The Secrets of Ghosts

by Sarah Painter

  Patrick tilted his head back a little and regarded her. ‘I grew up in this town and I’ve owned businesses here for over thirty years. Besides, you don’t get to be mayor of a town like Pendleford without keeping an open mind.’

  ‘Right,’ Katie said. She couldn’t wait to tell Gwen that Patrick Allen was asking her for help. On the other hand, it would be brilliant for Jo’s career as a chef if the restaurant got upgraded. And Patrick looked truly wretched. ‘I’m not saying that I know anything about these kinds of things,’ Katie said, ‘but I’ll look into it.’

  ‘You’re getting scammed.’ Max was scowling.

  ‘Not by me,’ Katie said. ‘I’m not asking for anything.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ Patrick said, ignoring Max completely. He clasped Katie’s hand, then turned back to the hotel.

  Max waited until he had reached the stone steps leading back up to the main building, then turned to Katie. ‘So, is everybody around here crazy, or what?’

  ‘He’s just keeping an open mind.’

  ‘He thinks the hotel is haunted,’ Max said. ‘That’s beyond an open mind. That’s—’

  ‘Don’t say “crazy” again,’ Katie said. ‘I’ll think less of you. Plenty of people believe in ghosts.’

  ‘So, you think a poltergeist threw that vase?’

  ‘I’m not jumping to any conclusions,’ Katie said.

  Max put his hands on his hips. ‘Isn’t it more likely that a real live person is behind this? On account of ghosts not being real?’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ Katie said.

  ‘Isn’t it more likely to be a real live person who is invested in the myth of the afterlife like, say, Greg Barton?’

  Katie thought about Violet. She was real. Not the kind of haunting you could fake. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘What if he set these things up? To drum up some publicity for his shows?’

  ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  ‘Did I hear that this place is short-staffed at the moment?’

  ‘Yes, why—?’ Katie began, but Max had already moved away. Katie watched him take long strides towards the hotel and thought: that can’t be good.

  *

  Back at the flat, Katie had only just kicked off her work shoes when her mobile beeped. Her head hurt and for a split second she thought about ignoring it.

  It was Gwen. ‘Can I borrow a scarf?’

  ‘I knew you’d succumb,’ Katie said, rubbing her aching feet with one hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Accessorising. I knew you’d follow the wisdom of my ways eventually. What’s the occasion?’ Katie was smiling, imagining her and Cam having some lovely anniversary celebration. Something couply and normal and safe.

  Gwen’s voice had gone cold and a little bit panicked. ‘You forgot.’

  ‘What? No.’ Oh, God, was it an important anniversary? Like a silver or a gold or something? No, that couldn’t be right...

  ‘My opening. You said you’d be there.’

  Gwen’s exhibition. At the Rotunda Gallery in Bath. ‘Of course I will.’ Katie walked rapidly to her wardrobe and began hauling clothes off hangers. ‘Starts at six, right? I’ll be there. You wanted a scarf? What colour?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, really,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m wearing black.’

  ‘Like a true artist,’ Katie said approvingly.

  ‘Yes, but I thought something, maybe a little floaty thing around my neck.’

  Katie paused, picturing Gwen. Then she said, ‘I’ll bring a couple and you can choose, but you might not need it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Gwen said. ‘Thanks.’

  She sounded tense. ‘It’s going to be brilliant,’ Katie said, desperate to get off the phone and get ready.

  Katie pulled the cover off her sewing machine and sat down. She had a black and white prom dress from Gwen’s Curious Notions days and she’d been meaning to alter it for ages. This was the perfect opportunity and a deadline always sharpened her skills. She’d flipped the dress inside out and pinned new darts under the arm holes and at the waistline, where the newly tucked waistband had an excess of material bunched above it. It wasn’t going to be a perfect job, but she had a wide belt that she was going to wear, which would cover any small bumps in the new seam.

  Katie worked the pedal and ran the material through the machine. As always, she got a buzz from the sound of the motor and the needle shooting in and out of the fabric at high speed. Sometimes she thought about becoming a curtain maker, just so that she could spend hours sewing straight lines, full speed ahead.

