Never Can Say Goodbye Read online

  Just as well Lilly isn’t here, Frankie thought. She’d be in floods of tears by now.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention any of this to me before?’ Dexter frowned at Frankie. ‘Did it just slip your mind to tell me that your elderly Eddie Izzard had suddenly turned into Jacob Marley?’

  ‘And would you have believed me? No, of course you wouldn’t. I didn’t even believe it. And I was frightened enough myself – I certainly didn’t want to scare people away from the shop by talking about it. Not to anyone. Not Lilly and certainly not Cherish, not even you.’

  Anyway, she thought, you’ve clearly got secrets of your own. Obviously not ghostly ones, but huge skeletons rattling about in your cupboard.

  ‘What we need,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘is a ghost-buster.’

  ‘That we don’t!’ Ernie was adamant. ‘The last thing I needs is for a lot of loud plinketty-plonk soundtrack and damn Dan Ackroyd and his chums running round here with their fume-filled backpacks blasting me into a vapour. No thank you very much.’

  Dexter laughed.

  Frankie smiled at Ernie. ‘Sorry, that possibly wasn’t the best suggestion. How about if we tried to get the vicar involved, then? Vicars can lay ghosts to rest, can’t they? I’m sure I’ve read about it. We could get the vicar in and have a sort of exorcism and—’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ Ernie looked aghast. ‘Literally, in my case. Me and Achsah liked going to the pictures when they had the Alhambra in Winterbrook. Every Saturday night we went. I saw that film as well. Bloody scary it was, too. There’s no way you’re going to get my head spinning like a damn top and me spewing out green slime and very bad language.’

  Dexter laughed again. ‘I don’t think that’s how an exorcism works in real life, does it?’

  ‘Search me.’ Ernie frowned. ‘I know as much about it as you do. But I’m not prepared to take the risk, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘What about a seance, then?’ Frankie said. ‘Does that sound more realistic?’

  ‘Or a Ouija board?’ Dexter shrugged. ‘Aren’t they supposed to put the living in contact with the dead?’

  ‘Not a Ouija board,’ Frankie said firmly. ‘There was a phase of that over in Lovers Knot some time ago. Lilly told me. One of the girls from Jennifer Blessings’ salon was really keen on it. They got a lot more than they bargained for by all accounts. Several people were on medication for months afterwards. And none of them sleep with the lights out even now.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Dexter looked horrified. ‘We’ll leave that well alone then. But a seance sounds OK. Doesn’t it?’

  Frankie sighed. ‘I have no idea, really. I’ve never believed in any of it, or had anything to do with anyone who does. What do you reckon, Ernie? Should we ask someone with the right, er, powers to contact you, and the rest of the spirit world, and sort out why you’re trapped here and unhappy, and maybe they’d be able to free you?’

  ‘Sounds better than your previous suggestions,’ Ernie conceded. ‘But do you know anyone who might be able to –?’

  ‘Maisie Fairbrother!’ Dexter and Frankie spoke together and laughed.

  ‘Dear heavens.’ Ernie shook his head sorrowfully. ‘She’s as mad as a skinned salami that one. But, OK, she does dabble in the spirit world, and even my Achsah – who was a very religious woman – thought that maybe Maisie had some sort of contact with the hereafter. And, to be honest, if I’m going to be mediumed into the afterlife, I’d rather it was by someone I knew, rather than a complete stranger.’

  ‘OK.’ Dexter exhaled. ‘So, you’re willing to give it a go, are you?’

  ‘I am, Dexter lad. And the sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.’

  Ten minutes later, in the plush warmth of Dexter’s luxurious car, Frankie leaned her head back against the soft leather and stared through the windscreen. It was bitterly cold. Outside, everything glittered, and the crescent moon was a white-gold scar on the otherwise perfect black velvet sky.

  ‘Shouldn’t we have phoned Maisie first, to say we’re on our way?’ She turned to look at Dexter in the darkness. ‘Or asked if it was convenient? Isn’t just turning up a bit rude?’

  ‘I know where she lives, having taken her home before, and neither of us know her phone number. And I don’t know about you, but the sooner we get this … this madness sorted out, the better. If she doesn’t want to see us tonight she can say so, can’t she?’

