Free Melody Bittersweet and The Girls' Ghostbusting Agency: A laugh out loud romantic comedy of Love, Life and ... Ghosts? by Kitty French Page B

imposing, Victorian gothic, rear elevation. Brimsdale Road is a leafy enclave of generous detached plots, all of them occupied by established old houses. Scarborough House is distinctive in that it’s probably the only one left that hasn’t been remodelled and renovated to within an inch of its gable end; it’s shabby and dull-windowed, the ugly sister amongst a bevy of sparkly Cinderellas.
    Reaching into my jeans pocket I pull out the large old key and head for the back door.
    ‘Come on then, troops. Let’s go inside and survey the battleground.’
    Truthfully, I’m excited to see inside the house. I know it’s been empty for at least the last few years, ever since Donovan Scarborough’s father moved from there to a nursing home. From what I’ve been able to gather from preliminary research, it couldn’t be sold without the current owner’s say-so, and old man Scarborough point blank refused to sanction any sale during his lifetime. It seems that in recent months his lifetime has come to an end, and his only son hasn’t allowed the grass to grow any longer beneath his feet in trying to offload the house as expediently as possible.
    The key is difficult to get into the rusty lock, and even more difficult to turn.
    ‘Artie give this a go will you?’ I say, and he bounds over eagerly.
    ‘I didn’t mean that I think you look heavy, you know,’ he says quietly as I step aside.
    ‘Just get the door open for me and we’ll forget all about it,’ I grin, and he half smiles too. I make a mental note to tread lightly with him when it comes to teasing, and another mental note in bright-red pen to remind Marina to do the same. He isn’t like us; our friendship is based on deep foundations and a lifetime of shared secrets. Artie hasn’t had the luxury of friendship in his life, he’s still learning the ropes and probably finds it hard to understand that our ever-present sarcastic undercurrent is actually based on loyalty and trust.
    Marina and I watch as he tries the key and it doesn’t budge, and then again when he goes in for a second, more concerted effort and the lock begrudgingly gives way under the pressure.
    We both clap our hands as Artie pushes the door ajar and then turns to us flushed with success.
    ‘You’re officially forgiven, Muscles.’ Marina winks at him, and he flushes raspberry from the neck up as she walks past him into the back porch of Scarborough House. I leave the door unlocked and pocket the key as I walk inside. I don’t know why; an instinct borne from watching too many horror movies probably.
    ‘Hello?’ We push the inner door open and Marina’s voice rings out loudly around the huge kitchen we find ourselves in. It’s colder in here than it was outside, the drawn blinds preventing any late-spring sunlight from permeating the space.
    ‘You know there’s no one here, right?’
    ‘Just being polite.’ She lifts her eyebrows at me. ‘You never know.’
    ‘Going on the state of the backdoor lock, I think we can be fairly sure,’ I murmur, running my finger through the substantial layer of dust on the kitchen table.
    ‘What do we do now?’ Artie whispers beside me.
    They’re looking to me for guidance, so I clear my throat. ‘Let’s do a slow walk through of the place and get our bearings.’
    Beyond the kitchen lies a hallway of grand proportions and shabby upkeep. Marina’s heels clack against the decorative blue, white and terracotta floor tiles until we all come to an eerily silent standstill and I decide which way to go next. A show-stopping central staircase sweeps up to the first floor; it looks as if those women I imagined on the lawns might have walked down it in beautiful evening gowns, as if it were fashioned for a more glamorous era. I glance down at my beloved Converse sneakers and feel entirely underdressed.
    ‘Let’s look downstairs first.’
    Graceful plasterwork arches swoop on either side of the hallway, and I push one of the broad old wooden doors open