New Arrivals on Lovelace Lane: An uplifting romantic comedy about life, love and family (Lovelace Lane Book 5)

by Alice Ross

  A suggestion that was not greeted with the enthusiasm she’d hoped when put to her young audience.

  In response to her ‘What shall we all do this afternoon?’, Harry made a dart for the back door, and Jess and Valentina exchanged a look that had an unmistakable ‘No way!’ about it.

  ‘Actually, Valentina and I thought we’d go shopping,’ Jess piped up.

  At this announcement, Chrissie almost vocalised a ‘No Way’ of her own, panic jittering through her as images of tassels and fishnet flashed before her eyes. Promptly rallying, she stepped in with a counter-offer.

  ‘I’m sure Valentina would like to learn something about the history of the area. How about we drive up to Northumberland and visit a castle?’

  At the veil of horror that settled over Valentina’s face at this suggestion, Chrissie wondered if she had suggested a visit to a castle, or if she’d actually proposed dressing up as carrots and going into town to hand out leaflets extolling the virtues of organic fertilisers.

  Before any further “discussion” could ensue, Harry clattered back inside, followed by – at a significantly less boisterous pace - Olly.

  ‘Olly’s offered to take me to the aquarium in Tynemouth,’ he announced. ‘If it’s all right with you.’

  Chrissie turned astonished eyes to Olly. Blimey. This lesser-rumped bird really must be something special if the guy was prepared to take her son out for the afternoon. But she should let him know that he was perfectly welcome to use the garden without all this unnecessary attention.

  ‘That’s incredibly kind,’ she began. ‘But there’s really no need. I’m sure there are dozens of other things you could be doing with your afternoon. Like looking for birds. You do know you’re welcome to use the garden anytime.’

  Olly looked slightly baffled. ‘Er, yes. Thank you again for that offer. But I’m going to the aquarium anyway and I thought Harry might like to tag along.'

  ‘Oh. Right,’ blustered Chrissie, suddenly feeling stupid again. ‘Well, in that case, of course he can go. Providing he puts some clothes on,’ she added with a hollow laugh.

  Behind his specs, Olly’s eyes narrowed, adding to Chrissie’s discomfiture. Resisting the urge to escape his enquiring gaze by fleeing the room, she instead whisked around and began shuffling things about on the dusty worktop.

  ‘The, er, girls and I were just discussing what to do,’ she squeaked.

  ‘They can come too. If they want.’

  Chrissie spun back round to him, about to inform him that teenage girls didn’t have the first interest in aquariums. But before she could voice a word, Harry piped up:

  ‘They have lionfish. And they can kill people.’

  ‘Okay. We come,’ asserted Valentina.

  Still reeling from the shock of that assertion, Chrissie discreetly thrust some money at Jess, along with whispered instructions that they pay their way; made a futile stab at smoothing down Harry’s hair; lassoed a scarf around Jess’s neck; attempted – but failed – to prise Valentina into something warmer than a sequinned T-shirt; then, more exhausted than if she’d knocked out every wall on the street, stood on the step and waved them off, heaving a sigh of relief at not only having the children out of the house, but at having Olly – and his eerily perceptive brown eyes - out of the garden.

  Thanks to Olly’s intervention – and no interruptions of a ghostly nature or otherwise – Chrissie succeeded in removing the remainder of the unwanted attic walls, and disposing of all the rubble. Meaning she’d spent the bulk of the day in a cloud of demolition dust.

  ‘Mum, you look like a ghost,’ giggled Harry, when he and the others arrived home early evening.

  At this observation, Chrissie bit back a smile as her gaze slid to Olly. Obviously doing the same, he shot her a wink. Which, for some ridiculous reason, set off a bout of fluttering in her stomach. Honestly, what was wrong with her?

  ‘We stopped at a really cool coffee shop on the way back,’ Jess piped up, hauling Chrissie out of her reverie. ‘We bought you a cream scone.’ She plonked a cake box down on the dusty table, before whisking out of the room with Valentina. Harry scampered after them.

  Leaving Chrissie alone with Olly.

  ‘Did they behave themselves?’ she ventured.

