Millie shrugged. ‘Might as well come home since nothing much is happening here.’
‘And have a think about a name for the group,’ Lucy added suddenly. ‘You should be introduced properly. It’s more professional. And auditions. That’s another thing we must organise. Tomorrow afternoon? Would that be okay for you all?’
Millie confirmed that the ghosts were agreeable to meeting the following day.
‘Immi, since I can’t hear the ghosts, I’m going to have to rely on you to tell me who has the best voices,’ Lucy explained. ‘Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll have found the perfect song and anyone who wants a lead part will sing it so we can find out who sounds best. I know that’s a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. How do you feel about that?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Immi confessed. ‘It’s a bit tricky. Especially since I live with some of them.’ She nodded meaningfully at Florrie, Agnes and Aubrey, who looked quite affronted by her implication.
‘Do you think,’ Lucy asked, ‘that there’s any chance Lawrie could make it here? He could help you.’
‘Blimey, you might as well invite the whole village,’ said Bill crossly.
‘Scared to sing in front of an audience?’ Ronnie enquired. ‘That rules you out of a solo then, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m not scared of anything. Well, except of having my eardrums bleed when you start your tuneless wailing,’ snapped Bill.
‘I’ll have you know—’ Ronnie shut up suddenly, and he and Bill stood still and silent as Quintus Severus, who’d been standing at the edge of the stage surveying the empty cinema turned to face them, one hand on the pommel of his sword as if he was about to draw it at any moment. There was no chance he’d need to. One look from him had done the trick and Bill and Ronnie looked meekly at him, clearly remembering how he’d dangled them by the scruff of their necks previously.
‘My hero,’ said Harmony, laughing as she gave the Roman’s bicep an admiring squeeze.
‘If only he’d been around in the village for the last hundred years or so instead of patrolling the estate borders,’ Percy said with a sigh. ‘Would have saved me a heck of a lot of bother.’
‘So I’ll ask Lawrie tonight, shall I?’ Immi asked brightly.
Lucy nodded. ‘Yes please. And remember, it’s a surprise, and he must be sworn to secrecy.’
‘I’ll make him swear,’ Immi promised. ‘I can’t wait for tomorrow to hear how everyone sounds!’
There were a few worried looks on the faces of the ghosts as they said goodbye to Lucy via Millie and headed to their various homes.
‘Are you going to audition?’ Brooke asked Danny, as they headed back to the Swinging Sixties Street, trailing behind Lucy and Millie.
‘Doubt it,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ Brooke laughed and shook her head. ‘You’ve heard me on the karaoke, remember? I sound like a cat that’s caught its tail in the door.’
To her relief, he smiled, and she wondered what was going on in his head. She could have kicked herself for mentioning the party earlier. He hated to be reminded of it, so no wonder he’d turned away from her. And yet, not long after that, he’d been the one to bring up the past. His wedding. Kirsty, of all people. He’d never done that before. Was it a breakthrough? Was he finally starting to move on?
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’ve got a point.’
‘But you on the other hand,’ she said carefully, nervous of spoiling things between them just when he seemed to be making progress, ‘you can really sing. I’ve heardyouon the karaoke, too. Your voice is brilliant. You should give it a go, Danny, really you should.’
‘I’m not that good,’ he mumbled.
‘But you are! Promise me you’ll give it a try,’ she urged.
Danny shrugged. ‘I’ll see.’
It was the best she was going to get out of him today, but Brooke was determined to make him audition. He was far too good not to come forward. She just hoped that, whatever song Lucy came up with, it wasn’t anything that brought back sad memories for him. Or for her.
9
It was a bright, sunny Wednesday, if a bit cold, and Rory and I were on our way to the ‘romantic short break in a beautiful destination’ that he’d promised me. Considering it was his idea, and he’d chosen the location we were visiting, my husband didn’t look particularly happy. In fact, his jaw was tight with tension, his hands gripped the steering wheel, and he barely spoke a word to me as we travelled along the M25.
‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?’ I asked, forcing a smile and trying to coax one from him. It wasn’t going to be much of a romantic break if even Rory was feeling miserable about it.
‘You’ll see when we get there,’ he said briefly. ‘It’s only a two-hour drive so not long to wait.’