  She should have raised the hem of the dress a little higher — it was sitting too low beneath her knee — but some strappy red sandals with a two-inch heel saved it. She added the wide belt and a wrap to cover her shoulders. Wearing the same necklace all the time made accessorising nice and simple; she adjusted the tiny charms to make sure they were sitting straight and she was ready to go.

  Katie arrived at the gallery only half an hour late. She had never been inside the Rotunda Gallery before and it was like the Tardis — bigger on the inside than she expected. Most of Gwen’s shadow boxes were mounted on the white walls, but a few of her more recent creations were on square plinths in the middle of the gallery space, so that you could walk all around them. Katie walked around the nearest one, which was reminiscent of a revolving stage set. One side showed a cosy cottage kitchen, not unlike the one at End House, while the other was a strange night sky over a bleak flat landscape.

  ‘You’re here.’ Gwen swooped over and kissed Katie, hugging her. ‘Oh, God, I feel ridiculous. What if nobody comes?’

  ‘People will come,’ Katie said.

  ‘Hey, kiddo.’ Cam was standing behind Gwen looking simultaneously proud and tense. But then, Cam often looked tense. He put an arm around Gwen and kissed the top of her head. ‘They’ll come.’ He nodded at the tables set up at the side of the vast room. ‘Free wine.’

  Katie shot him a look. ‘And beautiful art.’ She flung her arms wide, encompassing the room, the shadow boxes, and the gallery staff dressed in chic black. ‘Look at this. It’s amazing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gwen said. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. My little boxes.’

  Elaine Laing, Cam’s terrifying mother, clacked across the polished wooden flooring in staggeringly high heels. ‘Gwen, darling,’ she said, ignoring Katie and Cam. ‘You must come and meet the man from Art Now magazine.’ She paused. ‘Are you wearing make-up? You look a bit washed out.’

  Katie remembered the scarf, dug in her bag for it. ‘I brought your scarf.’ She held out the scrap of silk and Elaine plucked it from her hand and tied it around Gwen’s neck, knotting it at one side with a practised ease that Katie felt a grudging admiration for.

  ‘There,’ Elaine said. Then she turned to Katie. ‘Excellent choice.’ And to Gwen. ‘Come along.’

  After Elaine had towed Gwen away, Cam smiled at Katie and asked her about her day. They chatted while the room filled up. Slowly at first and then in a great rush, as if an art-loving coach party had just arrived.

  Cam was staring over her head at where Gwen was standing with Elaine and a man with a goatee. ‘I think I’ll just—’ he said, and left Katie for Gwen.

  Katie watched him slip an arm around Gwen’s waist, saying something that made everyone laugh. Gwen looked up at him as if he was both the question and the answer, and the expression of trust and affection in her eyes made Katie’s throat go suddenly thick. Sometimes Katie thought that Cam and Gwen had set an unrealistic expectation for adult relationships and that was why she was dissatisfied, so picky all the time. Perhaps she should’ve stayed with Stuart. He was a good man, at least. A good person. Perhaps she was searching for something that didn’t exist.

  Katie picked up a glass of orange juice and sipped it while watching the crowd. She wanted to support Gwen, but the temptation to slip away was suddenly very strong. Anna and a few of the others from The Grange were going to the pub t
o play pool and she could meet them there. Anna had asked about the art opening but Katie hadn’t wanted her to feel obliged to come. Now she wished she had; it would be nice to be standing with Anna, rather than on her own.

  Gwen walked up behind Katie and linked arms with her. ‘Have I told you that you look amazing, tonight?’ She squeezed her arm gently. ‘You do dressing up so much better than me.’

  ‘You look really good,’ Katie said. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘People are always saying that youth is wasted on the young. They obviously haven’t met you.’

  ‘Ha. I don’t know about that.’ Katie tried not to think about all the ways she wasn’t enjoying her life. She should be out in the world, taking risks, having adventures. Ever since she could remember, she’d had the horrible feeling that she was doing it wrong. Her life. That everybody else knew exactly what they were doing and she was the only one who hadn’t received the handbook.

  ‘Are you seeing that boy again? Max?’