  ‘They were great. Much better than a load of academics. In fact, ignoring the brief flirtatious interlude between Valentina and an Australian animal keeper, I’d award them all a gold star.’

  Chrissie blew out an exaggerated breath. ‘Phew. Thank goodness for that. Apart from the flirting – obviously. Although it could’ve been worse. She could’ve asked him for a fag.’

  Olly snorted with laughter. ‘I bet you’re glad she’s only here for three weeks. Imagine if it were three months.’

  ‘I’d much rather not,’ giggled Chrissie, aware they were, once again, slipping into easy banter. And, once again, enjoying it. Olly might have an ulterior birdwatching motive in being nice to her, but she did like talking to him. ‘How did your meeting at the university go yesterday?’ she enquired. ‘Any update on the funding?’

  He shook his head. ‘None. Sometimes I think it would be easier squeezing money out of a mouldy lemon, than an academic institution.’

  ‘It certainly sounds like it. Anyway, the least I can do to thank you for entertaining my brood for the day, is make you a cup of tea. You can even share my scone.’

  His features twisted into a contrite arrangement. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. Diana’s going to try and Skype me from Bali in ten minutes.’

  At the mention of oceanographer “Diana”, Chrissie had the unpleasant sensation of a wet haddock being slapped about her face.

  ‘Oh. Right,’ she blustered, feeling a complete numpty. Of course he wouldn’t want to stay. He’d repaid his debt for use of the garden by taking the kids out for the day. He probably couldn’t wait to get away from them all now; back to Diana to hear all about the fascinating time she was having in Indonesia. ‘Goodness, you’d better hurry then,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Thank you again for today. And feel free to come round and look at the bird any time.’

  He stared at her blankly. ‘Bird?’

  ‘Yes. The lime-green-buttocked whatever it was.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, with a self-deprecating tut. ‘Of course. I’ll, er, see you later then.’

  ‘Yes. See you later,’ said Chrissie.

  Before returning to the kitchen, flipping open the cake box, gazing at the scone, and realising her previously raging appetite had totally deserted her.

  Whatever Olly’s reasons for taking the adolescents out for the afternoon, the trio’s subsequent good spirits continued right through until the next morning, when Chrissie discovered Jess smiling – albeit through a lip-glossed mouth, Harry continuing to rave about the man-eating lionfish, and Valentina wearing something with sleeves that almost resembled a jumper.

  This semi-appropriate garment lasted all of one hour, until the doorbell rang and Gwen and Ruth bustled into the house, alongside Ruth’s dishy eighteen-year-old grandson, Lucas, whose confident entrance contained more swagger than bustle.

  ‘We’ve brought Lucas,’ Gwen announced.

  ‘Yes. You have,’ mumbled Chrissie, panic stirring as she observed Valentina’s enormous brown eyes sweep over Lucas’s athletic frame, unseasonably golden skin and surfer-dude blond hair. And Lucas’s dazzling blue eyes sweep over the Brazilian’s perfect curves, long legs and lustrous mane of black hair. Obviously noting the same, Valentina whipped off the almost-jumper, to reveal a skimpy black beaded bodice, that made Chrissie shiver just looking at it.

  ‘Lucas has some experience with… you know… the other side,’ Gwen informed her with a wink.

  Far too concerned with all the oestrogen and testosterone ricocheting around the hall, Chrissie gawped at her neighbour wondering which “other side” she was referring to. The fence? The street? The county? Then, as Gwen started sniffing again, it hit her: Maisie’s ghost. Which Chrissie had scarcely giv
en a thought to. And which she really didn’t want the children giving any thought to. She was debating how best to present her misgivings when Jess appeared.

  ‘Mum, what’s my hairdryer doing in the laundry basket?’

  Chrissie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Someone must have put it there.’

  At which point Gwen and Ruth exchanged a knowing look, before chorusing, ‘Maisie!’

  ‘So, you think Maisie’s spirit is floating around the house?’ pressed Jess, when everyone was gathered in the kitchen a few minutes later, and Gwen and Ruth had gone on to explain their theory.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ dismissed Chrissie, doing her best not to over-excite the adolescents. A completely futile mission given they appeared fascinated by the revelation. Even Valentina, who was flicking her hair about with more vigour than usual. Although Chrissie suspected that had more to do with Lucas being unable to prise his eyes from her.