  ‘I suppose so. Look, I’m really grateful to you for all this. I’ve been worrying about it for days now, thinking I was going crazy.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Dexter smiled across at her. ‘It still all seems too far-fetched to be true, but, well, I’m intrigued now. And more than a bit spooked by it. And, OK, he seems like a nice old boy, even if does think he’s dead, and if he’s just play-acting, then this should flush him out. And if he isn’t … well, if we can help him we should, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘We should,’ Frankie agreed. ‘I also think that we shouldn’t mention exactly who it is that’s haunting the shop to Maisie. I think we should just be a bit vague and say I think she may have been right when she said it was haunted. I’m still not sure she’s genuine. Let’s see if she actually discovers that it’s Ernie, shall we?’

  ‘Devious.’ Dexter chuckled. ‘But I like it. Yes, I think you’re right. If he’s a fraud then we can scare him witless. And if she’s a fraud, then we don’t want to give her any clues, do we? OK, we’re here now.’

  Dexter pulled the car to a halt outside a neat block of tiny service flats on the Hazy Hassocks road. Lights glowed warmly in the curtained windows, but there was no one about. Hardly surprising, Frankie thought as she stepped reluctantly from the delicious warmth into the searingly cold frosty evening.

  ‘She lives on the ground floor, to the left.’ Dexter locked the car and followed Frankie into the flat’s small, neat entrance foyer. ‘At least Brian and I didn’t have to haul her upstairs. It’s this one.’

  Frankie rang the bell.

  After a minute, which, to Frankie, seemed more like an hour, Maisie opened the door a sliver, leaving the chain on, and peered out at them through the crack. ‘Yes? Who is it?’

  ‘Maisie, I’m really sorry to bother you.’ Frankie cleared her throat. She seemed to be making a habit of impromptu late visits to elderly people. She’d probably be getting some sort of reputation round the villages as a geriatric botherer. ‘Um, it’s me. Frankie from, er, Rita’s shop. And Dexter – Ray Valentine’s nephew.’

  ‘Ah, lovely, sweethearts.’ The chain rattled free and the door opened. ‘How nice to see you. Come along in.’

  Dexter and Frankie stared up at the towering Maisie who was wearing a pink and orange quilted housecoat wrapped round her considerable bulk, with her cauliflower hair in a spike of multicoloured rollers, and teetering on high-heeled diamante and fluffy pink mules.

  ‘Thank you.’ Frankie stepped into ankle-deep plum shagpile carpeting, followed by Dexter. ‘Oh, what a lovely flat.’

  Well, it was. To her. To anyone not given to clutter and clashing colours and twinkly, sparkly things – clearly like Dexter – it would be a hellhole.

  Maisie hadn’t just decked the halls with boughs of holly, she’d decked everywhere with everything. It was like a grotto but without the pixies.

  ‘Come through, sweethearts.’ Maisie swayed into her tiny living room. ‘Make yourselves comfy. I was just watching a bit of telly, but never mind that. I can pause and save.’

  Sky Plus, Frankie thought, had opened a whole new joyous world to the older telly addict.

  A Christmas tree, flouting any rules of colour co-ordination or style, dominated the hothouse room. It drooped under the weight of far too much tinsel and far too many lights and dozens and dozens of mismatched baubles.

  ‘Oh! Fabulous tree!’ Frankie clasped her hands together in delight.

  Dexter looked at her with deep pity.

  ‘Thank you. I love Christmas, don’t you? I did the tree at the end of Nove
mber. I know it might be a bit early to have the decs up, but I do so love them. Now, can I get you something to eat? Drink?’

  They both shook their heads and proclaimed they were fine, thank you.

  Maisie settled herself on a pink dralon chair amid a lot of slithery cushions, once they’d seated themselves side by side in amongst even more cushions on the matching sofa. ‘So, not that it’s not lovely to see you, but what can I do for you?’

  They looked at one another, then Frankie leaned forwards. ‘It’s about the ghosts, in my shop … ’

  ‘Ah.’ Maisie’s eyes sparkled almost as much as her Christmas tree. ‘I told you you’d be needing me, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did.’ Frankie nodded solemnly. ‘And you were right. I’m sorry that I doubted you.’

  Beside her, Dexter stifled a snort.

  Maisie wriggled excitedly. ‘So, what have you seen? What have you felt?’

