by Jane Linfoot
Of all the problems yet, this is the worst. The rhythmical way this ghost is banging now, it’s going to take more than a bit of garlic and a sprig of sage to scare it away. We’ve got children coming too. My mind’s racing … how the hell do I organise an exorcism at short notice with no internet … and do they even work anyway?
Which is the perfect point for Bill to arrive and plonk his chair down next to Keef’s. ‘What’s happening here … what the hell is that noise?’
As Keef tilts his head his braids fall across his nose. ‘The sound of ghostly removal men?’
Taj nudges Keef. ‘If you ask me, those moans are a lot more earthly than spiritual.’
I go rigid as the banging gets faster and faster, then a series of banshee shrieks sends ice through my veins.
Keef puts down his chair and sends me a wink. ‘That DO NOT DISTURB sign might be your clue. The rumpus they’re making in there, that sign should be on the other side of the door.’
Oh my days. ‘That’s Ambrose and Miranda?’ I’m not sure if this is better or worse but either way I’d welcome a hole to crawl into. Just this once I’m turning to Bill. ‘But aren’t monumental castle walls meant to be sound proof?’
It’s one of those awful times when we should be running but instead everyone’s feet are welded to the floor. We’re all standing, staring at the sign, when the handle begins to rattle. A second later the door bursts open and one electric purple furry mule appears, followed by Miranda yanking on the ties of her slinky pink leopard-print dressing gown.
‘Sound proof? It’s nothing of the bloody kind! We could hear every word you lot said, talk about wrecking the moment!’ She’s tousling her curls with her fingers, chortling as she sweeps her smile along the row of chair carriers. ‘No harm done, I forgive you, but only because you’re all so sun tanned, strong and handsome.’ As she pauses to let the full effect of her charm seep in, her gaze has stopped short of Bill. ‘I’m Miranda, by the way. So do any of you hot hunks fancy making me a tea? Or joining me for a dip in the tub?’
Looking along the line of jaws on the floor, if I don’t whisk them away fast I’ll lose my entire work force. ‘Not right now, we’re off to the top floor, we’ll have to catch you later.’
She rounds on me as she sweeps towards the staircase. ‘Don’t forget me, sweetheart, I’m dying to get stuck in remember.’
‘Great.’ I knew I could count on her. ‘I was thinking garlands for the …’ But she’s already gone.
As the others trundle on up the next flight of stairs Keef the reef’s patting me on the arm. ‘We’ll shift the rest of this furniture then get straight on with the trees. Don’t you worry, Ivy, we surfies travel with fairy dust, your castle will be sparkling by tonight.’ He sends me a wink. ‘And not a ghost in sight, I promise.’
Bill’s still choking into his sleeve. ‘Nights in a haunted castle, I’m definitely missing a trick there.’
Obviously I don’t reply to that. But if this is the beginning, I’m seriously doubting we’re going to make it as far as the end.
10.
It’s beginning to look a lot
like Christmas
While Keef and his surfie crew carry on ferrying from the coach house, I race around dropping boxes of lights in each room in readiness for the trees, adding throws to the ends of the beds from a pile of lovely fifties print curtains I came across, and spread jars of lights around the windowsills to make up for the lack of curtains. By the time I’ve distributed a big pile of woollen rugs around the easy chairs, and thrown fairy light strings around the mirrors, it’s feeling twinkly and a lot more welcoming.
It’s one of those days when I’m so busy, the clock on my phone’s leaping forward by hours not minutes. By the time I head back to the kitchen to tie up little bunches of pine and juniper twigs with orange and pink bows to hang on the doors, it’s already early afternoon and there’s still no sign of Miranda. The surfie crew are finishing a late chip buttie lunch and are out front taking nets off the trees and bringing them through the open door. Keef gives me a wave of his spade, sticks up his thumb and points at a plant pot. As I rush around the castle hanging the sprigs, tweaking the last of the tables and easy chairs into place, and adjusting the piles of alpine sledges where the bigger trees are going to go, I’m hopeful we might just do this.