  ‘Tell me, do many things go missing in the house?’ enquired Ruth.

  ‘Loads. All the time,’ replied Harry. ‘And they turn up in the weirdest places.’

  Ruth nodded pensively. ‘Hmm. That sounds very like something Maisie would do. She loved a joke.’

  ‘So, she’s like moving stuff around and laughing at us when we can’t find it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Harry’s eyes expanded to saucer-like proportions. ‘Awesome! I wish we could film her and put her on YouTube.’

  ‘Oh, she wouldn’t like that,’ piped up Gwen. ‘Not unless she’s just had her hair permed.’

  Chrissie didn’t know what to say to that.

  Nor, it appeared by the subsequent silence, did anyone else.

  ‘I’ve just had an ace idea,’ yelled Harry, apparently taking the hiatus to mean everyone had lost their hearing. ‘We should have a séance.’

  Gwen clapped her hands. ‘That is an ace idea, Harry. We’ll need one of those wee-wee board things though.’

  ‘Ouija board,’ corrected Lucas. ‘And I already have one.’

  ‘Where from?’ gasped his grandmother. ‘And, more to the point, why?’

  ‘Ordered it off the internet when my sisters were convinced our house was haunted.’

  ‘Cool,’ gushed Valentina, with another hair flick.

  Lucas grinned and puffed out his chest.

  ‘You find ghosts?’

  The grin wavered. ‘Um, not really.’

  ‘Oh,’ muttered Valentina – minus a hair flick.

  ‘But I’m sure I heard footsteps on the stairs that night. And a clanking of chains.’

  His attempt at redemption worked beautifully.

  ‘Wow,’ gushed the Brazilian, running her tongue over her lips.

  At which, Lucas’s chest expanded a tad further and the voltage on his grin increased.

  Chrissie, meanwhile, devoid of any desire to enquire further into the clanking of chains in her neighbour’s house, seemed the only one not remotely excited by the prospect of a séance. And not without good reason.

  ‘What if Maisie hates me for ripping the house apart?’ she whimpered. ‘After all, it was her home for over ninety years.’

  Gwen shook her head. ‘Nonsense. She’ll be delighted to see new life being breathed into it. And she’ll be over the moon you’re getting a new kitchen. She hated the old one.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. She’ll also love the fact that there are children here. She always said these were family houses. And that if the walls on Lovelace Lane could talk, the BBC would have a field day. She said there’d been more dramas here over the years – most involving affairs of the heart – to keep the Beeb in Sunday night entertainment for the next two decades. In fact,’ she continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, ‘reading between the lines, I think Maisie might have had a little dalliance with one of the lane’s gardeners at some point.’

  ‘Goodness. How very Lady Chatterley,’ mumbled Ruth, the flush spreading over her rouged cheeks making Chrissie wonder if she’d ever had a fling with a gardener.

  ‘Well, as we have the wee-wee board,’ proclaimed Gwen, reverting to organisational mode, ‘shall we all meet back here at seven o’clock this evening? I’m sure Gerry will want to come too. If nothing else, to ask Maisie what she used to put in her cheese soufflés. He has an awful problem getting his to rise.’

  Ignoring the snort from Lucas at this confession, Chrissie found herself reluctantly agreeing to see them all later, seeing them out with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

  ‘So, Harry tells me you’re having a séance,’ remarked Olly that afternoon.

  Chrissie had spotted him through the kitchen window a few minutes before, staring up a tree through his binoculars. She’d promptly wished she hadn’t though, when he’d turned his head and his gaze had snagged on hers. He’d given an enthusiastic wave. Not wanting him to feel under any obligation to do more than that, Chrissie had returned it with a lacklustre one, before shuffling away from the window, swiping up an after-dinner mint wrapper that was fluttering about her feet, then making an effort to create some kind of order in the room. Now, however, Harry having dragged Olly inside to show him something he couldn’t find and was searching his bedroom for – blaming Maisie’s ghost all the while – Chrissie had little choice but to engage in small talk with her newest neighbour.

