After that we continued to live in
the cottage much as before except for the fact we didn’t
eat, of course. With my cooking it wasn’t a great loss
and on the plus side you didn’t have to diet. We soon learnt
how to appear and disappear at will, although walking through
walls is a myth. I suggested James experiment one day but
at least we discovered it was possible for a ghost to feel
pain. It was only in the spring that our continued presence
in Little Eden was finally discovered. Unfortunately it
is true that a few canines are sensitive to the psychic
presence. And that pesky border collie at Honeysuckle Farm
had to be one of them.
#
What a fuss! Naturally reactions were
mixed and ranged from neurotic vicars planning exorcisms
to entrepreneurs adding us to the ‘What’s on in Lakeland’ guide
produced by the National Park. At first I have to admit
it went to my head and I almost felt like a celebrity.
I took to popping up unexpectedly
in the gift shop, floating tea towels and mint cake around
the visitors’ heads. Or lurking in the village pub, mysteriously
hiding pints of beer when the customers weren’t looking.
This wasn’t so successful and I was finally banned after
several nasty fights broke out. Honestly, it was only a
joke.
James brought me back to earth one
day with a bump.
“Rebecca, if you carry on like this,
we’re going to be in serious trouble. At the moment we’re
a useful tourist attraction and accepted as harmless spirits.
But you’re going to get us exorcised if you don’t stop
this. I overheard Reverend Pettigrew on the phone to someone
yesterday. I don’t know whether it was the Archbishop of
Canterbury or the Pope but either way there could be unpleasant
repercussions. For heaven’s sake, Rebecca, we’ve got a
nice afterlife here in the village. Please don’t spoil
it for us.”
I was subdued. I knew in my heart
or whatever passed as a substitute these days, he was right.
But I was young and bored—which was why I came up with
the idea of the holiday.
“Why don’t you pop in to the Tourist
Information?” suggested James tactlessly. “They might know
of some special excursions.”
“And they were so helpful last time,” I
muttered sulkily.
Still I could always look at the leaflets
and cause no end of problems for the assistant at the same
time. She’s still looking for her guided walks itinerary
and the Beatrix Potter diary. Childish perhaps but hobbies
are limited for a ghost and anyway she started it.
#
This was how I happened to spot the
notice advertising the W.I. day out to Ambleside. I appreciate
to some of you this may not seem like the glittering occasion
of the year but in Little Eden it was always a big event.
And we didn’t even have to sneak on board because they
knew our situation already. Wasn’t I a member?
Again prejudice reared its ugly head.
#
“Oh no, dear, it’s not because you’re
ghosts,” explained Mrs. Merryweather reassuringly. “Haven’t
we always been broadminded? No, it’s simply that James
is a man and we couldn’t possibly take one of those with
us.”
“But you can’t even see him,” I wrote
down on the pad we took everywhere with us.
She read the words mysteriously appearing
under the biro and shook her head.
“Ah, but we’d know he was there, dear.
I’m sorry.”
#
That was it. I had tried to play by
their rules but this time they were being totally unreasonable.
I invented a foolproof plan. On the morning of the trip
I was waiting by the minibus, pad in hand.
“Is that you, Rebecca?” said Mrs Brown
politely to the air beyond my right ear.
I lifted the pad and wrote my message
for her.
“Oh, James insisted you come on the
trip on your own, did he? Said it would do you good?”
The pad nodded.
“Lovely, dear. Just put your note
on the seat so we know where you are. Wouldn’t want to
sit on you, would we?” she joked, weakly I thought.
