by Kitty French
I picked up the Polly Pocket diary from the kitchen table at Scarborough House on my way out a couple of days ago and it had revealed much more about Lloyd’s disturbed state of mind. His love for Maud was bottomless and obsessive. Being Douglas’s twin had cast him forever in the shade; I could easily see how that had happened, because Douglas shone like bright sunshine. Lloyd grew into a boy who learned to hate early, and he became adept at masking that hate with theatrics and drama. It had been all too easy to get away with murder, to take Douglas down rather than risk him turning his attention on Maud, and then for Lloyd to deflect the blame onto serious, studious Isaac. I’m just glad to have been able to give Isaac the justice he deserved, even if it was a century too late.
It’s just as well that the story is meaty enough to carry the front page without any mention of the ghosts, because there is none. Or more accurately, there’s one passing reference to Leo Dark’s spurious involvement inserted purely to take a snarky potshot, but beyond that, absolutely nothing. It’s as if it never happened at all. I’m not at all surprised, and on closer examination of my own feelings, I’m not terribly bothered. Fletcher Gunn is never going to view the world in anything but black and white.
I flick through the pages and my eyes settle on Fletch’s face next to the cinema review column, and I recognise the title of the film as the Scarlett Johansson movie we watched the other night.
I was far more entertained than I imagined I’d be. I attended fully expecting two hours of run of the mill romantic nonsense, and whilst somewhat outlandish, she somehow managed to grip my attention throughout. I’m not sure what it is about her that’s so special; she has an unassuming charisma and infuriating charm. She seems to wear her heart not so much on her sleeve as on the outside of her body. Quite, quite captivating.
I smile, and then I close the paper. I might not let Lestat pee on this one.
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Monday morning sees us all back in the office. Artie sticks his lunch box in the fridge and makes straight for the kettle, and Marina peels the lid off Nonna Malone’s pretty biscuit tin to show me today’s treat.
‘Ricciarelli,’ she says. ‘Macaroons to you.’
Man, I love macaroons. I reach out to snag one but she bangs the lid down, disappointing not just me but Lestat. He’s sussed out that Nonna’s tin means treats and he’s just hurtled across the room to stretch himself up Marina’s leg and stare at her with his tongue hanging out to one side.
‘Only you could choose a dog with a bigger sugar addiction than you,’ she says, stashing the tin safely on a high shelf.
‘I didn’t choose him. He chose me, remember?’
I watch Lestat amble back to his bed, and feel an unexpected wash of affection. I didn’t expect a dog to be part of my twenty-seventh year, but he’s here now and he’s embroidered himself into the fabric of my life. He might be a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.
I glance around at the others as they go about the business of getting the new week underway. Marina is helping Artie finish up making the morning tea and coffee, and they’re laughing quietly about something I can’t quite hear. Glenda’s behind her desk, a pencil tucked into her hair as she types. I press pause for a second inside my head and just allow myself to feel a momentary warm glow of pride.
Two months ago I turned twenty-seven, and my feet have barely touched the ground since. It’s like someone pressed the fast forward button, and that someone is me. I did this. This agency is mine. I made it happen from spun-sugar dreams and superhero hopes and the luck of the Magic 8 Ball. I’m a businesswoman now, and I’m on my way to being badass.
I wish I could say that my romantic life is following the same upwards conjecture, but at least I can say that I’m not lonely anymore. I’ve been romanced by a ghost; a handsome man from the past whose kiss will remain on my hand forever. Leo Dark has walked back into the middle of my life and is eighty percent idiot and twenty percent idol. I have no doubt that our paths will stay intertwined, so who knows which way those percentage sliders will go in the future? And then there’s Fletch. What can I say about Fletcher Gunn? The man is mercurial. He and I will never, ever see eye to eye on pretty much anything, but he is quicksilver in my veins when he touches me. He doesn’t just turn me on. He switches me on like a lighthouse, and that is pretty much as bright a light as I can imagine.
‘Earth to Bittersweet, Earth to Bittersweet,’ Marina says, flicking the wrapper from her stick of gum at me to get my attention. She directs my attention towards Glenda when I look up.
‘There’s a woman on the phone for you.’ Glenda covers the receiver discreetly as she speaks. ‘She wants to come in and see you urgently about a problem she’s having with the ghost of a circus ringmaster and his pet lion.’
I pass her the diary and grin. ‘Book her in.’
Letter from Kitty
Thank you so much for reading Melody Bittersweet and The Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency, I hope you’ve laughed along the way and enjoyed spending time with the weird and wonderful folk of Chapelwick!
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I’d be massively grateful if you have a couple of minutes to leave a review, it only need be a sentence or two and it really does help other readers decide if they’d enjoy the book.
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I’d love to hear from you too! I read and reply to all of my emails or messages on Facebook and Twitter, so please do get in touch to let me know your thoughts on Melody. I’m currently writing book two in the series, a brand new adventure that may or may not include a castle, a nun, and a ghostly circus complete with a spirit lion . . . Life is never dull around Melody Bittersweet!
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Thanks and lots of love,
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Kitty
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Also by the author
Writing as Kitty French:
Knight & Play
Knight & Stay
Knight & Day
Genie
Wanderlust
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Writing as Kat French:
Undertaking Love
The Piano Man Project
One Hot Summer
Acknowledgments
A first and massive thank you to my editor Kirsty Greenwood, for laughing at my jokes, being endlessly encouraging and supportive, and for helping me craft this story into something I’m really proud of. The book simply wouldn’t be the same without you – Melody would count you as one of her beloved superheroes.
Thanks also to Claire Bord at Bookouture for instantly getting the idea of the Melody Bittersweet series and loving it enough to take a chance on me, I’m hugely grateful and can’t wait to write more.
Thanks a million to the wonderful Kim Nash, you’re a force to be reckoned with! Organisational whirlwind, supportive shoulder and funny to boot, you’re all round fabulous – I’m so very glad we met for coffee. Who knew it would lead to this?
To my gorgeous new family of Bookouture authors, thank you for warmly welcoming me in, for sharing the gin, and for letting me hang out in the cool corner with you all.
Many thanks to Jo Dingley for such careful, thoughtful editing, and to Emma Rogers for such an eye-poppingly fantastic cover! I love it.
Wider thanks to everyone at Bookouture, I’m thrilled to have joined the team and feel like the luckiest lass in the land.
Love and gratitude to all of the bloggers, reviewers and readers that keep the book world turning. Your time, dedication and friendship goes neither unnoticed nor unappreciated.
Last but never least, thank you to my family and friends. You’re a crazy bunch, but you’re my crazy bunch and I
love the lot of you.
Published by Bookouture
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An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
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www.bookouture.com
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Copyright © Kitty French, 2016
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Kitty French has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-038-0