Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten Page B

Grace marched across the Green, Libby picked up Hyssop, turning him to face her.
    ‘That didn’t go well. I can’t believe she thinks I’m a home-wrecking tramp. At least I get to keep you. Is that okay?’ Why was she asking a cat? She checked her watch. Ten to. Bugger. She kissed Hyssop. ‘I’m late and Grace hates me. But Hyssop, it’s still going to be a great day.’
     
    * * *
     
    The cat sat on the little table in the hallway, turning his attention from the door that Libby had just closed to the stairs Zoë was trotting down. His eyes narrowed. If Zoë didn’t know better, she’d swear the mangy fleabag was challenging her, saying it’s just you and me now.
    ‘And?’ Zoë put her hands on her hips. ‘This is my house and you’re not welcome.’
    Hyssop’s tail flicked from side to side, but his condescending air didn’t waver.
    ‘You’re a bloody...’ But Zoë’s nose was already tingling. Crap. How the hell was she supposed to outstare a cat when she was about to sneeze?
    Three came out in a row, making her eyes water. Round one to the fleabag.
    Letting out a frustrated growl, Zoë hit the nearest light switch, but after a heart-stopping crack, the bulb dimmed. Zoë stared up at it, her heart hammering. The stupid electrics. How could they be so appalling? What if Libby was right, what if Maggie was haunting them? Zoë almost laughed. Haunted houses? Really? She shook her head and checked her watch. Shit. It was already eight o’clock and she still had to dry her hair. There was no getting around it, she’d have to reset the fuse box herself.
    The door under the stairs was covered with the same revolting peony wallpaper that graced the rest of the wall. Only a ceramic knob hinted at its presence. Zoë tugged it open and tentatively peered inside. In the dank, dark space stood the vacuum cleaner, old wellington boots, several boxes of books and at the far end, the fuse box.
    Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, her heart-racing again. The musty air enveloped her and it still held a lingering spicy trace of Opium, Maggie’s perfume of choice. It caught the back of Zoë’s throat.
    It’s so dark.
    Cobwebs hung all around. A spider the size of a fifty pence piece watched her, but Zoë couldn’t move, her eyes fixed on inside of the door, on the gouges in the wood that looked as if some wild animal had tried to claw its way out. A floorboard creaked upstairs. What the fuck? She glanced up, but something dropped onto her shoulder and Zoë screamed, backing hastily out of the cupboard. The spider fell to the floor and scuttled towards her foot and instinctively, Zoë stomped on it. A sob escaped her mouth as she felt it squish beneath her bare foot.
    I hate this fucking house. Hate, hate, hate it.
    Tears loomed, but she clenched her fists and glared up at the ceiling. ‘Okay, you hideous old cow. When I get back from work tonight, I’m evicting your evil, dead ass. This house is mine and you’re not wanted any more than your stupid cat.’
    Hyssop’s smug attitude faded and after another flick of his tail he slipped through the cat flap.
    Ha. Round two to me, fleabag.
    Feeling absurdly pleased with herself for standing up to non-existent ghost and a fat old cat, Zoë trotted back upstairs. With the house under her control, it was time to conquer the Carr and Young Estate Agency.
     
    Forty-five minutes later, Zoë strode through Haverton, her bravado replaced by a knot of nerves in her stomach. First days unnerved her. Working out how to use an unfamiliar photocopier was the easy part. Understanding the other women and how best to manage them was the tricky bit. It took time to understand who needed sucking up to, who wanted reassuring, who craved a BFF.
    Mercifully, the men were simpler. They just wanted to shag her. In her last agency, one odious creep actually got caught wanking over her staff photo. Her skin had crawled for a week, but it’d crawled for another two when she’d