Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett

don’t think so.’ Which was such a disappointment. I could have sneaked a photo of him on my phone. Uploading that onto Facebook would have guaranteed me a hundred friend requests… Jonny topless from the shower, Adam furious when the photo got leaked to the press… The headline would read: “Jealous Ex accuses The Eagle of preying upon young housesitter, Kimmy.”

      ‘I’ve got to be at Melissa’s for half past nine,’ I said and shook myself back to reality. ‘I’ll get up early to give the place the last once-over. It’s your day off tomorrow, Jess, right?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Well, you have a lie-in, I’ll make sure everything looks spotless before I’m off. I should be back before twelve and then I’ll cook you–’

      She glared. ‘I’m fine.’

      Terry flicked through some CDs behind the bar. He rolled his eyes. ‘One of the few things Walter and I disagreed on was our taste in music. Give me Michael Jackson or The O’Jays any day. Whereas Walter was into classical and what he called cosy “Fireside music”. Terry cocked his head. ‘What was his favourite now…’ He picked up a Christmas Greats CD. ‘That’s it: Bing Crosby dreaming of a White Christmas. Jeez, he used to play that song at all times of the year. It may have been easy-listening for him, but not me!’

      I almost dropped my Muddy Water. Oh my God – the music upstairs.

      ‘He did like Bond music as well, though,’ Terry continued, as he came across a CD with Sean Connery on the front.

      Jess bit her thumbnail. ‘Phil, my, um, last boyfriend… He was dead keen on all those Bond soundtracks and films. Plus he loved the old greats like Bing Crosby too.’

      ‘Have you played that Christmas CD whilst we’ve been here, with the White Christmas track?’ I asked Jess, a shudder running up my spine.

      ‘You really think I want to remind myself of that married jerk?’

      ‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry.’ I swallowed hard. That only left one person – or entity – who could have played it, then.

      ‘Everything okay, Kimmy?’ Terry asked. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’

      I nodded and knocked back my drink, on automatic. So, the ghost, spook, astral being, whatever you wanted to call it, was Walter Carmichael. I shivered. How could I have not suspected this before? Walter was haunting his own house.

      ‘Anyway, here’s to you two girls,’ said Terry and raised his glass. ‘Hope you stay longer than your predecessors.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I, um, hadn’t realised it was so late. Better get going, girlies. Come on Frazzle. It’s time for your sow nuts and then I’ll make us both a nice fruit salad. Good luck tomorrow, girl.’ He gave me a wink.

      ‘Let me cook you something here, as a thanks for all your hard work,’ I said, still digesting the revelation that Walter hadn’t moved on to the next world. I followed Terry into the hall. Why was he suddenly in such a rush? It was as if he didn’t like being out – or at least near this house – as night-time approached.

      ‘Much, erm, as I’d like to, Frazzle doesn’t like staying out late. It’s been my pleasure though. Remember, I want all the goss from the Winsfords.’ He took out a small golf pencil and marker book from his back pocket and scribbled down a number. ‘Ring me when you get back.’ Then he tucked Frazzle under his arm and quickly disappeared into the chilly evening air.

      I closed the door and glanced towards the kitchen. I could hear Jess pottering about. She’d switched the radio back to classical. I tiptoed halfway up the stairs and stared at the front, locked bedroom. Dare I try to provoke Walter to show himself, just like they sometimes taunted spirits on Most Haunted? Last night’s polite request for three knocks hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time to get tough. But what if he’d been turned evil and stole my soul or possessed my body? Knuckles white on my clenched fists, I gave it a go.

      ‘I know who you are now, Walter,’ I said, in a trembling voice, a wave of nausea rising up the back of my throat. ‘Show yourself. What are you afraid of? Stop hiding behind your… your cheesy music and silly smoke screen. Why try to frighten me and Jess? Cos, newsflash! It isn’t working. I’ve felt more startled by children calling at Halloween; more horror-struck by my hair after five minutes in the rain. Come on, Walter… Throw chairs around. Smash crockery. Do your worst! It’s time to man up!’

Chapter 11

      With an ear-splitting scream, I tumbled down the stairs. My back smacked onto the floor. Metallic-tasting liquid – blood obviously – trickled out of my mouth. Wind whirled around the hallway. Jess charged out of the kitchen and spotted me in a twisted heap, limbs lying at funny angles. White Christmas played loudly and thick smoke filled the air. ‘Have mercy on me,’ I begged, as ominous footsteps descended the stairs…

      Nah. Not really. No such excitement. But that was what I imagined might happen, if this spooky Walter had any guts. Instead I was still talking to him in my head, a couple of hours later, stretched out, star-shaped, underneath silk crimson sheets, wishing I was wearing some equally exotic negligee, instead of my tatty old Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms and T-shirt. I didn’t mention my revelation about the ghostly happenings to Jess – or the fact that I’d been locked in my room and nearly burnt to death. I figured she’d already got enough on her mind – a few minutes ago I crept onto the landing, to investigate some loud sniffs. But she must have heard me from her room, because when the floorboard creaked it went quiet. She’d cried again earlier, despite me cooking her favourite tofu and nut stir fry. The Jess I knew rarely did tears.

      ‘It’ll be okay,’ I’d said, willing my eyes not to water as I brushed back her red fringe. The last time she’d blubbed like that was when her pet rabbit died in Year Five. Even then she’d put on a brave face, her designing a memorial plaque for the coffin (shoe box), me singing word-perfect I Want You Back, by N Sync.

      ‘How will everything be all right?’ she’d sobbed. ‘There’s no crèche at work. As it is, I barely earn enough to pay rent. Mum and Dad are enjoying retirement in Spain – I can’t ruin everything for them. And Ryan can hardly look after himself, let alone a nephew or niece.’ Then she’d gone all independent again – told me not to worry, and it was her problem, she’d sort it herself. Why, oh why, was she shutting me out?

      I yawned and gazed around my – Lily’s – bedroom. Walter, maybe you could ditch the Christmas tune and play something more to Jess’s taste, I said in my head, all fear gone as he was clearly a figment of my imagination or too chicken to answer back. I pictured him as my fantasy Grandpa, seeing as I’d never had one all these years. He’d be smartly dressed, in a golf shirt of course, smell of cigars and perhaps wear a flat cap. He’d want to know all about my cake-making dreams, sit me down and dish out helpful advice.

      Arms still aching from all that cleaning, I got up and plaited my hair. What luxurious surroundings, I thought, for the hundredth time, with the fancy carved dressing table and velvet curtains… I gazed at the oil painting of poppies before switching off my bedside light. I still wasn’t used to the complete dark of Badgers Chase and missed the glow of street lamps and take-aways that always crept into Adam’s flat. I’d done well to resist texting him, to resist begging him to take me back. Nor had I ruined my surprise by telling him about KimCakes Ltd finally taking off. No, I’d wait until tomorrow night when I could inform him, in business-like tones, of exactly how much I’d earned at Melissa’s.

      I yawned again and closed my eyes, missing the sound of Adam’s heavy breaths. Yet, annoyingly, images of Luke crept into my mind. His floppy hair, those god awful cords, the way they showed off his… okay, he had a nice bum. Mmm, musky-smelling Luke, with his bristly cheeks, in a tight white vest, muscles flexing as he carried me out of a burning Mistletoe Mansion – me as light as a feather ( I had to be dreaming), armed with a first aid kit full of cupcakes…

      Wow! I woke with a jolt. That was some freaky dream. I sat up and leant