  ‘Yes. A séance,’ she replied, once again feeling like a halfwit. Everyone – or almost everyone – knew ghosts didn’t exist. Especially scientists. He must think her idiotic for going along with the farce. In a bid to redeem some credibility, she added, ‘I can’t believe I agreed to it. Although, I don’t actually think I did agree to it. Gwen’s just gone ahead and arranged it, absolutely convinced Maisie is floating around here.’

  ‘If she is, you’d think she’d give you a hand with the dusting,’ he chortled.

  ‘I know,’ chuckled Chrissie, relieved he saw the humour in it. ‘Or she could provide a new spirit level. And that, by the way, is Harry’s joke, not mine.’

  Olly laughed, before clearing his throat. ‘I, um, wondered if you’d mind if I tagged along tonight. It sounds like fun.’

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Chrissie, taken aback at the request. Why would a highbrow intellectual like Olly be remotely interested in a stupid little séance? ‘Well, if you really want to, then of course you can. I’m sure Harry would like you to,’ she shoved on the end, just in case she’d appeared too keen. Which she wasn’t. Not at all.

  Olly’s mouth stretched into a smile. ‘Great. I’ll look forward to it.’

  A few hours later, all the séance participants gathered in the room that would one day be Yew Tree House’s state-of-the-art kitchen. There was Gwen and Gerry – bearing home-made beetroot crisps and a jar of olives; Ruth and Lucas - bearing the Ouija board; Olly bearing his duffel coat; and Jess and Harry bearing huge grins and effervescing with excitement. As they all took their seats – including two deckchairs thoughtfully brought round by Olly - Valentina made her entrance, in a long, tight, black dress, that immediately put Chrissie in mind of Morticia Adams.

  Indeed, so surreal did the whole affair seem to Chrissie, that she briefly wondered if she’d been set up and someone had planted cameras around the house for a fly-on-the-wall entertainment programme. Before any cackling TV presenter could pop up, however, she slipped into the chair next to Lucas, before Valentina had a chance to do the same. But, having to then vacate the chair to hunt out a cushion for Gerry – whose piles were playing up, so Gwen informed everyone – she discovered, on her return with said cushion, that Valentina had taken her place. Leaving the only free seat between Gwen and Olly. Observing the set-up for a couple of cushion-clutching seconds, Chrissie couldn’t decide what was freaking her out most: the thought of Lucas holding Valentina’s hand during the meeting; or the thought of Olly holding hers.

  Once Chrissie had made sure Gerry was comfortable, and slid into the free chair, Gwen took charge, doling out instructions, flicking off lights
– then subsequently tripping over an empty bucket on her way back to the table.

  ‘Please take the person’s hand either side of you,’ came her command, when everyone was settled and the only sound in the darkened room was that of breathing.

  As Olly took Chrissie’s hand, wrapping his firm, gentle fingers around it, something warm and smooth trickled down her spine. Without turning her head, she slid her eyes sideways, sneaking a look at him. Finding him doing the same, her stomach flipped and she promptly snapped her gaze back to the centre of the table, concluding that, even if Maisie herself appeared on the board, doing the macarena and dressed as a banana, Chrissie couldn’t feel any more weird than she did at that particular moment.

  Despite Gwen’s best efforts to summon her deceased friend – which included lots of questions like: “Are you there?”, “Was it two or three egg yolks”, and “Is it all in the whisking?”, the only notable activity during the séance was much tittering from Jess, a squeal from Ruth when Harry had attempted a spooky voice, and Gerry contracting the hiccups. When Gwen finally announced the meeting at an end, Chrissie didn’t know what she was more relieved at: the fact that a macarena-ing Maisie hadn’t appeared on the table dressed as a banana, or the fact that she could, at last, release her hold of Olly’s hand.

  But she had no right thinking about Olly’s hands, she chided herself as she prepared for bed, scrunching up an after-dinner mint wrapper that had appeared next to her slippers. The man was well and truly taken. And besides, nice hands or not, she wasn’t interested in him in that way. Not even the teeniest, weeniest fraction of a bit.

  Chapter Seven