Page 26 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

A woman rose from a desk at the back of the centre and approached me. She was about my age, smartly dressed, and appraised me with a thoughtful gaze.

‘I’m Pamela. Can I help you with your job search?’

‘I’m Heather. I hope you can help me. I’m looking for an interesting job, something unusual or extraordinary. I’ve been teaching history for the past twenty years, and I could do with a change.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘I’ve got the perfect thing for you. You obviously have people skills. But there’s been some difficulty filling the position. I’ve never understood why. Most people only last a day or two.’

I raised my eyebrows. I’d asked for something out of the ordinary. Perhaps this was it.

‘The role is as a house guide at a local manor owned and managed by a public trust. It’s open to the public. You would join a small team of people who manage the house and talk to tourists. Full training is included. The pay is reasonable.’ She went into more details of the position. My interest intensified.

‘That seems ideal. I’d love that. Why do you think people leave the job? Is it particularly stressful? It doesn’t sound like it is.’

‘Word is that the house is haunted.’

‘Haunted? By ghosts?’ I laughed quietly. ‘You mean ghosts are frightening the staff away?’

‘Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is England. Ridiculous is part of our national culture. And so are haunted houses. Chirtlewood House is hundreds of years old. Of course, it has ghost stories. Parts of the house probably creak with changes in the weather or gusts of wind. It simply doesn’t take much to scare some people away.’

‘I guess it doesn’t. I taught teenagers for years, and I could tell you a few horror stories. Ghosts won’t scare me away, I promise you.’ Especially since I was already well acquainted with one. Surely any apparitions in the manor couldn’t be worse than my dead mother, who’d been scary enough in real life.

‘Yes, you strike me as someone who will give this opportunity a good go and not run for the hills at the first creaky floorboard or rattle of tiles. Shall I call them and let them know you’ll take the job?’

‘Won’t they want to interview me first?’

Pamela lowered her voice so no one could overhear. ‘They’re desperate for anyone. Word has got around about the place. No one has wanted to apply since...’ she trailed off. ‘Never mind. You’ll be fine.’

‘Honestly, it’ll be great. Surely, it can’t be harder or more dangerous than trying to teach a bunch of sixteen-year-olds political history.’

Pamela laughed. ‘Come over to the desk, and I’ll call them. We’ll arrange a time for you to go in. They’ll give you a week of training, and then you’ll be part of the team.’

I grinned. This ought to be fun.

***

I RETURNED TO AUNT Ruth’s house later that afternoon in a state of excitement. Landing a job so soon—and one that sounded so interesting, at that—gave me a boost of energy. I parked the car and would have skipped to the front door if I could. Instead, I made do with a purposeful walk.

Inside, I found Raven poring over a bunch of notes at the desk in the dining room. He looked up. ‘Hi, Heather. Good day?’

‘Fantastic. I visited Aunt Ruth, and then I got a job. I’m going to be a guide at Chirtlewood House.’

His eyes widened. ‘That old place. It has a varied history.’

‘So I’ve been told. Do you know a lot about it?’

‘I knew someone who was there for a while, but it was some time ago. I’ll tell you about it another time. I need to get back to this work.’ He turned back at the piles of notes and books on the desk.

Oops. Not a good time. I’d interrupted his research. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry.’ I turned away.

‘Forgive me. That was rude of me. It’s just that I don’t have good memories of that place.’

‘Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to your study.’

I made myself a white hot chocolate. What should I do for the rest of the day? I didn’t know anyone in Kingston except for Aunt Ruth, and I’d already visited her. Was there something useful I could do in the house?

Of course there was. Aunt Ruth had told me she didn’t want a stairlift, as it would ruin the house’s character. As she couldn’t use the stairs, she would move to the downstairs bedroom. I could prepare it for her. Change the linen, bring down all her clothes and photos and jewellery and so on from her old room upstairs. The room she’d given me.

I was uneasy about displacing Aunt Ruth from her room, but it made perfect sense. She would live downstairs from now on. I was able enough to manage a flight of stairs a few times a day.

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