Then Bill arrives in the kitchen with boxes of miniature gin bottles, that all need hanging ribbons attaching. By the time I’ve tied ribbons to enough bottles to cover a massive tree, I’m kicking myself for this particular bright idea. I’m also wondering where the rest of the tree decorations I ordered are.
When I eventually track Bill down to ask him, is he hard at work? … is he bollocks. He’s in his room hunched over a laptop screen full of figures. Even worse, I get a full-on blast of that body spray again so I get straight down to business.
‘Bill, have you seen any tree baubles? There should be quite a few boxes.’ Okay, I’ll admit, I might have got carried away with my ordering, but there’s nothing worse than bare branches.
He pulls a face but doesn’t look up. ‘The pantry’s rammed with the latest deliveries … and the laundry too …’
It’s like pulling teeth. ‘Could you possibly track the parcels to check they’ve arrived?’ So many orders, I’m ashamed I’m losing count of what’s come. All made harder because the order notifications are all landing in his inbox, and he doesn’t always forward them to me.
If I’d asked him to jump off a cliff he couldn’t look much more appalled. ‘Fine, I’ll do it when I finish this, okay?’ By which time, no doubt, he’ll have forgotten.
‘Thanks for all your help.’ Not. The rest of us are running round like crazy things while he does zilch.
He finally looks up. ‘If you need a hand, Miranda and Ambrose are in the hot tub.’ His frown deepens. ‘They are wearing swimmers?’ Everything else that’s going on and he’s still banging on about that.
I refuse to get involved, so I ignore that the tune he’s humming under his breath is Ghostbusters, and hurry Merwyn out as fast as I can. ‘The hot tub’s your domain, Bill. Merwyn and I are moving on to tree decorating.’
Or we would be if we could find the damn deccies. If we’re talking about boxes, there are just so many, and the stacks are so deep, it’s a shame that Merwyn isn’t a sniffer dog. What was I saying about if a wall is in your way, knock it down? This time when we get into the laundry it’s more a matter of making our way into the box mountain, meticulously opening and checking every box. At times we’re so deep in the cardboard fortifications, it feels like we may never emerge. And it’s the same again in the pantry.
But you don’t just lose thousands of hanging decorations – so long as I look in every package they’ll turn up in the end. I mean, we’ll have to find them, because without them the trees just won’t work. And time’s running out too. In a mere twenty-seven hours Libby will be here, complete with her expectant entourage. All desperate to be wowed. Which is a thought that would make me hyperventilate if I wasn’t doing it already.
Except the deccies don’t turn up. Instead, as I write the contents on all the boxes in code so as not to give away Libby’s present secrets, and try to rearrange them in some kind of order while not passing out from the fumes from the indelible black marker pen, I hit another time slip. When we finally emerge from the cardboard chaos it’s with empty hands and paws, and it’s almost eight. I’ve been through every stage of despair, and as I make my way to the kitchen at least there’s a lovely tree, its tiny copper wire lights twinkling. The doors to the courtyard are open, my stomach’s growling with hunger, Merwyn’s so pissed off he isn’t even making eye contact, and Miranda’s voice is drifting in with the steam wisps.
‘Ivy, there you are at last, come out and see us.’
I’m so weary I don’t have the will to resist. And Merwyn’s so done in, he doesn’t even give Ambrose’s boxers a second sniff as he waddles past them. From the empty gin bottle in the ice buc
ket, and the way their Santa hats are slewed sideways on their heads, I’d say these two have had a great afternoon.
Miranda’s waving her glass at me. ‘So what about those twiggy bunches, don’t start without me!’
‘I’m afraid they’re all finished and hung up now.’ That was hours ago.
‘Too bad, I was looking forward to doing those.’ She’s staring at me in that intense way she has. ‘Way more important, have you got to work on that handsome caretaker yet? He might be a total pain in the bum, but he’s very good looking.’
Merwyn’s heard her, and he’s giving me his ‘hell no! don’t even think about it’ look, which I pass straight on to Miranda.
‘Christian Bale and Ian Somerhalder look fabulous too, but I’m not going there either.’ If Miranda’s matchmaking I’m wide awake and ready to run, but I’ll put this one to bed first. ‘Save yourself the trouble, Bill’s got a partner, she’s a supermodel lawyer.’
