Chapter 2
brOOKE
‘I’m telling you now, if she’s planning some ridiculous spring ball or something I’ll tell her where to shove it.’
Ernie Baldwin nodded smugly at his fellow cynic, Gordon Thwaite. They were never happier than when attending these meetings at The Magic Lantern, Rowan Vale’s vintage cinema, and doing their best to put the village’s owner, Callie, in her place.
‘Don’t they ever shut up moaning?’ Brooke muttered crossly as she craned her neck to shoot the oblivious residents a filthy look.
‘At least Callie does things for us. At least she gives us something to look forward to. Not that they’d care, of course, being alive and everything.
’ She nudged Danny, who was slouched in the chair beside her. ‘Selfish, right?’
Danny shrugged. ‘S’pose so.’
Behind them they heard a giggle, and Polly Herron’s voice came to them. ‘I reckon she’s planning a proper May Day celebration. Maybe there’ll be a maypole and them dancers with the jingle bells strapped to their knees.’
Brooke twisted round in her seat and groaned. ‘Morris dancers? I hope you’re wrong about that, Polly!’
‘Well, whatever it is, I think we’re about to find out,’ said Ray, Polly’s younger brother. He nodded and they all turned to face the front, where Callie had just walked on stage, accompanied by her boyfriend, Brodie. They were hand in hand as usual and looked sickeningly happy.
Brooke sighed and glanced at Danny. Even in that ridiculous make-up and the stupid costume he was gorgeous.
Besides, she’d got used to the Adam Ant look now.
It wasn’t his fault, was it? It had been her idea for him to go to the party dressed like that.
She’d thought he’d look dashing, with his dark curls and fabulous bone structure.
How was she supposed to know they’d never come home again, and he’d be stuck dressed that way for all eternity?
After all, if she’d had an inkling, she’d never have gone to the event dressed like one of the girls from Bananarama, now, would she?
She ran a hand through her straw-like hair, which had been sprayed to within an inch of its life as she’d got ready for the fancy dress party that fateful night.
Trust her to have to spend her entire afterlife in this get-up.
And to think, she’d nearly chosen to go as a 1980s Madonna.
She’d have looked so much sexier if she had.
Maybe Danny would have noticed her if she’d been wearing fingerless lace gloves, fishnet stockings and a rara skirt, instead of a T-shirt, high-waisted trousers, red braces and chunky Doc Marten boots, with hair that wouldn’t look out of place on Wurzel Gummidge.
‘Thanks so much for coming,’ Callie said.
‘Just a few things I wanted to run past you all. Firstly, after listening to and reading all your suggestions as to what to do with the proceeds from the Christmas market and Dickensian weekend, the funds have now been assigned. We’re going to use some of the money to make improvements to the village library, which is in dire need of an upgrade.
We’re also going to install some computers there for the use of all villagers who need access to the internet and don’t have their own computer. ’
‘Like we’d know what to do with a computer,’ Gordon said.
‘And we intend to start a computer club for those of you who don’t know how to use them,’ Callie continued. ‘In this day and age, having access to the internet can be so useful, and we don’t want our, er, longer-term residents to miss out on anything by not having that.
‘We also thought it would be fun to have a get-together every week, or even twice a week, where people can have a catch-up and a chat. To that end, as well as the computer club we’re going to start a book club, and everyone will be welcome.
Now, obviously you ghosts can chat about books, too, but the problem is that most people won’t be able to hear your opinions, so we’ll have a discussion later about whether you’d like your own separate book club.
We’ll be stocking up on audiobooks so reading won’t be a problem.
The library is such a lovely old building, and we really want to make more use of it. ’
‘She could have put all this in that flaming newsletter of hers,’ Ernie Baldwin grumbled, as Callie continued to share various news, such as the plans for weekly summer tea dances in the ballroom at Harling Hall, and the forthcoming opening of the model village. ‘Wasting our time like this.’
‘Didn’t have to come, did you?’ Percy Swain snapped.
Naturally, Ernie Baldwin carried on moaning to Gordon Thwaite. Neither of them had a clue that the ghost of the old station porter was sitting right next to them, clearly very indignant on Callie’s behalf.
‘Too nosy to stay at home,’ Ray said, rolling his eyes. ‘Rather stay here and heckle.’
‘Like those two old blokes from The Muppets,’ Brooke agreed, receiving a blank look in return from Ray – who’d died on New Year’s Day 1948 and had no clue who The Muppets were.
‘Finally, there’s one more thing I’d like to tell you all,’ Callie said. She smiled at Brodie, who squeezed her hand and nodded as he smiled back. ‘A couple of nights ago, Brodie asked me to marry him. And I said yes.’
There were loud cheers from the audience, as both ghostly and living residents showed their delight at the news.
‘Oh, Callie! That’s brilliant!’ Polly and Ray’s great-niece Shona, who ran Mrs Herron’s Teashop in the village, jumped to her feet and clapped loudly. ‘Congratulations to you both. Max and I will make the wedding cake!’
Callie laughed. ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ she admitted. Both Shona and her partner, Max, were excellent bakers.
Brooke felt a pang of disappointment as she realised that whatever concoction the two of them created for the happy couple, she’d never get to taste it.
‘When’s the big day then?’
‘How’s Immi taking it?’
‘Are you getting married at All Souls’?’
Brodie held up his hands as the couple were suddenly bombarded with questions – and he’d only heard the ones from the living. He couldn’t hear the ones from the ghosts because poor Brodie didn’t have the gift.
