Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ and goosebumps broke out on my arms. Although there was no smoke or sound of whooshing gales…

      I know someone’s there and I’m not frightened, you know, I said in my head, even though, chest heaving, I was rooted to the spot. Racking my brains for phrases from Most Haunted, I concentrated hard. Knock three times if you mean no harm.

      ‘Kimmy?’ called up Terry, from the Games of Thrones Room (still think of it as that). I paused, mouth dry, eyes wide open. Then bolted towards the staircase, down to the comfort of human company. The music had stopped now, anyway.

      I opened the door and there amidst the racing green walls and mahogany panels sat my new neighbour and Jess. My shoulders relaxed. They were at the bar, drinking… some yucky muddy drink. Terry slid a murky cocktail down to the stool next to Jess.

      ‘What’s in this?’ I asked, making my way around the billiards table. At least it had one of those brollies in that I’d bought.

      ‘Half orange juice and half… half…’ Jess sneezed. ‘Cola. We were thirsty and Terry suggested this. It’s called a Muddy Water.’

      ‘I tried to persuade Jess to let me nip home for some champagne,’ said Terry and took out a handkerchief to wipe his perspiring cheeks. Frazzle was curled up at the foot of the stool. Groucho was standing guard, ready to be the first to claim any fallen crisps. I shoved a Pringle in my mouth. They were Adam’s favourite flavour. We used to challenge each other to eat them sideways.

      ‘How about you, Kimmy? A spot of champers?’

      ‘Better not, Terry – I’ve still got to sort out the hallway and downstairs loo and maybe give the windows the once over too.’ I looked out of the front window and right at the bottom of the drive spotted two cute copper-coloured dogs trotted past on leads, long hair shimmying from side to side. ‘Borders look good, Jess.’ The sun was setting. Sunday night. Adam would have just got back from the gym, ready to sit next to me on the sofa and watch his favourite detective series.

      ‘What time are these buyers arriving tomorrow?’ asked Terry.

      ‘One o’clock,’ said Jess. ‘Deborah, the estate agent, is coming this time too. Just to see how we’ve settled in. Spying for Mr Murphy, I guess.’

      ‘Great dress sense, that woman,’ said Terry. ‘I’ve seen her several times. Fabulous shoes.’

      ‘Did you see much of Mr Murphy, Terry?’ I asked. ‘He must have been close to Walter, to get this place. Is he married?’

      Terry sipped his cocktail again. ‘No. Single – Walter mentioned a long-term relationship that broke down. I met him a few times, during those last months. It’s a long way to come from Manchester – his mum, Walter’s sister, moved there when she got married. He seemed a decent sort – took Walter out to country pubs and would shout him a round of golf. Walter and Lily didn’t have any other younger relatives – Mike was their only nephew. Not that there was much of a family resemblance. Mike was a bit flash for the old man’s taste – you know, chunky jewellery, dyed hair. But they discussed politics and world news together.’ Terry grinned. ‘Right until the end, Walter was as sharp as they come, despite his series of strokes.’

      ‘Strokes?’

      Terry ran a hand over his bald head. ‘The effects of them were largely physical. No one ever took Walter for a fool. I remember the week before his last funny turn, he gave the postman a hard time for leaving a parcel out in the rain.’ Terry shrugged. ‘Eh, listen to me wittering on… So, I wonder if Jonny will be at this Botox party tomorrow morning, supporting his wife.’

      ‘I 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 СКАЧАТЬ