  ‘Er … ’ Frankie, crossing her fingers, hesitated and avoided Dexter’s eyes. ‘Well, I haven’t actually seen anything, but there’s a sort of presence. Um, a cold feeling? A sort of feeling that when I’m alone, I’m not. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ Maisie beamed. ‘Sounds like a classic case of a haunting to me.’

  Relieved, Frankie exhaled and uncrossed her fingers. Dexter snuffled. She still didn’t look at him.

  ‘So, sweethearts, what are you asking me to do?’

  ‘Um … ’ Frankie faltered.

  ‘Well, more or less, just get rid of it, er, them,’ Dexter put in quickly. ‘That is, we’re not sure how you do your, er, mediuming, but if you could sort of find out if there is anything there –’

  ‘Oh, there is!’ Maisie said triumphantly. ‘I felt it the minute I stepped inside, didn’t I, Frankie?’

  ‘You did. Quite dramatically.’

  ‘Yes, so,’ Dexter continued manfully, ‘if you could, er, lay the ghost – I mean, ghosts – for Frankie, it would be a great help.’

  ‘No problem at all.’ Maisie preened. ‘I’m just glad you’ve seen sense and asked me. Right now, sweethearts, we’ve established that you have spirits and need to be rid of them, but what exactly are you looking for?’

  Frankie frowned. It was like being asked questions by a party-planner. Balloons? Streamers? Music? A table magician? A nice cake?

  ‘Actually, I don’t really know. I thought you’d tell us. That is, I agree with you that the shop is haunted and I don’t want it to be, but I have no idea what you need to do or what you need us to provide, so I’ll – we’ll – leave it to you.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Maisie rubbed her chubby much be-ringed hands together. ‘I’ll have a little one-to-one session then. I can come into the shop one night and talk to the unhappy, restless spirits and see what their problems are and ask them to leave you alone. Does that sound about right for you?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Super, sweethearts. I like it when clients have open minds.’

  ‘My mind is pretty closed, actually.’ Dexter was still trying to balance on a very slippery candyfloss-pink satin cushion. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  Maisie tutted loudly. ‘You’re not alone there, sadly. I find so many people don’t believe. But you must have felt something otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?’

  ‘I’m here for Frankie. It’s her shop and her problem and I want to help her.’

  Frankie had a little warm glow of happiness moment.

  ‘Ah, sweetheart, how lovely.’ Maisie smiled. ‘Okey-dokey. What I’ll need is an empty shop. Preferably late at night. I don’t want any confusing auras around, do I?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Right, and I’ll need you there too, as the haunting may be linked to you rather than the premises, but as I’ve already picked up that you’re both sceptical –’ Maisie made it sound as if they were suffering from some unspeakable antisocial disease ‘– it would help if we could have someone who has no such blocking emotions in place – just in case I need to go through a third party.’

  Dexter and Frankie looked at one another.

  ‘Um, I could ask Lilly, my housemate,’ Frankie said doubtfully. ‘She believes in fairies and the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas and aliens and well, everything.’

  ‘Perfect, sweetheart.’ Maisie nodded the myriad rollers. ‘She sounds just the ticket. So, how about this Saturday night coming? Just before midnight? Then if it all gets too exhausting we’ll have the Sunday to recover, won’t we?’

  ‘OK by me,’ Frankie said, ‘and I’ll make sure Lilly is free. Dexter?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can cancel whatever hot date I may have planned for a spot of spook-spotting.’

  ‘Don’t mock,’ Maisie said severely. ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘No, sorry.’ Dexter tried to keep a straight face.

  ‘Right, sweethearts. That’s all fixed then. I’ll bring the few things that I need, and if you could just make sure there’s a nice carafe of iced water available – it can be very thirsty work – and, if you could keep it a secret I’d appreciate it. I don’t need a lot of negativity building up and confusing the auras, if you get my drift?’

  They nodded again.

  Dexter lost the struggle with the cushion and stood up. ‘And I’ll come and collect you, shall I? I know you have transport problems getting from here to Kingston Dapple.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, thank you.’ Maisie stood up too, teetering slightly on the vertiginous mules. ‘So, if we say you’ll collect me at about eleven thirty next Saturday night, I can have a little afternoon nap to gather my strength. And we’ll have your spirit problem sorted out in a trice, sweetheart.’

