Page 50 of Ghoul as a Cucumber

“I’m not—”

“Pax and Ambrose may be a little…unconventional, but they care about you. And if you care about them, you need to make sure they know it. I think sometimes you talk yourself out of things because you’ve told yourself that they’re not for you, or you’re afraid of getting hurt. But take it from someone who has been happily married to a wonderful and infuriating man for twenty-seven years – love is always worth the risk.”

“But I’m not in love—”

Mum pats my knee again as she gets up to leave. “Sure you aren’t, darling. Sure you aren’t. Cup of tea?”

19

Bree

“Bree, you won’t believe it.” Ambrose arrives home with a clatter. He tries to hang his hat on the coat rack but misses and hangs it on the antler of a taxidermy deer instead. It makes me smile to see it sitting there, so I don’t move it.

“What?” I wrap my arms around him, burying my face into his greatcoat, breathing deep to glut myself on the scent of him.

“Mr. Pitts wants me to have a permanent job leading tours at the cemetery. A job! I’ve never had a job since I had to leave the Navy! This is wonderful. He’s going to pay me, although he says I need a bank account to do that. He also says that you and I should work out a roster for who will do the tours.”

“Ambrose, that’s amazing.” I hug him even tighter.

The world isn’t designed for people with disabilities. I’ve heard Mina rant about lack of accessibility and workplace discrimination enough to know that. But compared to when Ambrose lived – when people like him were often sent to institutions for their whole lives – this is a big fucking deal.

Plus, it will be nice to have one of the ghosts earning money. My measly paycheck and savings are being rapidly diminished by the need to purchase men’s clothing and Pax’s insatiable appetite.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ambrose wraps his arm around my shoulders. His other hand grips his stick as he alternates between rapping it and sweeping it on the floor. Ambrose’s usual method of finding his way around involves rapping the ball of his stick against the ground and using the echoes to discern his surroundings, but Mina has been showing him how to sweep a cane in front of him to identify other obstacles, and he’s figuring out a combination of what works for him.

“I gave a tour to a group from the Royal National Institute of Blind People in Liverpool. They came specifically because they saw your video about my grave.” Ambrose leads me into the kitchen, where Dad has left out a fresh plate of scones, which he’d fed Gwen to help calm her down after her disastrous visit today. Ambrose sits in the chair while I add butter, jam, and clotted cream to both our scones. He takes a huge, happy bite and licks cream off his fingers. “They wanted to know all about Ambrose Hulme and his walking stick and how he read train timetables and how he wrote his memoirs and all kinds of questions. One lady told me that she was so inspired by Ambrose’s story that she booked a trip to Disneyland. I don’t know what that is but this lady has never been out of the country before and now she’s going to Disneyland. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Itisamazing.” My throat closes up a little from the pride swelling in my chest. “But I’m not surprised at all. You make me feel brave, as if anything I dream of is possible. I’m not surprised other people feel the same way. And Disneyland is a theme park – it’s full of hideously expensive food and carnival rides but a hundred times cooler. Maybe we’ll go someday.”

He beams. There’s a dot of cream on his nose. “I’d like that. Is Edward nearby?”

“He’s up in his boudoir, composing an ode to Grimwood Manor that we can read upon its sale.” I lean forward. “Why? Have you found something about his murder?”

“Not so far, but I’ve only just got started. On my lunch break, I walked into the village and interviewed as many ghosts as I could find, in case any of them happened to be nearby and see anything that night.”

“And?”

Ambrose shakes his head sadly. “Both the squashed Navvy and the Poisoned Schoolteacher weren’t ghosts at the time, and Lottie says shedidattend Edward’s soiree on that fateful night, but she was rather distracted by a viscount’s fine cucumber and didn’t see a thing.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like Lottie.”

“But don’t worry.” Ambrose reaches for a second scone. “I’ve only just begun my investigations. I feel certain that we will solve this mystery.”

I glance up at the ceiling, where I can just make out Edward’s muffled voice as he recites his lines. A moment later, the lights flicker.

I truly hope you’re right. Because I don’t think Grimwood Manor can handle much more of Edward’s ennui.

* * *

After dinner,Mina’s boyfriend Morrie arrives in a bright red Mini to pick up Pax and Ambrose. I wave goodbye from the porch. Pax looks hopefully at Mum, but although she gives him a quick peck on the cheek, she doesn’t invite him to stay.

Even though she’s warming to the ex-ghosts, she isn’t quite ready to have them stay over. We do have to start moving furniture and painting in the morning, so I suppose that’s a factor, too.

However, Mum doesn’t know that I still have a maninsidethe house.

I retreat back inside. Mum heads into the kitchen to boil the kettle for tea, and Dad is sprawled out on the sofa in the main living room in the east wing – where they live – watching the news. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring gently, and Moon is collapsed in an adorable loaf on his chest, her yellow eyes following me as I cross the room.

Edward hovers in the corner, peering at the contents of the television cabinet with disgust. “This is filled with twisted cables and hundreds of these silver disc things. Not a bottle of fine French wine or absinthe in sight. How do your parents live in such squalid conditions?”

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