Saturday
14th December
9.
Happy landings
With everything there is to do in the castle, and Libby arriving tomorrow evening – pause for a silent scream at that – when I wake up early on Saturday morning there’s so much adrenalin pounding through my system it’s impossible to stay in bed. As I get dressed Merwyn is giving me his ‘just no, totally no’ look from the comfort of his squishy red velvet sleeping cushion. He is obviously bullshitting because even though I set off without him he still reaches the bottom of the stairs before I do. We’re even more wide awake after our scamper along the beach by phone-light. The wind is icy, but the sound of the waves pounding and the frothy water rushing up over the sand and onto our feet seems so much louder in the dark than it does in the day.
Whatever Bill claimed about his dad’s breakfast habits, when we get back to the kitchen the toasters are full and there’s a tall man in orange woven Aztec joggers watching toast on the Aga top too. Then as he turns to grin at me his smile is a livelier, more lived-in version of Bill’s, and I get the full effect of his long straggly hair and the two dangling beaded braids that swing around as he moves his head.
He’s straight in with the introductions. ‘Hi, I’m Keith, better known as Keef the reef, or Bill’s dad. And these …’ He waves a hand at the crowd around the table who look like they all shopped at the same place as him when they bought their clothes thirty years ago. ‘… are Rip, Brian, Bede, Taj and Slater, my crewmates from theSurf ’til we dieclub.’
I’m blinking at silver ponytails and grey grizzly beards of all lengths from stubble to full and bushy, taking in lashings of thong necklaces and shell bracelets, faded ripped denim as weathered as their faces. From the tangles of their hair I’d say none of them visit the barbers except to buy salt spray.
Bill raises an eyebrow beyond the kitchen island. ‘The name’s ironic, obviously they’ll never die, because they’re way too busy rocking their hang fives and helicopters and riding their party waves.’ There’s an amused twist to his lips. ‘He looks nothing like me, that’s because he’s adopted.’
My brows are knitting together. ‘Really?’
Keith’s face crinkles into a grin. ‘The first rule of the castle – never believe Bill’s bollocks. Toast, Ivy?’ The cuffs on his faded peachRip Curlsweatshirt are hanging in shreds as he hands me a plate and two perfectly browned slices. ‘We’ll finish our coffee then we’re all yours.’
With Keith’s easy charm and an offer like that, they can make as much toast as they like. Any time. And then some. It’s a shame Miranda’s not here to join in the fun, but no doubt she’ll catch up with us later.
The first thing she and Ambrose did when they came in yesterday evening was to complain about the cold. Once Bill turned the heating up they headed off upstairs with snacks and many bottles of champagne, while we stayed in the kitchen and opened the box stack.
The surf crew waste no time. Before I’m spreading my fourth slice with – totes delicious – motor-home-made orange and gin marmalade, they’re already zooming between the coach house and the castle in a variety of colourful but surprisingly shiny vans. If you want something shifting fast, ask a silver surfer. Just saying. By the time I’ve humped the deccie supplies from the kitchen to the front hall, they’re streaming in, filling the place with comfy chairs.
When we’ve made the most of every cosy corner in the downstairs and the towers and the chairs are still coming, I lead the way up to the first floor.
‘So where would you like them?’ Keef-the-reef strides off the top step, braids flying as he swings his tub chair round.
I’m counting on my fingers working out, and when I look up there are chairs and surfers lined up all along the landing. ‘I think two in each room on …’ I break off as I hear a strange moan.
‘Yes?’ The guys are all staring at me expectantly over their chair backs.
‘We should have enough for …’ There’s the same noise again, this time louder.
I’m a designated first aider at work so I’m staring round the faces checking for grey complexions and heart attacks, and it’s there again. ‘Is everyone okay, can anyone else hear …?’
‘Grunting. And banging.’ Keef’s exchanging glances with Taj. ‘Probably nothing to worry about, let’s push on.’
Bumps in the night – or actually the day? Bill’s dad desperately pretending they’re not there? I wasn’t born yesterday, this has to be a cover up!
There’s another loud clatter, and as my blood runs cold it all falls into place in my head. ‘It’s haunted isn’t it?’ My voice rises to a wail. ‘It wasn’t the wifi at all, there was Christmas availability because the place is full of poltergeists and no one wants to stay here!’
Of all the problems yet, this is the worst. The rhythmical way this ghost is banging now, it’s going to take more than a bit of garlic and a sprig of sage to scare it away. We’ve got children coming too. My mind’s racing … how the hell do I organise an exorcism at short notice with no internet … and do they even work anyway?
Which is the perfect point for Bill to arrive and plonk his chair down next to Keef’s. ‘What’s happening here …what the hell is that noise?’
As Keef tilts his head his braids fall across his nose. ‘The sound of ghostly removal men?’
Taj nudges Keef. ‘If you ask me, those moans are a lot more earthly than spiritual.’
I go rigid as the banging gets faster and faster, then a series of banshee shrieks sends ice through my veins.
Keef puts down his chair and sends me a wink. ‘That DO NOT DISTURB sign might be your clue. The rumpus they’re making in there, that sign should be on the other side of the door.’
Oh my days. ‘That’s Ambrose and Miranda?’I’m not sure if this is better or worse but either way I’d welcome a hole to crawl into. Just this once I’m turning to Bill. ‘But aren’t monumental castle walls meant to be sound proof?’
