Sarah Painter - The Secrets Of Ghosts

Hannah held up a hand. ‘None of my business. I just wanted to meet you, to say “hello”.’

‘Hello,’ Gwen said. She realised that she’d folded her arms across her body. Not very friendly. She forced them to unknot, put them by her sides.

‘There are a few old families still around. My lot, the Ash family, are Avon way, the Irons are Somerset, I don’t know the Willows very well but they’re in Dorset. You know what it’s like, can’t live too close. That just causes problems.’

‘Right,’ Gwen said. She felt a little faint.

‘I pass through this way at least once a month, usually around this time. Or you can ask one of the other river folk — they’ll pass a message on. Just if you ever need anything.’ Hannah gave Gwen a final look, raised a hand in a half-wave and jumped back onto the boat. She ducked through a low doorway and was gone.

*

Katie had arrived at The Grange for her afternoon shift. Anna was in the staff room, tying her hair into plaits and looking hot and bothered. ‘Can you believe we’ve got to work in this weather? It’s inhumane.’

‘Agreed,’ Katie said. Her back was damp with sweat just from walking through the grounds. She hung her bag on a peg and sat down to change her sandals for shoes. It was like forcing mini ovens onto her feet.

‘I feel sorry for the bride,’ Anna said. ‘I mean, everyone wants sunshine on their big day, but this…’ She waved one hand as if the heat had overcome her ability to finish sentences.

‘Agreed,’ Katie said again. She was trying not to think about Max, and failing. Raking through the lost property with him had been about the most exciting thing that had happened to her all year. ‘What? Sorry.’

‘Heatstroke,’ Anna said, as if that finished the matter. Then she slugged back some water from a bottle and pushed through the door into the kitchen.

Katie was working the main function room, ferrying plate after plate of melon and prosciutto and dodging Frank’s wrath. The sun was beating through the tall glass windows and everyone from the waiting staff to the groom was sweating.

As soon as she’d served the last of the starters, Katie went to find Anna. ‘We need more fans.’

She set up three more electric fans around the edges of the room and a woman with silver-grey bobbed hair smiled and said, ‘Bless you.’ The air movement helped, but the temperature was still very high. Katie wondered how many guests would nod off during the speeches and she hoped the family would keep them snappy.

Katie had just finished serving sparkling wine to every table and making sure the kids had lemonade or orange juice when the best man rose and tapped his glass. The room fell quiet, apart from the drone of the oscillating fans.

Katie retreated behind the serving tables and carried on working as unobtrusively as possible. She knew from bitter experience that if you waited respectfully while the toasts were being made, you ended up in a mad rush afterwards. Fascinators bobbed gently in the breeze from the fans and the best man’s voice, soporific in the best of circumstances, droned on.

‘He’s a bore, isn’t he?’

Katie had been quietly boxing up slices of cake and hadn’t noticed the woman approach. She had brown bobbed hair and a peach satin dress. Instead of the ubiquitous fascinator, she had a silver and black Alice band with a geometric design. She smiled widely at Katie’s appraisal and lifted a hand to her head. ‘Do you like it? It’s the latest thing. Du mode.’

The woman was younger than Katie had first thought. Younger than her, in fact. Katie smiled politely. She didn’t want to be rude, but carrying out a conversation, even quietly, was bad manners during the wedding speeches.

‘What kind of cake is that?’

Of course, ignoring guests was probably worse. ‘The bottom tier is chocolate cake, the middle tier is pineapple passion cake and the top tier is vanilla sponge. The boxes are labelled.’ Katie indicated the pile she’d already filled. ‘The bride wanted people to have a choice.’

The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘Fruit cake is traditional. You’re meant to keep the top tier and have it on your first wedding anniversary. Sponge will spoil.’

Katie looked around, anxiously, but no one seemed to have noticed their conversation. They were all watching the father of the bride and swigging table water, fanning themselves with wedding programmes.

‘I don’t understand the way people do things nowadays.’

Katie repressed the urge to laugh. The girl was seventeen or eighteen tops.

‘And look at that.’ The girl nodded towards the top table. ‘The bride is making a speech.’

‘And why not?’ Katie shrugged.

The girl pursed her lips. ‘It’s not traditional.’

Katie wanted to tell her that wedding traditions like wearing white and taking your husband’s name were throwbacks to a more sexist time but she didn’t want to argue with a MOP. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion that, given the opportunity, she’d be wearing one of those elegant ivory gowns, too.

‘I’m Violet, by the way.’ The girl trailed her hand lightly across the surface of the table. ‘Is this real linen?’

‘I don’t know,’ Katie said. She added ‘sorry’ to make it sound more subservient. Truth was, the girl was starting to make her a little bit uncomfortable. She had a very intense gaze.

‘Would you like some cake?’ Katie asked, holding out a slice.

‘Oh, no.’ The girl’s hair didn’t move as she shook her head; it made Katie’s eyes feel funny. Maybe she really did have heatstroke. ‘I don’t eat cake,’ Violet said. ‘It’s bad for the figure, you know.’

Fuck that, Katie thought. Out loud, she said, ‘Oh, come on. You only live once.’

The best man pulled down a projector screen with a loud clatter and began showing photographs from the groom’s life. Smiling pictures of the groom as a kid, groom as gawky teenager, and many, many pictures of him with groups of friends, red and grinning, drinks in hand. His life before meeting his beloved, of course. Back when he belonged to the best man and hadn’t been bewitched by a female. Katie had only been half listening, but the best man’s bitterness was seeping through.

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