‘Thank you.’ Cherish took the packages. Three of them. Beautifully wrapped. ‘And these are yours. I bought three, too, and they’re more sensible than the stocking fillers.’ She handed the carrier bag to Brian.
‘Thanks, gel.’ Brian settled himself into the opposite chair. ‘Right lovely this, isn’t it?’
‘Wonderful,’ Cherish muttered as she opened the first small package. ‘Oh, Brian! Scent! Anais Anais – ooh, it’s gorgeous. How lovely. I never buy myself scent.’
‘I know, you said.’ Brian opened his first parcel. ‘It’s only the eaudy twaheltte or whatever they call it, not the real thing. Couldn’t get the real thing with the money restrictions you set on me. Blimey, gel, thank you, this is right brilliant.’
Cherish laughed happily as Brian held up the warm woollen tartan scarf. Almost cashmere but not quite, but still soft and perfect to keep out the cold when he was working on the flower stall.
‘And these too.’ Brian held up the thick fingerless thermal mittens from his second present. ‘I’ll certainly need them. I’ve been wanting a pair of these for ages.’
‘Oooh,’ Cherish squealed with delight, opening her own second present. ‘How pretty!’ She held up the scarlet woollen scarf, pull-on hat and gloves set.
Brian shrugged. ‘I thought you might like a splash of colour to go with your winter coat.’
‘I’d never have bought anything like this,’ Cherish admitted. ‘Not for myself, not in such a bright colour, but you’re right – it’ll look lovely. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome. I’m so glad you like it. Funny that we’ve bought each other nice things to keep us warm, isn’t it?’
‘Great minds thinking alike?’ Cherish said, almost flirtatiously. ‘Or maybe we just know each other quite well now?’
‘I reckon we do. Oh, Cherish, gel.’ Brian opened his last present. ‘This is just lovely.’
Cherish smiled to herself. She’d really, really hoped Brian would like the book. She knew he wasn’t much of a reader, but it was one of those nostalgia editions, with lots of pictures and snippets of news from the last fifty years.
‘Blimey, look at that! That’s just how I remember it!’ Brian was happily flicking through the glossy pages. ‘And that! And this! Oh, I shall have hours of fun with this. You couldn’t have given me anything better.’
‘Or me,’ Cherish said in amazement, gazing at her final gift. ‘A Jane Austen box set. I’ve never had them all, and I do so love them. How on earth … ?’
‘Ah, I cheated a bit on that one, gel. I asked Frankie about what books she thought you’d like. She said you’d told her you was a Janet.’
‘Janeite.’
‘Ah, that’s it.’ Brian looked a bit puzzled. ‘I wasn’t sure what it meant.’
‘It just means that I’m a Jane Austen fan. And it was so clever of you to ask her.’ Cherish chuckled. ‘Oh, aren’t we lucky?’
‘Ah, we are that. Oh, just listen to that wind roaring out there. And here we are all snug and cosy and warm indoors just waiting to put our feet up by the fire and enjoy a good film. Could there be anyone having a better time than us, gel?’
Cherish shook her head, happily snuggling down in her cushions and hugging Pride and Prejudice, which she thought she’d dip into if the film wasn’t perhaps to her taste. ‘Definitely not. Brian, thank you. Thank you so much for making this the best Christmas I’ve ever had.’
Brian smiled happily. ‘It’s mine an’ all, gel. And it doesn’t have to stop here, does it? We could make a habit of this. We sort of shake along right well together, don’t we? No point in us both being lonely, is there?’
Cherish shook her head. ‘No, there isn’t.’
‘So you wouldn’t object if we did this again, sometime?’
‘No,’ said Cherish happily. ‘No, I wouldn’t object at all.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Frankie rolled over in bed, wriggled her pillows more comfortably, snuggled further beneath the pink and purple flounces, and sleepily touched her earrings. Dexter’s Christmas present. Little stud earrings, shaped like pretty 1950s prom-frocks, beautifully enamelled in pink and lilac complete with peeping net petticoats. Unbelievably beautiful. She’d wear them forever. She closed her eyes again and drifted off, smiling.
Then the phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Groaning, eyes still closed, she fumbled and groped across the beside table. ‘Hello.’