As grandson of Sir Lawrence Davenport, the former owner of the Harling Estate, which included Rowan Vale, it had been hoped that Brodie would inherit Lawrie’s ability to see and hear the ghosts of the village.
Unfortunately, Brodie had become the second generation in a row not to possess the ability, which had forced Lawrie to sell the entire estate to someone who did.
A chance meeting with single mother Callie had been the answer to everyone’s prayers, because Callie did have the gift, and after some gentle persuasion she’d bought the estate from Lawrie for ten pounds, as tradition dictated.
After a bit of a dodgy start, Callie and Brodie had fallen in love, and now they ran the estate together.
Some of the older living residents weren’t so sure about a woman owning the place, as it had never been known before in all the centuries that the Harling Estate had existed, but most people liked and admired her.
The ghosts, meanwhile, had quickly realised that she had the best of intentions, and wanted to make their afterlives more interesting and fulfilling, so they already felt a deep loyalty to her.
And Brodie – well, he couldn’t see them or hear them, but they all knew he was concerned for their welfare, just as his grandfather was, and that he did all he could to help Callie to help them.
Brodie was tall and dark with piercing blue eyes, and Brooke always felt a flutter of pleasure when she saw him. He was almost as good-looking as Danny. And a lot more cheerful, it had to be said.
‘We haven’t set a date yet,’ he told them all. ‘It will probably be next year.’
‘So why the big fuss now then?’ grumbled Gordon Thwaite.
Percy nudged him furiously, though it was a waste of time as Gordon couldn’t feel a thing. Brooke suspected it made Percy feel a bit better, though.
‘Immi’s really happy,’ Callie added. ‘Especially since we’ve promised she can be a bridesmaid, along with Florrie of course.’
Immi, who was Callie’s eleven-year-old daughter and possessed the gift just like her mother, was good friends with a little evacuee girl called Florence who’d died, aged ten, while staying at Harling Hall during the Second World War.
‘We haven’t really thought about where we’ll get married yet,’ Brodie said, to answer the final question. He glanced at Callie. ‘But I suspect All Souls’ will be high on the list.’
‘What we wanted to add,’ Callie explained, ‘is that we’re planning to have an engagement party to celebrate, and we’d like to invite you all.’
‘We’ve spoken to Penny this morning,’ Brodie added, ‘and after a bit of debate we’ve decided to have the party at The Quicken Tree.
It’s more central for everyone, and the function room is fairly big.
And,’ he admitted, ‘it will be nice for us to get away from Harling Hall for a bit. We’re very lucky to live and work there, but a change of scene will make it feel more special for us. We hope you’ll be able to join us.’
‘When is it?’ asked Ingrid, who worked at the Swinging Sixties Hair Salon.
‘Saturday 11 April,’ Brodie said.
‘Just over two weeks?’ Polly whistled. ‘Not long, is it?’
‘Your social diary full, is it?’ her brother asked, grinning.
Polly nudged him in the ribs. ‘Watch it, cheeky.’
Shona called, ‘I’ll make your engagement cake.’
There was a cry of dismay from Barry and Jeannie Wilson, who together ran Blighty’s Bakery next door to Mrs Herron’s Teashop.
‘Not fair!’ protested Jeannie. ‘You’ve already bagged the wedding cake.’
‘Well,’ Callie said awkwardly, ‘I suppose…’
‘We’re going to need a lot of food for the engagement party,’ Brodie said quickly. ‘Sandwiches, pastries, savoury snacks… It would be marvellous if Blighty’s could supply those.’
Barry nodded. ‘Come and see us as soon as you’re ready. We’ll talk terms.’
‘I won’t charge you for the cake,’ Shona said primly. ‘It’s a gift from us to you.’
The Wilsons scowled and Shona gave them a sweet smile and sat back down.
‘Right,’ Brodie said. ‘I think that’s everything.
Formal invitations will be posted through every letterbox on the estate, and we hope to see as many of you at The Quicken Tree as possible.
Thank you all for coming. Now, we’d better get out of here before tonight’s showing of The Wicked Lady begins – unless you’re staying to watch it, of course. ’
There was a lot of chatter as those who weren’t staying for the film filed out of the cinema into the cool air of a late March evening that was already quite dark.
‘Clocks go forward on Sunday,’ Brooke remarked to no one in particular. ‘An hour less in bed.’
Danny frowned. ‘Why do you remember things like that? What difference does it make to us? It’s not as if we have to be up for work or anything like that, is it?’
Brooke bit her lip, refusing to take the bait.
She knew Danny had enjoyed his work in the IT department of a big pharmaceutical company back in the day, and that he still missed the buzz of getting ready for work each morning, heading into town to mix with his colleagues and do all the things a young man of twenty-nine should be doing.
Whereas she… She had to admit she’d never particularly liked her job as a receptionist at the same company and had only stayed because she got to see Danny every day.
Well, there was no point in going over all that again.
She got to see Danny every day now, and look how that was working out for them.
She might as well have gone on to wherever it was most of the dead went to, rather than linger here with someone who didn’t even seem to notice her most of the time.
It was just like being alive again in that respect.
She looked down as an arm slipped through hers and Polly beamed at her.
‘A party,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Just what we need! Do you think they’ll play The Andrews Sisters? I love a bit of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”.’
‘Who knows? Maybe you can request a song,’ Brooke suggested smiling. She really didn’t care what music they played.
As long as it wasn’t bloody Bananarama.