  Frankie, reluctantly letting go of her own clutched collection of cushions – they would look fabulous in her bedroom – stood up, too. ‘That’s wonderful, Maisie, thank you. Oh, and do we pay you now, or, um, afterwards?’

  ‘Afterwards will be fine, sweetheart. I do piecework. Charge by the hour. I’ll prepare an invoice and send it in.’

  Dexter and Frankie exchanged amused glances as they all waded towards the door through the shagpile.

  ‘Until Saturday, then,’ Maisie said cheerfully, waving them goodbye. ‘Crikey, it’s cold out here, sweethearts. Heck of a frost, isn’t it? Looks like we might be getting a white Christmas. Mind how you go now. Nighty-night.’

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh,’ Frankie hissed, her breath spiralling into the freezing night air, as they hurried towards the car. ‘At least wait until she’s closed the door.’

  ‘I’m not laughing.’ Dexter pressed the key fob’s zapper, and the car made a reassuring clicking noise. ‘I think we both need certifying. And I can feel a migraine coming on. All those colours! All those sparkly things! How can anyone live comfortably in all that glitter?’

  ‘I thought it was really lovely.’ Frankie snuggled pleasurably into the car’s soft leather seat. ‘And not at all over the top. Blimey, if, you think that’s bad, you should see my bedroom.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the invite, Miss Meredith.’ Dexter grinned as he pulled the car away from Maisie’s flat. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never ask.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cherish stood at the bus stop and shivered inside her fawn raincoat. Even with the nice thick sheepskin lining buttoned in, the north-easterly wind whistled from Siberia, across Kingston Dapple’s marketplace, and straight through to her woolly vest.

  ‘Oooh, hurry up bus,’ Cherish muttered, blowing on her beige mittens. ‘I want to get home and make a nice cup of tea.’

  It was Wednesday afternoon. The end of Cherish’s third day working at Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks. And she could honestly say she’d never been happier. Well, not since those early days at Miriam’s Modes, anyway.

  It really was a lovely little shop, and she’d had so much fun working with Frankie – who wasn’t at all like she thought she’d be – and serving the customers with their chosen dresses. And this
afternoon, she and Frankie had taken it in turns to go upstairs to the stockroom and start sifting through all the dresses that had been donated to the shop but not yet dry-cleaned and put out on the rails. Cherish had absolutely loved it. All those beautiful designs in all those gorgeous vintage fabrics. Frocks made when dressmakers were worthy of the name and crafted one-offs rather than the current conveyor belt churning out of masses of cheap replicas.

  And it hadn’t mattered at all that she hadn’t been able to suggest any colour advice to the customers. In fact, Cherish thought now, stamping her fur-lined ankle bootees, she may well give up the colour-palette advisory service altogether. Hopefully, Frankie might even increase her hours in the shop, then there simply wouldn’t be any time for sidelines, would there?

  How lovely it would be, to be too busy working to take on anything else?

  Cherish shivered again. She hoped the bus wouldn’t be too crowded. She disliked having to stand all the way to Hazy Hassocks. And no one these days gave up their seat for a lady, did they? Cherish sighed. It was a whole new world with a whole new set of values and, despite what Biddy said, they’d have to move with it or get left far behind. She smiled to herself. She, Cherish, was becoming a New Woman.

  Across the square, the Christmas lights all swayed and danced in the gale, and the marketplace’s Christmas tree was nodding so violently it looked as though the angel on the top, made by Kingston Dapple’s Mixed Infants, was in dire danger of tumbling head first onto the cobbles.

  The angel, Cherish thought, having peered up at it closely the previous day, actually looked a lot like Bruce Forsyth. She wasn’t sure if this was intentional on the part of the Kingston Dapple Mixed Infants. But she’d smiled at it anyway. She’d always liked Brucie.

  Several other people joined her at the bus stop. They all managed to avoid one another’s eyes. Cherish didn’t mind. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Her life was working out really nicely thank you.

  She wasn’t even dreading Christmas now. Frankie had said she was going home to spend Christmas with her family, and the shop would be closed for three days: Christmas Day, Boxing Day and the day after. Then she’d open up again because there might be a rush of customers looking for a nice frock for New Year’s Eve. Would that be all right or would Cherish prefer to take the whole week off and come in again after the New Year?