  Katie forced a smile. ‘Subtly done.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Probably.’ The question wasn’t so much ‘would she see him again?’ as ‘could she make herself stop wanting him now that she knew he was a crook?’. A real-life crook. A thief.

  ‘Oh.’ Gwen took a swig of her wine. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Really?’ Katie said. ‘Aren’t you going to say something serious and parent-like?’

  ‘Oh, I leave that side of things to Cam. He does intimidating so well. Besides, I quite liked Max. There’s something about him.’

  ‘He thinks he’s charming,’ Katie said.

  ‘He’s not wrong,’ Gwen said. ‘You deserve charming. That Stuart was a bit—’

  Katie was desperate not to hear Gwen’s opinion on Stuart. He might not have set the world on fire but he was the only romance she’d ever had. ‘I’ve got to tell you something.’

  ‘Wonderful show,’ a man with a glass of wine in each hand said as he walked past.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gwen said. She steered Katie out of the room, into a corridor. ‘What is it? Are you still having bad dreams?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katie said, ‘but—’

  ‘No more flying vases,’ Gwen said. Her voice was light, but her eyes deadly serious. ‘No more crows—’

  ‘I’ve actually got good news,’ Katie interrupted.

  ‘Oh?’

  Katie took a deep breath, savoured the moment. ‘I can see ghosts.’

  Gwen looked stricken. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know how you were saying you sensed Iris in the house when you moved in? Well, I’ve met a ghost. A real live one. Her name’s Violet and she lives at The Grange.’

  Gwen didn’t say anything and Katie rushed on to fill the silence. ‘Isn’t it brilliant? The Cole thing isn’t a hex or anything bad, it’s just his spirit talking to me. He must be, like, a weaker ghost or something. Violet looks like you or me. You could mistake her for living — which I actually did — but, I guess, you wouldn’t because you wouldn’t be able to see her. Max can’t. Other people can’t. Just me.’

  ‘It could still be a curse. An effect of the magic I did when you were younger,’ Gwen said. ‘This is bad. Your power should be something full of life, not death. You’re just a kid.’

  ‘I’m really not,’ Katie said, frustrated. ‘I’m twenty-one. And this power could be positive. It’s about helping people, right? Just because they happen to have passed on, doesn’t mean they don’t deserve help.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Gwen said. She didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Can’t you be happy for me? I was so worried I was going to turn out like Ruby.’

  ‘There are worse things,’ Gwen said, still looking worried.

  ‘I know that. She’s my mum, I love her, but I don’t want her life. We’re very different.’

  ‘Maybe this is temporary,’ Gwen said. ‘Maybe you’re just developing your intuition and this ghost-business will fade away as you learn to control it. I’ll look through the journals, again. I must’ve missed something. There must be a spell or something that can make this go away.’

  ‘I don’t want it to go away,’ Katie said, trying to hide her irritation.

  ‘It’s not natural,’ Gwen said, her lips in a thin line.

  Katie wanted to point out that death was about as natural as it got, but Gwen looked too upset. ‘Come on,’ she said instead. ‘We should get back to your party. You need more champagne.’

  ‘It’s just sparkling wine,’ Gwen said, but she followed Katie back into the gallery.

  *

  The next day Katie was sitting behind the front desk, enjoying a jaw-cracking yawn, when Patrick walked into Reception. She hastily covered her mouth. ‘Katie, I’ve had a report from The Plum Suite. Could you take a look?’

  ‘What kind of report?’ Katie said. She still felt foggy, as if she hadn’t woken up properly. She guessed it had to be the heat since she hadn’t exactly been partying until dawn. In bed by half eleven after half a glass of sparkling wine and three orange juices. Wild.

  Patrick looked significantly in the direction of the brocade two-seater sofa that sat in the bay window. A female MOP was reading the paper, a bulky handbag at her feet.

  They moved into the hallway and Patrick spoke quietly. ‘Mr and Mrs Moore just checked out but Housekeeping won’t go into the room. She says it doesn’t feel right. She keeps making this sign at me and speaking in Dutch.’

  ‘Polish,’ Katie said. ‘Zofia’s probably speaking Polish, not Dutch. On account of that being her first language.’

  ‘What?’ Patrick was already distracted by something on his phone.

