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“The Grimdale Giant Vegetable Festival, of course,” Dad says with a grin. “It’s the whole reason you’ve been watering the cucumbers in the greenhouse.”
Cucumbers? Greenhouse? Do we even have a greenhouse?
Dad sees my vacant expression. “Bree-bug, youhavebeen watering my cucumbers, haven’t you? I told your mother to make sure you knew they needed a daily watering of no less than two litres of water and a regular feeding of fertiliser—”
“Oh, er…” Behind Dad’s back, Mum makes a desperate face at me, the kind of face that says, ‘I was so distracted with making sure I packed the right shoes that I forgot to tell you about the cucumbers. Please save me from your father’s wrath.’
So I wrap my arms around Dad and squeeze.
“I’m so happy you’re home,” I whisper, burying my face in his shoulder. For a moment, I forget about dead priests and monsters and ghosts and cucumbers. All my worry and hurt and love rush back to me as I breathe in Dad’s familiar, woodsy scent. I haven’t hugged my daddy in five long years, and he smells exactly the same.
When he lifts his arms and hugs me back, he feels the same, too. A little older, a little thinner, but still the same man who kissed my skinned knees and helped with my science fair projects and participated in every silly Grimdale event. He’s still my daddy. This disease hasn’t taken everything from him.
“I missed you, Bree-bug,” Dad whispers into my hair.
“I missed you, too.” I swallow, trying not to cry. I didn’t realise until this moment how much I’ve missed him.
Mum throws her arms around us both. Her scent mingles with Dad’s – spicy and fruity, enhanced with an unfamiliar Italian perfume. Her silver bangles clatter on her wrist, and her no-nonsense expression softens as she kisses the top of my head.
“It’s good to see you haven’t burned the place down,” she says as she pulls back. My mother has never been much for sentimentality when she has a to-do list running through her head. “Now, tell me, are they still making steak and kidney pie at the Goat? Because after all this foreign food what I’m craving for dinner is a good old-fashioned British meat pie.”
“Oh, yes. Could we have meat pies?” Pax flexes his muscles. “According to the moving picture box, meat is good for my muscles.”
“I haven’t tasted a meat pie in a hundred-and-forty years,” Ambrose says excitedly from the top of the stairs.
“At least you’ve actually tasted one,” Edward scoffs. “When I was alive, it was all truffled pheasant and hare stuffed with manchet and comfits.”
“We will go to the pub,” Pax booms. “I will carry Ambrose so he doesn’t trip over anything. And we will feast long into the night while Sylvie and Mike regale us with tales of their adventures and the enemies they’ve slain.”
“I’m sorry?” Mum frowns at Pax before her gaze shifts to Ambrose. “Who are you again?”
Oh gods, here we go.I clear my throat, silently begging the two ex-ghosts to behave. “This is Pax. And that fellow on the stairs is Ambrose.”
“How do you do?” Ambrose gives a small bow. He grips the balustrade with white knuckles and looks a little petrified. “I would come and shake your hand, but I dropped my stick and I’ve quite forgotten where the armchair is and I don’t want to break any more figurines…”
“Wait, what figurines are broken?” Mum turns her gaze to me.
“Oh, ah, none of them. Don’t worry. Ambrose is blind and he’s a little unsure on his feet right now,” I say. “Come inside and I’ll find his stick for him and—”
“Yes, but what is he and this unwashed giant doing here?” Mum’s nostrils flare. “Ambrose is dressed in a rather natty frock coat. Are you three going to a party? Which one is your date? Is the other one Dani’s date? Oh, I knew we should have called first, but your father wanted to surprise you. Don’t let your old folks get in your way.”
“We’re both Bree’s dates,” Pax says proudly. “We’re her boyfriends.”
Mum turns to me with a sharp look. “Both of them? You don’t think that’s a bit…greedy?”
“No, we’re…I mean, they’re…” I search for the words. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with Mum. “They’re not my boyfriends. They’re just friends of mine, from my travels. Yes, friends I met overseas. They’re in Grimdale for a bit so we’ve been hanging out, and they’ve been staying in the unused guest rooms. That’s it. Just friends.”
Pax’s face falls. I think Mum is too busy admiring Ambrose’s coat to notice.
“And I’m Edward, your Prince of the Realm, your Lord and Master.” Edward supplies in his insouciant tone as he floats down the staircase.
“What did you say, Bree-bug?” Dad looks confused.
Of course, my pockets are full of moldavite so they can hear Edward. This just keeps getting better.
“I was wondering if you’re sick of pasta yet?” I add hastily. “Because I was thinking of heating some up. For dinner. That way you wouldn’t have to go out.”
Dad makes a face. “Please, no more pasta. After Italy, I feel as though my arteries are made of tagliatelle.”