‘Frankie, dear.’
‘Cherish?’ Frankie raised her head from her pillows and blinked blearily at her phone. ‘Is that you? Why are you ringing me? What day is it?’
‘It’s the twenty-eighth, Frankie.’
‘Oh Lord – have I overslept? No, it’s not even seven yet. It’s the middle of the night. It’s still dark. Cherish, are you ringing from a mobile?’
‘Yes.’ Cherish sounded agitated.
‘You haven’t got a mobile, have you?’
‘No, dear. It’s Dexter’s.’
Frankie blinked again. Was she still asleep? Why on earth was Cherish ringing her on Dexter’s mobile? Why was Cherish ringing her at all?
Frankie had driven back from her parents’ house after midnight, carefully negotiating the hard-packed snow, and had fallen gratefully into bed. And she’d only been asleep for about five minutes, hadn’t she?
‘Er, sorry, Cherish? Are you ill? Is there a problem? Where are you?’
‘I’m not ill, dear. Well, there’s not a problem if you’re holding an early sale at the shop, and I’m in the market square.’
‘I’m not planning on holding a sale.’ Frankie was mystified. ‘Why are you at work so early?’
‘I came in with Brian, dear. We were going to have breakfast together in the Greasy Spoon. I’ve been staying at his bungalow over the festive period. Oh, separate bedrooms, dear, in case that sounds in any way sordid.’
Oh, God. Frankie exhaled. It was getting madder by the minute.
‘Cherish, is Dexter there? Can I speak to him?’
‘You can, dear. But I think you should get down here as quickly as possible. There are about three thousand people in the market square and they’re all wanting to get into your shop.’
‘What?’ With a squawk of horror, Frankie leaped out of bed and scrabbled for her clothes. There was clearly no time for a shower. ‘Why? What on earth’s going on? Look, OK, hold on, I’m getting dressed. What – Oh, hi.’
‘Hi.’ Dexter’s voice echoed cheerfully in her ear. ‘And does that mean you’re currently naked?’
‘Yes. No. Go away.’
Dexter laughed.
Frankie tucked the phone under her chin as she hopped around, pulling on whatever was nearest. ‘Thank you so much for the earrings. They’re incredible. I love them.’
‘I’m glad. They just seemed, well, you, I suppose.’
‘You couldn’t have given me anything I’d love more.’
‘Good. And are you dressed now?’
‘Sort of.’
‘OK, now I’ve lost interest.’
‘Dexter! Seriously, what’s happening there?’
‘No idea. I’ve only just arrived – the flower market is closed, but I had a deal with another supplier for some more sparkly tulips – so I picked up my stock early, and just turned up here to find Cherish and Brian and a whole load of other people outside your shop.’
‘About three thousand, Cherish said,’ Frankie muttered, trying to use a face wipe and put on her mascara at the same time.
‘More like thirty, I’d say. But enough. Especially as they all look … well, odd.’
‘Oh God, they’re not … um … dead people, are they? We haven’t got more ghosts trying to get in?’
‘Oh no, they’re very much alive. All muffled up against the sub-zeros and clutching flasks of Bovril.’
‘Stop right there. It’s all too mad. Don’t tell me any more until I get there. I’m on my way.’
She arrived in the market square ten minu
tes later. It was still pitch dark, and the Christmas lights twinkled merrily. The frozen snow, practically untrodden across the cobbles, looked beautiful, but it was still bitingly cold.
Frankie pushed her way through the crowd, who looked very much like birdwatchers, until she found Dexter. She grinned at him and hooked back her hair to display the earrings. ‘See? I’ll never take them off. Thank you so much.’
‘They look cute on.’ Dexter nodded. ‘And I’m just glad you’re happy with them.’
‘Happy is an understatement. They are my best ever present.’ She looked round the marketplace. ‘What the hell is this all about?’
‘Still no idea. Nice Christmas?’
‘Great, thanks. Over in the blink of an eye. You?’
‘Not really. Quiet. Very. And you look like an Easter chick.’
Frankie groaned. Possibly the short yellow woollen frock under her lemon jacket, the pink tights and the red boots weren’t the best colour combo, but she’d hardly been in a position to choose, had she?
‘Thanks. And where the heck is Cherish?’
