Blithe Spirits Along the Pumpkin Path

Chapter 1

JULY

‘Well! Fine fiftieth birthday present that turned out to be!’

My heart sank as Melissa called to me from the hallway. I’d suspected, by the way the front door had just slammed, that her meeting with her bosses hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped or expected, and had a feeling that I was about to bear the brunt of her frustration.

Sure enough, as my half-sister stormed into the kitchen, her face twisted in anger, she pointed to me and demanded, ‘Haven’t you finished that yet? What the hell have you been doing all this time?’

I looked down at the cake I’d been patiently working on for hours – following her specific instructions.

‘Taking my time to make sure it looks perfect,’ I said pleasantly. ‘It’s your special day tomorrow. It has to impress, doesn’t it?’

‘Don’t bother,’ Melissa said crossly. ‘You can throw it in the bin for all I care. There’s not going to be a party. I cancelled it.’

‘You…?’ I stared at her in amazement. Melissa had been planning this event at our Buckinghamshire house for months.

Despite it being a birthday party, it was really to show off the completed renovations on our late Victorian five-bedroomed home, a statement to her friends and business associates that she’d done well.

That she’d achieved something. That she was – in her own words – a star.

‘Don’t gawp like that!’ Melissa threw herself onto the sofa by the patio doors and folded her arms, gazing out over the immaculate lawn with narrowed eyes, her glossy lips pursed in a sulk and her fair hair – now streaked with grey – bravely attempting to escape its messy bun.

I sighed. ‘Okay, what’s happened?’

‘Like I said, I cancelled. I’ve rung everyone on the list. Told them you’re ill. Contagious. That did the trick. No one wants to risk getting a single blemish, let alone a full-blown rash.’

‘A full-blown rash? What did you say I had?’

‘Matian’s Syndrome.’

‘What?’ I frowned as I wracked my brain for information. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘You wouldn’t have. I made it up on the spot. Matian – short for Dalmatian. Spotty dog, see? They’re all so stupid it won’t even have occurred to them. Bet they spend hours googling it to see what state you’re in. Idiots,’ she added contemptuously.

I shook my head, bewildered. ‘Why exactly have you given me a contagious disease that makes me look like a Dalmatian? What happened at the meeting? Didn’t they take you somewhere nice for your birthday?’

Judging by her mood it clearly hadn’t been London as she’d expected, but surely they’d managed a top Cotswolds restaurant at least?

Melissa stared at me as if I was a complete fool. ‘Does it sound like they did? What do you think, Verity?’

She’d been convinced that the so-called meeting was going to be a birthday surprise.

The executives at Oxfordshire-based HoneyStone Television were generous with their stars.

Only a couple of months ago, Harriet Bladon – presenter of their popular It’s Haunted!

television show – had been taken to lunch at The Ritz and presented with a huge bouquet of flowers and a gold necklace for her fortieth birthday.

As the medium on the show, Melissa had been excited about what lay in store for her on her own special day.

It seemed things hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped.

Cautiously, I approached the sofa, as if venturing close to a wounded animal. I sat beside my clearly distressed sister and said gently, ‘What happened?’

There was silence for a moment as Melissa continued to stare out of the window. Then she turned flashing green eyes on me and snapped, ‘I’m ruined. Finished. That’s what’s happened!’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, you don’t! Why should you? You’ve had everything handed to you on a plate, haven’t you?’ Melissa said furiously. ‘You’ve never had to go out there and hustle for work, beg for opportunities, embarrass yourself so you could put food on the table.’

Used to my sister’s unjustified outbursts, I refused to take the bait, however great the temptation.

To say that her accusation was an exaggeration was the understatement of the century.

Yes, Melissa had worked hard, and she’d had the courage of her convictions without doubt, but she’d also had one heck of a helping hand.

When our mother died, she’d left most of her estate in Melissa’s hands – enough to keep us quite comfortably for a long, long time.

