deep breath and smiled in spite of himself. ‘Cheers, I’ll remember that.’
The players reappeared on the screen and we turned our attention to the match. The opposition had clearly been given a real telling-off at half-time because they played like their lives depended
on it and it was soon two-all. Dontay divided his time between cheering the England boys on and answering my questions. To be honest, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Dontay was relaxing
around me and I’d learned that cheesy balls were more important than I’d realised in football; overall, the evening had been a success. But I’d forgotten about one tiny detail,
the number one reason why Celestine never, ever invited ghosts back to the house: Mary. As her quivering, enraged form materialised in the doorway, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.
‘This place is mine!’ she howled, her face twisted in territorial fury. ‘Begone, before I unleash the seven spirits of hell on thee!’
Dontay jumped up, his expression a mixture of bravado and confusion. ‘You what?’
I stood too. I didn’t know which seven spirits of hell she had in mind, but she was in danger of freaking Dontay out and I didn’t want him to run again. Forcing my racing pulse to
calm down, I injected a casual tone into my words. ‘Relax, Mary, he’s visiting, not moving in.’ Turning to Dontay, I lowered my voice. ‘Don’t make any sudden moves,
OK?’
She glided closer, mistrust etched on her face. ‘Does thy aunt know thou art breaking the covenant?’
Dontay glanced at me helplessly. ‘What’s she on about? Who is she?’
I rolled my eyes. She was talking about the haunting-rights pact she’d negotiated back in my grandparents’ day to ensure no other ghosts muscled in on her personal haunt-fest.
Celestine had mentioned it when I’d first moved in, but needless to say, I’d forgotten. ‘It’s hardly breaking the covenant. This is a friend and we’re just watching
the game.’ I looked from her deeply suspicious face to Dontay’s bewildered one and sighed. ‘Look, how about if I introduce you? Mary Drover, this is Dontay Ambrose.’
Her wary gaze still trained on Dontay, she waved a hand at the plasma screen. ‘What mischief art thou hatching with the sorcerer’s tool?’
I shook my head in embarrassed disbelief. Anyone would think she’d only just materialised from the sixteenth century. The truth was she loved the TV as much as I did and I suspected she
was a shopping channel addict during the day. I adopted my most persuasive voice. ‘Absolutely no mischief has been hatched, Mary. I promise. Celestine knows all about it.’
For a moment, she seemed to teeter on the brink of a major tantrum, but her gaze flickered back to the television screen and I could see she was curious. I signalled Dontay to sit down and sank
on to the sofa myself, patting the cushions next to me invitingly. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
‘’Tis an unnatural thing,’ she muttered, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. With one last glower at Dontay, she came and sat down. And that was how Celestine found
us twenty minutes later; two teenagers and a four-hundred-year-old witch in deep conversation about the merits of playing a four-four-two formation. From the look of astonishment on her face, it
was the unlikeliest sight she’d ever seen.
‘Hi.’ I grinned up at her. I was about to explain what had happened but England chose that moment to drive the ball into the back of the net to score the winning goal. All three of
us leaped off the sofa, cheering, and I didn’t care what my ancestors thought.
Celestine watched in puzzled amusement. ‘No need to ask how things are going, then,’ she said, as Dontay and Mary high-fived. ‘Good to meet you at last, Dontay.’
He flashed a shy grin and nodded. I beamed, proud of him and of myself. My goal had been to get him to open up. If things carried on the way they had been going, it looked like
The players reappeared on the screen and we turned our attention to the match. The opposition had clearly been given a real telling-off at half-time because they played like their lives depended
on it and it was soon two-all. Dontay divided his time between cheering the England boys on and answering my questions. To be honest, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Dontay was relaxing
around me and I’d learned that cheesy balls were more important than I’d realised in football; overall, the evening had been a success. But I’d forgotten about one tiny detail,
the number one reason why Celestine never, ever invited ghosts back to the house: Mary. As her quivering, enraged form materialised in the doorway, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.
‘This place is mine!’ she howled, her face twisted in territorial fury. ‘Begone, before I unleash the seven spirits of hell on thee!’
Dontay jumped up, his expression a mixture of bravado and confusion. ‘You what?’
I stood too. I didn’t know which seven spirits of hell she had in mind, but she was in danger of freaking Dontay out and I didn’t want him to run again. Forcing my racing pulse to
calm down, I injected a casual tone into my words. ‘Relax, Mary, he’s visiting, not moving in.’ Turning to Dontay, I lowered my voice. ‘Don’t make any sudden moves,
OK?’
She glided closer, mistrust etched on her face. ‘Does thy aunt know thou art breaking the covenant?’
Dontay glanced at me helplessly. ‘What’s she on about? Who is she?’
I rolled my eyes. She was talking about the haunting-rights pact she’d negotiated back in my grandparents’ day to ensure no other ghosts muscled in on her personal haunt-fest.
Celestine had mentioned it when I’d first moved in, but needless to say, I’d forgotten. ‘It’s hardly breaking the covenant. This is a friend and we’re just watching
the game.’ I looked from her deeply suspicious face to Dontay’s bewildered one and sighed. ‘Look, how about if I introduce you? Mary Drover, this is Dontay Ambrose.’
Her wary gaze still trained on Dontay, she waved a hand at the plasma screen. ‘What mischief art thou hatching with the sorcerer’s tool?’
I shook my head in embarrassed disbelief. Anyone would think she’d only just materialised from the sixteenth century. The truth was she loved the TV as much as I did and I suspected she
was a shopping channel addict during the day. I adopted my most persuasive voice. ‘Absolutely no mischief has been hatched, Mary. I promise. Celestine knows all about it.’
For a moment, she seemed to teeter on the brink of a major tantrum, but her gaze flickered back to the television screen and I could see she was curious. I signalled Dontay to sit down and sank
on to the sofa myself, patting the cushions next to me invitingly. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
‘’Tis an unnatural thing,’ she muttered, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. With one last glower at Dontay, she came and sat down. And that was how Celestine found
us twenty minutes later; two teenagers and a four-hundred-year-old witch in deep conversation about the merits of playing a four-four-two formation. From the look of astonishment on her face, it
was the unlikeliest sight she’d ever seen.
‘Hi.’ I grinned up at her. I was about to explain what had happened but England chose that moment to drive the ball into the back of the net to score the winning goal. All three of
us leaped off the sofa, cheering, and I didn’t care what my ancestors thought.
Celestine watched in puzzled amusement. ‘No need to ask how things are going, then,’ she said, as Dontay and Mary high-fived. ‘Good to meet you at last, Dontay.’
He flashed a shy grin and nodded. I beamed, proud of him and of myself. My goal had been to get him to open up. If things carried on the way they had been going, it looked like
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