‘She and Brian were frozen stiff so they’ve gone to get a fryup in the Greasy Spoon.’
‘And they spent Christmas together?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘Jesus.’
One of the people crowding outside Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks suddenly peeled away and approached her. Due to the puffa jacket, muffler and beanie hat it was impossible to guess the gender.
‘Excuse me, but do you know when the frock shop’s opening? It says the twenty-eighth on the door – and that’s today – but not the time.’
The hoarse voice gave no clues to its owner’s sex either.
‘Nine o’clock,’ Frankie said.
‘And are you the proprietor?’
‘Yes, but why? Who are you? Do you all want to buy dresses?’
‘No, of course not. I’m Jackie Minton, Chair of the Winterbrook Psychical Research Association.’
Female then.
Frankie smiled. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t see … ’
‘And I’m Alan Bradstock. I run the Willows Lacey Afterlife Group.’ Another similarly muffled figure pushed in front of Jackie. ‘We’re rival societies, see. And I don’t want her stealing a march on me.’
Ker-ching!
Frankie shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’re ghost-hunters?’
‘We don’t actually use that phrase,’ Alan Bradstock said tartly. ‘It’s very dumbed-down. We’re far more than that.’
‘Exactly,’ Jackie Minton agreed. ‘Anyway, we’ve heard that this shop has a presence and we’re all absolutely agog to get inside and feel for ourselves.’
‘But,’ Alan said, ‘if you’re the owner, you must know that you have a visitation.’
Frankie laughed. It sounded very false. ‘You mean, you think my shop’s haunted? I’ve never heard so much nonsense in my life!’
‘You might not be aware of it,’ Jackie rasped kindly. ‘You may be out of tune with the spirit world. We could help you.’
‘Yes, indeedy,’ Alan said jovially, stamping his feet. ‘Just let us inside and we’ll be able to commune with any ghosts that may have attached themselves to you.’
‘Over my dead body,’ Frankie snapped. ‘Please go away – all of you. I’m going to have some breakfast now. I’ll be opening the shop on the dot of nine o’clock – to sell frocks. Just to sell frocks. If you don’t want to buy a frock then please don’t come in. There-are-no-ghosts-in-my-shop – OK?’
And she pushed her way through the eager crowd, followed by Dexter.
‘Cool,’ he said admiringly. ‘You’re such a good liar.’
Frankie yanked at the door of the Greasy Spoon. ‘Who –’ she glared at him over her shoulder ‘– blabbed?’
‘Whoa! Don’t look at me like that. You’re scary. And I haven’t breathed a word. And who else knew?’
‘You and me. Lilly and Maisie.’ Frankie found a table by the window and plonked herself down. ‘No one else.’
‘So? Lilly?’ Dexter pulled out the chair opposite her. ‘Oh Lord – Cherish and Brian have seen us.’
‘Hardly surprising, seeing as we’re the only other people in here.’ She waved at them across the café. ‘Thanks for letting me know about this, er, influx, Cherish.’
‘Is it all OK, dear?’
‘Yes, yes, just a bit of a misunderstanding. Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy your breakfast. Oh, and you’re wearing a touch of red. Lovely. It really suits you.’
‘Thank you, dear. It was one of Brian’s Christmas presents to me. And I loved yours, dear. Just what I wanted. Thank you so much.’
‘Er, you’re welcome. And your bath cubes were gorgeous.’
‘Thank you, dear. My mother always loved freesia bath cubes. I knew you’d like them too.’
Frankie looked at Dexter. ‘I don’t think I can cope with them playing geriatric Romeo and Juliet at the moment, can you? It’s too weird. And I’ve got enough to worry about. And no, Lilly promised she wouldn’t say a word, and she hasn’t. I know Lilly’s a bit girly and frothy and stuff, but she’s dead straight. I trust Lilly implicitly.’
‘So? I haven’t told anyone, neither have you, and we’ve ruled out Lilly, so it has to be Maisie.’
‘But why?’ Frankie frowned. ‘She cocked it all up in the first place. Surely she wouldn’t claim bragging rights? Oh –’ she smiled at the motherly waitress ‘– two full English please, and two coffees. Mugs, please. Thank you.’