‘That sounds too good to be true, there has to be a catch there. She’s not exactly here is she?’ Her laugh is soft and throaty. ‘It was going to be a surprise, but there might be someone slightly more human and properly single crossing your path in time for Christmas.’
‘Who? No! Shit! Miranda, I’m absolutely not here to be set up.’ They better bloody not have. But I seriously doubt they would, because every available guy they know has already been hurled at me. At least three times. I used to love getting tagged as Miranda’s fourth child back in the day when we visited Brighton, but with this level of motherly interference, not so much.
She’s giving me that all-knowing look she does. ‘I know times have been hard. But you can’t let your past define your future, sweetheart. Every new man is a whole new world of opportunities.’
‘Lovely to have your input, Miranda.’ But I have a lot less new-age optimism than she does. Hopefully now she’ll shut the eff up, and stop meddling in my life.
But this is Miranda, giving up isn’t in her nature. ‘And just in case that fails, I asked all the hot surfers to keep an eye out on your behalf.’
I let out an appalled squawk. ‘Thanks for that, I might as well die now.’
‘Take it from me, Christmas is a time for romance, isn’t it Ambrose?’
‘Hmmmm …’ Ambrose manages a slur and a lopsided grin.
‘Ambie, you are such a tease.’ Miranda’s wiggling her eyebrows and tapping the side of her nose with a spare finger. If she can still find her own nose that’s one sobriety test she’s passed. ‘Let’s just say Christmas is the perfect time to take a relationship to the next level.’
This time when she delivers Ambrose one of her significant nudges, he simply slides off his shelf and disappears. I’m counting the seconds, waiting for him to burst back to the surface spluttering. But he doesn’t.
‘Miranda …?’ I mean, how drunk is she? I know she’s careless with men, but Ambrose is breathing in water and she’s examining her nail extensions, completely oblivious. It’s decades since I got my lifesaver badge, but the images of drowning people are flashing through my head. Libby’s Christmas is hanging in the balance as it is, a dripping corpse in the courtyard would finish it off completely. My heart plummets for a second, and then it starts to race – I’m the only non-pissed person here, it’s down to me to pull him out!
I take one look at my beautiful pink sparkly sweater then peel it off. As I throw it down on the flags, and toss my phone down on top, I let out a shout. ‘Okay, I’ve got this Ambrose, I’m coming in to s-a-a-a-a-a-a-ve you!’
There’s no time to climb up the steps and gently ease myself down into the water. In any case, I’m in full Lois Lane mode now. I’m already launching myself in a full frontal dive over the edge and frig what it’s going to do to my messy bob, I only hope my hat stays put. Except what was supposed to be a power packed superwoman swoop ends up as a full belly flop that practically empties the tub. And what looked like just bubbles on the surface turns out to be Ambrose on his way up. As I land on him he lashes out, and we end up in a whole mess of thrashing limbs, slippery skin, curses and flying water.
Then just as we’re almost disentangled there’s a loud ‘woof’. Before we can turn around, Merwyn is jumping off the top of the steps, paws running in mid air. Then he hits the surface sending water splashing upwards in a hundred sparkling arcs under the spotlights.
‘Merwyn!’ His legs are scrambling frantically as he tries to swim, and as I finally stagger to my feet and haul him out of the water, I’m clinging on as he wriggles.
‘What the hell happened there?’ Miranda’s fished Ambrose’s Santa hat out of the water and she’s wringing it out. Putting it back on his dripping head as he eases himself back onto the shelf beside her.
The water’s sluicing off Merwyn as I clasp him to my waist. ‘Ambrose was drowning, I came in to give him CPR, that’s all.’
Miranda’s laughing. ‘However much he’d have enjoyed it, Ambie didn’t need the kiss of life. He just likes to scare the bejesus out of me with how long he can stay under.’
‘Brilliant. I’m glad we cleared that one up.’ And then I hear a low cough by the kitchen doors and my heart goes into free fall. ‘Bill, how lovely to see you.’ As if it wasn’t already awful enough. Seriously, he’d better not start going on about water on the floor.