It wasn’t as if we’d been left destitute.

One thing you could say about our mother – she’d married well. Twice.

Even so, there was no point poking the bear. ‘What did they say, Mel?’ I asked patiently.

‘It’s over.’ Melissa folded her arms and shrugged. ‘The show. Done. They’re not making any more.’

I stared at her, hardly able to take in what I’d just heard. ‘It’s Haunted! is over?’

‘That’s what I said, isn’t it? Ratings are falling, apparently.

It’s old hat. Do you know what that swine, Reggie Pickett said to me?

He said, “No one believes in ghosts these days. It’s for gullible fools and kids!

”’ She picked up a cushion and hurled it across the kitchen.

‘“Gullible fools and kids”? He has no bloody idea!’

‘How will Harriet take it?’ I wondered. ‘Have they told her yet?’

Melissa’s lip curled. ‘Of course they’ve bloody told her!

What do you think the flowers and jewellery and the meal at The Ritz were about?

And there was me, thinking they were so generous for their employees’ special birthdays.

God, they’re right about gullible fools.

Except the only gullible fool around here is me. ’

She got to her feet and began pacing up and down.

‘Of course, Harriet will be fine. She’s sleeping with Reggie.

Everyone knows that. I expect they’ve already got another presenting job lined up for her.

But me… You realise this is the end of everything for us?

Where else am I going to get work now? Diccon says he’s got nothing appropriate on his books. ’

‘You’ve spoken to him?’

‘I called him straightaway. They’d just emailed him to tell him the news, so he was in shock, too. He said he’ll do what he can, but he’s not heard of anything suitable for me…’

At the thought of this lack of encouragement from her agent, she gave a dramatic wail and threw up her arms in despair.

‘I’ll finish up on the end of the pier wearing a headscarf!

I’ll have to buy a crystal ball. We’ll lose this house, won’t we?

We’ll end up living in a caravan. I’ll have to charge people twenty quid to read their grubby palms.’

She paused, her eyes wide and her face suddenly pale as she was clearly struck by a horrifying thought. ‘Oh my God! I might have to go on I’m a Celebrity!’

I stifled a giggle. The thought of Melissa eating fisheyes and kangaroo testicles was too funny for words.

‘I could bloody kill Reggie Pickett! He has destroyed me!’

She was never one to underplay a situation.

‘I’m sorry, Mel,’ I said sympathetically.

My mind was working quickly. Were we really in trouble financially?

I wasn’t sure exactly how much my half-sister earned from being Madam Mariska the ‘ghost whisperer’ on It’s Haunted!

but I knew it was quite a lot. And surely we still had money left from our mother’s estate?

And this house… It had been bought to celebrate Melissa getting the job in the first place.

It’s Haunted! and television fame hadn’t paid for it.

Our mother had. Melissa’s television work had only encouraged her to make the extensive renovations to the property and the garden that she’d wanted.

Surely there were savings? Money left in the bank?

But then I thought about my sister’s massive walk-in wardrobe, full of designer clothes. Her top of the range Land Rover and her swish little coupé. The holidays she’d taken with ‘friends’ to the Riviera, to Mexico, to Egypt, to Vegas…

How much money had Melissa got through?

The money that Mum had put in trust for me was untouched and earning interest. The terms of our mother’s will had stated that I wouldn’t gain access to it until I turned thirty anyway – another eighteen months to wait for that. But when it came through, perhaps it would save us from poverty.

Tentatively, I voiced the thought to Melissa, who gave a sarcastic laugh.

‘It’s hardly the Euro Millions, is it? And what are we supposed to do until then?’

‘Surely there’s plenty left?’ I persisted. ‘Mum’s estate…’

‘I had to look after you, remember?’ Melissa snapped. ‘That was the condition. I had to make sure you were taken care of – finish that private education, provide you with a decent home. It all costs, you know. Only the best for Mummy’s little darling.’

