty. I had wondered whether the neighbours might blank me, like that posh designer clothes shop owner in St Albans, who’d evil-eyed me when I’d ventured inside during the sales.

      ‘Walter introduced me to his golf club,’ he said, ‘and recommended me for membership, even though some of the other members were a bit… well… didn’t approve of…’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Me. Strange isn’t it, seeing as golf is one of the campest sports in the world – what with the bright colours and plus fours, the silly club covers and all those jokes about holes-in-one. The first few games were a riot. My opponents hardly dared bend over to pick up their balls.’

      I grinned.

      ‘Walter always had a great sense of humour, though. I’d never have got through my Ken’s… departure last year, without him.’

      ‘You’ve also, um, lost, your partner?

      ‘We were fifteen years together. And I didn’t lose the bastard, he buggered off with a twenty year old shelf-stacker from BargainMarket – you know, the frozen food shop.’ He caught my eye and chuckled. ‘I’m trying to see the funny side now. At least he left me with a stocked freezer. Last count I still had forty-five mini pizzas, seventy-two sticky chicken skewers, ninety vegetarian spring rolls and a hundred and eight jumbo tempura prawns. Walter used to call in before his dinner sometimes and we’d share a plateful with a bottle of Merlot.’ He pulled a face. ‘Ghastly food.’

      ‘So, why don’t you throw it out?’

      ‘Now it’s just me, what else am I going to put in the freezer? And Walter would turn in his grave; said I should at least donate them to some soup kitchen for the homeless.’

      ‘He sounds like a good bloke.’

      ‘The best.’ Terry smiled at a middle-aged lady who walked past with her Dalmatian. She wore a glossy fur (was that real?) hat and matching gloves. ‘Anyway, listen to me blathering on,’ he said as we arrived at Walter’s drive.

      ‘Did you know the last housesitter?’ I said. ‘Luke… he’s the handyman–’

      ‘Helpful lad.’

      Really? ‘He was around earlier collecting her stuff – seems she left in a rush.’

      We reached the drive.

      ‘She was, er, a pleasant enough woman. So was the one before her.’ He looked at me and shrugged. ‘Walter was always happy here, whereas everyone since…’

      ‘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.

Chapter 7

       Go on, you beast, do your worst. Turn into some incisor-flashing, blood-drooling werewolf… Try and take a bite. I’m not scared.