His lips are twisting. ‘So you decided to try the hot tub after all, Ivy. If you wanted a wet T-shirt competition, you should have said.’
I don’t need to look down to know my top’s transparent, and I’m cursing my choice of bra.
Miranda’s beaming at me. ‘Lovely lingerie, sweetheart, you’ll have to tell me where you bought it.’
‘Very festive colour too.’ Bloody Bill should not be joining in. Plus, if he really knows zilch about Christmas, how come he knows scarlet’s even a thing?
The ground opening up, me falling in doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Bill’s swallowing. ‘Which reminds me, are you two wearing clothes in there?’
Well, he just had to didn’t he? As I back against the other side of the tub I’ve given up cringing about my underwear being on public display and moved on to shuddering about what I might have accidentally grabbed back there in the struggle.
‘Do Santa hats count?’ Miranda’s lips twitch. ‘You’re seriously missing the market, Bill, with your private beach, you should be offering naturist breaks.’
Ambrose is slumped sideways. ‘We’re all guysss together here … those surfiesss of yourssss don’t give a flying f-f-fart …’
Bill’s hands are rising to his hips. ‘I’d rather you didn’t flash your bits around in front of Ivy, that’s all.’
I hoik Merwyn up so he covers my boobs and peer through the waterfall of drips coming off my woolly hat. ‘Leave me out of this, I can look after myself thanks!’ For my money Ambrose is unlikely to run around naked, I doubt he can even stand.
‘Before Ivy gets out, I have a bone to pick with you, Bill.’ Miranda’s voice has risen so much it’s loud enough to be heard in St Aidan. ‘In a sub zero castle with paper thin walls, the least I expect is a four poster. So what are you going to do about our substandard bed?’
I’m working out what would be next up the status ladder – a five poster, or a six poster? – and summoning the energy to ask if we can leave this until tomorrow, or at least until I’m back on dry land. Making a mental note to remind her that drinking lowers your core temperature. Not that she’ll listen.
From Bill’s shrug he doesn’t really care. ‘They’re Hypnos mattresses, we’ve never had complaints before.’
With an empty gin bottle and Miranda’s tenacity, I’m stepping in to smooth this over. ‘It’s more that it hasn’t got enough posts.’
‘That’s really not my problem.’ He might be cursing under his breath, but this is only the beginning.
Miranda’s not letting go. ‘But we need to discuss alternatives.’
Bill’s straight back at her. ‘First you stick to the dress
codes, then I’ll think about talking.’ Which seems to have worked a treat, because Miranda’s opening and shutting her mouth, but nothing’s coming out. He turns to me. ‘The guys were looking for you before they left.’
‘They’ve gone?’
‘It was the Extreme Surfers fancy dress disco, they had to rush off.’ He’s saying it like it’s a completely normal, everyday occurrence. ‘They thought you might like to go?’
‘Me?’ I’m screwing my face up in disbelief. ‘Why would I?’
He shrugs but this time the twist to his lips is bigger. ‘If you’re on the lookout for Ian Somerhalder, why wouldn’t you?’
Fuck, fuck and fuck that he heard. And even more fucks that he was brazen enough to admit to listening in.
When you’re completely stuffed, there’s only one way to go. I pull myself up to my full height, look straight ahead, ignore that Merwyn’s tail is hanging down in the water that’s lapping around my waist, and clutch him very tight. ‘Well, we’re going for a shower. And then we’ll have supper. And then we’re going to check the castle.’ As everything else has turned to total shit, I might as well cheer myself up with that. As I turn my scowl onto Bill I hope it’s hard enough to drill through him. ‘I’ll see you in the entrance hall in an hour.’
As if throwing myself into a hot tub fully clothed wasn’t embarrassing enough. How am I going to get through Christmas now?
11.
Mwah!
‘You do realise, singing the Ghostbusters theme isn’t actually funny, Bill.’
I’m standing in the castle entrance hall, and the immense branches I’m staring up into reach so high and the lights are so twinkly, even Merwyn’s starry eyed. Lucky for Bill, the sight of thousands of tiny studs of light has taken my breath away so much, I’m less cross than I should be about his humming.