I knew better than to question further. It had been a bugbear of Melissa’s for years.

She’d been left with all that responsibility – her ‘whole life put on hold’ to take care of her little sister.

The fact that she’d been very well compensated financially never seemed to register with her.

Nor had the fact that we were, after all, sisters.

Surely, I often pondered, Melissa should have wanted to take care of me?

Especially as neither of us had living fathers. We only had each other.

But no. It had always been made crystal clear to me that I was a burden.

That I owed Melissa everything. It was why, at the age of twenty-eight, I was still living with my sister.

Driving her around, shopping for her, cooking and cleaning for her, organising her diary, dealing with the press, typing her letters, even taking over the care of Honey – the golden retriever that HoneyStone Television had presented Melissa with when the show won a major award just three short years ago.

Melissa wasn’t interested in dogs and would have happily sent Honey to a local rescue centre if she hadn’t been afraid the press would find out.

She’d offered her to Diccon, who’d been her friend as well as her agent for years, but he said he had allergies.

It had quickly fallen to me to ‘deal with the animal’, which I’d been more than happy to do. Honey was probably the love of my life.

As if she was aware of my thoughts, our dog scratched mournfully at the kitchen door.

She wasn’t allowed in this room at all since Melissa was funny about dogs being around food because of hygiene.

I had been very careful to keep Honey out of the kitchen even while Melissa was out.

One stray golden hair and it could all be over for my darling dog.

‘Stop that now!’ Melissa snapped, probably thinking of her paintwork.

Obediently, Honey stopped scratching, and we heard her padding down the hall, no doubt returning to her bed in what Melissa called the snug.

‘Maybe,’ I said hesitantly, ‘we should sell this house?’

Melissa stared at me. ‘Are you insane? Why would I do that?’

‘If we’re broke…’

She cleared her throat. ‘Hmm. Yes, well… I mean, we’re not broke exactly. I never said that, did I? Trust you to be so dramatic.’

Silently I counted to ten. ‘Then what are you saying?’ I asked, having reached fourteen and relative safety.

‘Isn’t it obvious? Where am I going to get television work now?

If Reggie Pickett says – I mean, God knows he’s hardly the brightest spark, but he does know his stuff when it comes to his profession – if he says ghosts are old hat, what am I going to do?

I don’t know anything else. Talking to the spirits is my calling.

My gift. I’ll be simply lost without it. ’

I honestly couldn’t listen to another word of my sister’s drivel. I jumped up and hurried back to the cake. ‘Do you still want this or not?’

Melissa blinked, clearly taken aback at the abrupt change of tone. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, waving a hand dismissively. ‘Only because it would be terribly wasteful to throw it away. Beggars can’t be choosers and now we’re unemployed…’

Melissa might be unemployed, I thought, as I finished decorating the cake with swirls of icing in my sister’s favourite purple, but I doubted very much that I’d be jobless.

There’d still be meals to cook, a large house to clean, a dog to walk and feed, shopping to do, chauffeuring jobs, paperwork to see to…

And all that talk of Melissa being lost if she couldn’t use her gift.

What gift? That was the biggest joke of all!

Of course, I could never say so. Hell, my sister would have a fit. But deep down, Melissa must know she was fooling herself if she thought nothing had changed. She could make all the excuses she liked – and frequently did – but she couldn’t be that deluded, surely?

Melissa’s gift had been real once upon a time. She’d communicated with ghosts and had secured the job at It’s Haunted! through her genuine ability. But over the last few years something terrible and unexpected had happened.

The ghosts had stopped talking to her.

Now it was a case of me going with her to the filming location and trying to dig up any information and gossip about past residents when I got there – anything Melissa could use to put on a performance that would fool not only the viewing audience, but the executives at HoneyStone Television, too.

Not to mention the scathing and sceptical Harriet Bladon and the trusting and rather gullible Diccon French.

The sad truth was, ‘Madam Mariska’ was a big fat fake.