Dexter glanced through the window. ‘There seems to be even more of them arriving now. Do you think they have some sort of grapevine?’
‘Sixth sense.’ Frankie giggled.
Dexter laughed. ‘I’ve missed you.’
Frankie stopped giggling. ‘I missed you, too.’
‘Coffee!’ The motherly waitress plonked two mugs on the red Formica table top. ‘Breakfast in about five minutes, loves, OK?’
By the time their breakfast was over and daylight had begun to seep across Kingston Dapple, there was a crowd of about a hundred in the market square. The Greasy Spoon was doing a roaring trade in defrosting those who hadn’t come armed with wheat-filled hand-warmers and flasks.
Frankie and Dexter stood shivering outside Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks, their breath pluming into the sullen air.
‘You’re going to need a hand in keeping them out as soon as you unlock that door,’ Dexter said. ‘I’ll act as bouncer.’
‘Doorman is the correct phrase.’ Frankie looked wearily at the milling crowd. ‘Or so Lilly keeps telling me. She’s dated loads of them. That’s why her clubbing life is so good. Look, I’m just going to open up, and whiz in and see if the … um, well, if Ernie and co. are around, and then I’ll explain to them what’s happened and if they don’t mind then I think I’ll let the ghost-busters in.’
‘What? It’ll be mayhem.’
‘Maybe, but it’s got to be better than them all standing around out here proclaiming publicly that this place is more haunted than the Tower of London or something, hasn’t it? And who knows, one of them might actually be able to do something.’
Dexter looked doubtful. ‘Well, maybe.’
‘I’m going in now. It’s too damn cold to hang around outside, especially dressed as a chicken. You and Brian go and open up your stall before your twinkly tulips wilt. I’ll just explain to Cherish that this is all some huge misunderstanding, then we’ll see what happens.’
‘OK.’ Dexter nodded. ‘But I’ll be watching and I’ll be over like a shot if it all goes wrong.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ He kissed her gently. ‘And no mistletoe. I’m getting very bold.’
She was still smiling as she unlocked the door.
Ernie and Bev listened intently. Ruby, Gertie and Jared hadn’t materialised.
‘ … and so,’ Frankie finished, ‘it’s up to you. Shall I let them in and see if they can undo the damage tha
t Maisie caused you, or not?’
‘Can’t do any harm.’ Bev was still wearing tinsel and baubles. ‘To be frank, I’m getting very bored with the restrictions down here. I do feel very trapped. We had so much freedom before.’
‘And I just want to be with Achsah, duck, as you know.’
Frankie pulled a face. ‘I know. And all I want to do is just make you happy.’
‘You’re a nice girl.’ Bev tucked a strand of hair under her snood. ‘One good thing about being stuck here, though, was watching the snow. That took us back. We haven’t seen snow for ages of course. We spent a lot of time telling stories about snowy winters. Nice, it was.’
‘OK, so I let the … psychical researchers or whatever they call themselves in, and then what? Do you want to disappear and see what they can do, or would you prefer to stay already materialised?’
‘Over to Bev on that one,’ Ernie said gruffly. ‘She knows far more about it than I do.’
‘Oh, I think we’ll all vanish and see what happens,’ Bev said cheerfully. ‘They can’t do any more harm than that daft old bat, can they?’
‘Let’s hope not,’ Frankie said with a sigh. ‘And if they do manage to … um … raise you, could you not let on that you know me. I’ve lied a bit about all this.’
‘Don’t blame you, duck,’ Ernie said with deep understanding. ‘I’d lie through me teeth, too, if I was you.’
‘I’ll tell the others not to say anything either,’ Bev said. ‘We won’t give you away, Frankie.’
‘Thanks – you’re really lovely. OK, then, off you go.’
And off they went.
‘Goodness me, dear.’ Cherish bustled in then. ‘What a palaver. So, what’s going on then, dear? Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘In a minute,’ Frankie said. ‘Look, Cherish, there’s something I need to explain to you first. Those people outside – well, someone’s told them the shop is haunted.’ She gave what she hoped was a jolly laugh. ‘Stupid, I know, but they all belong to ghost-hunting groups, and they think they can come in and find, well, dead people. I have no idea where they got that silly notion from, but—’
Never Can Say Goodbye Page 26