  ‘Because she’s Polish. Never mind. I’ll talk to her,’ Katie said.

  He looked up. ‘And check the room?’

  ‘Okay. Sure.’

  Katie found Zofia in the first-floor corridor, restocking a housekeeping cart from the supply closet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Zofia had a round, pretty face that was usually smiling. It wasn’t now.

  Zofia piled handfuls of miniature shampoo bottles onto the trolley and disappeared into the closet.

  ‘Patrick asked me to talk to you.’ Katie stood awkwardly by the closet door, unsure whether to follow Zofia inside. ‘About The Plum Suite. He said you had some kind of fright.’

  A clattering noise indicated that Zofia was getting the industrial vacuum cleaner out.

  ‘Zofia?’

  She appeared, dragging the machine. Katie put a hand onto her arm and Zofia froze. ‘Please. I need to talk to you.’

  Zofia stared at the vacuum but she stopped moving away.

  ‘It’s about the room. The Plum Suite.’

  ‘I’m not cleaning that room.’ Zofia shook her head, still not looking at Katie. ‘I’m sorry. Tell Mr Patrick I’m sorry but I’m not cleaning. He must—’

  ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m here to help.’

  Zofia looked at her then and Katie flinched from the naked panic in her eyes. ‘You mustn’t!’ Zofia said. ‘Stay out. Lock the door. It’s no good now. No one can stay in there. No point cleaning, no point.’

  ‘Zofia,’ Katie said gently, ‘I can help with what you saw in the room. Can you tell me about it?’

  ‘No. Not good to talk about it. Very bad.’

  ‘But if you could just tell me what you saw? It would be helpful.’

  Zofia closed her lips into a tight line and made the sign of the devil. Then she moved down the hall to plug in the vacuum.

  Marvellous.

  Katie went upstairs to The Plum Suite. She opened the door using her universal keycard and had a quick look around. The room was reasonably clean and tidy; Zofia had obviously started on her housekeeping before whatever scared her did its thing. Either that, or Mr and Mrs Moore were the cleanest guests in the history of hostelry.

  The suite consisted of an enormous bedroom, the walls painted a muted mustard that should’ve looked horrible against the d
ark purple soft furnishings but somehow didn’t. The furniture was dark wood, antique and very heavy. Katie’s eye was taken by the gigantic triple wardrobe. It had two full-length mirrors either side of a central unit that was filled with drawers of differing depths. She could see herself in the edge of one of the mirrors, the burgundy flash of her uniform. She moved over and regarded herself, wondering why it always felt different to look in a mirror that wasn’t your own. She had a full-length mirror bolted to the wall of her bedroom, but the room was about a third of the size of this one and she supposed she was always a lot closer to the mirror when she was checking out her outfit.

  Katie turned to the side and smoothed down the tabard. She quite liked the way it looked, almost like a sixties mini-dress. Maybe in a different colour... Katie caught sight of movement in the other mirror. She glanced across and just managed to stop herself from screaming. It was the girl from the wedding. Violet. She’d just appeared in the room. Instantly materialised from nowhere. If there had been any doubt in Katie’s mind, it evaporated. Violet was a ghost.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Violet said. Her voice sounded normal. Real.

  Katie forced herself to look away from the image in the mirror and at the person standing a couple of feet to her left. ‘Hello again,’ she said, marvelling at how steady her voice was.

  ‘I don’t like your clothes,’ Violet said. ‘You could borrow something of mine, if you like.’

  ‘Um,’ Katie said. Violet was still wearing exactly the same as before, down to the beaded headband. Katie supposed if you ended up as a ghost, you stayed in the same clothes. Were they the clothes you died in or the clothes you imagined yourself wearing? Katie had so many questions, but she settled for, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Violet’s forehead creased lightly. ‘It’s my house.’

  Katie wanted to say ‘not any more’ but that seemed unfeeling.

  ‘This is my bedroom,’ Violet said, looking around. ‘Was my bedroom. I don’t need one any more. I don’t sleep. And I’m too old for my doll’s house.’

  Katie blinked. Where the desk with telephone and hotel stationery had been a second ago, there was a massive doll’s house. It had tiny leaded glass windows, a couple of which were half open.