Page 1 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

Despite the clamour of voices doing their very best to distract me, I somehow managed to pull up safely in the school car park without pranging anyone else’s car. Miracle.

‘I need a pack of Christmas cards.’

‘Mum, can I have burgers for tea?’

‘I’ve got loads of mates and they’re already sending out Christmas cards. I’ve got three in my bag from yesterday. They’ll think I’m tight if I don’t send them one!’

‘And beans. Not peas. Yuck! I hate peas.’

‘Don’t get soppy ones though. Or cutesy ones. Or religious ones.’

‘And chips! I want chips! Crinkly ones, please.’

Bloody hell! I took a deep breath, steadied myself, then turned to face the kids in the back seat.

‘It’s only just December, Declan. You don’t need Christmas cards yet.’

‘But Mum?—’

‘And we’re having stew for tea, Freddie. It’s your dad’s favourite and I’ve already promised him.’

‘But I want burgers,’ Freddie wailed.

‘Should have got in quicker then,’ I said heartlessly, steeling myself against the pleading look in his big, blue eyes. ‘Sorry. Right, get your bags or you’ll be late.’

‘What’s new?’ Declan grumbled, opening the car door. Nine years old, he was already at that awkward age. Actually, he’d been at that awkward age since he was nine months old. God help me when he hit his teens.

I scrambled out of the car and waited for Freddie, who was taking his time collecting his school bag from the floor.

‘What have I got for lunch?’ he demanded fiercely, as he clambered out of the car. Evidently, it would be a while before he forgave me for the stew.

‘Your favourite,’ I assured him.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Peanut butter?’

‘Yes,’ I said firmly, mentally crossing my fingers. ‘Peanut butter.’

‘My favourite’s cheese spread,’ he said accusingly.

‘It’s peanut butter and cheese spread,’ I said.

‘Together?’ He gave me an astonished look, then shrugged. ‘Okay.’

Bloody kids! I wondered what he’d say when he opened his packed lunch to discover ham sandwiches. Oops.

I bundled the boys towards the school building, although Declan quickly broke away from us and hurried over to where some of his classmates were making their way inside, laughing and joking with each other. He certainly didn’t want to be seen with his mother.

Six-year-old Freddie, thankfully, was still at the age when I didn’t embarrass him. Give it time.

After removing his coat and hanging it on the peg in the cloakroom, I steered him into his classroom.

I mumbled a hello to the teacher, Mrs Crawford, who was faffing about at her desk, and the teaching assistant, Miss Lemming, who was hovering by the door.

She looked cheerful and greeted us warmly.

Mrs Crawford, on the other hand, looked as if she was utterly exhausted, and barely managed a smile.

I knew how she felt. I’d have happily crawled back into bed the moment I got home, if only I could.

‘Not long to go,’ Miss Lemming whispered to me.

She said it like it was a good thing. The end of term wasn’t something I was looking forward to, Christmas or no Christmas.

It was the start of term I lived for. Although even then, life was one big hassle, what with getting the two youngest boys to school in Kingsford Wold, and making sure my eldest, Ashton, was ready in time to catch the school bus to the academy at Chipping Royston.

I kissed Freddie on the cheek and gently turned him towards his seat at a table that was already occupied by several children. They’d possibly overdosed on sugary cereal that morning, given the way they were bouncing up and down on their chairs and shrieking at each other.

‘Mum, did you pack me some crisps?’ Freddie demanded suddenly. Honestly, the boy was obsessed with food.

I gave Miss Lemming a nervous look, aware of the school policy on junk food.

‘Now, Freddie, you know we don’t eat crisps,’ I said, praying he’d go along with my outrageous lie. ‘I’ve packed you some raisins. You like raisins.’

Miss Lemming gave me an approving smile. Mrs Crawford, who was taking books out of her briefcase, slid me a knowing gaze but said nothing. She was a mother, too. Solidarity.

‘Right, I’ve got to dash,’ I said hastily, just in case Freddie decided to ask if I’d packed him one of the KitKats out of the fridge. ‘Loads to do at home. Be a good boy and I’ll see you later.’

Luckily, he’d spotted Sophie, who was his current bestest friend , and barely acknowledged me as he ran towards her, leaving me to smile awkwardly at the two women before I turned and fairly galloped out of the classroom, making my escape before one of them thought of something that would delay me further.

Freedom!

Well, I thought, heading towards my car, keys jangling in my hand, not really. I wasn’t joking when I said I had loads to do at home. The house looked like a municipal tip right now, and Toby would need walking. I had a stack of washing to do, too.

I shivered and pulled my coat tighter. I hadn’t zipped it up because I wouldn’t have been able to breathe properly if I had.

Whenever I sat down, it rode up to my waist. I needed to go on a diet, I thought ruefully.

I’d really let things slip all round. Just another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list.

* * *

I knew the house was a mess, but looking round at the kitchen, my heart sank. It was worse than I’d remembered, and that was saying something.

Toby, our big, beautiful Bernese mountain dog, came ambling over to me, sniffing at my pockets hopefully.

‘No treats today,’ I said, feeling a twinge of shame as I realised he’d come to expect that I’d arrive home from school with my pockets bulging with tasty snacks.

Well, the shops in Kingsford Wold were way too tempting.

There was a fudge shop right near the school gates, for goodness’ sake!

And there was a pasty shop just across the road, and nine times out of ten I hadn’t had time to eat breakfast before I dropped the kids off, and the smell of hot food drifting from the open door of Auntie Pat’s Pasties was just too much to resist.

Except, today I had. Having made one more attempt to zip my coat up before getting in the car, and failing dismally, even I’d had to accept that it was time to cut down on treats.

I patted Toby on the head and sighed. ‘You look as miserable about it as I feel,’ I told him. ‘Right, where shall we start?’

Dishwasher, I decided. Honestly, I couldn’t even complain that I had to wash the dishes by hand, because I had a machine to do it for me, but even the thought of loading it made me feel exhausted.

With enormous effort, I opened the door, only to discover yesterday evening’s dirty plates and cups still in there.

I’d forgotten to switch the dishwasher on.

‘I think,’ I told Toby, ‘that before I do anything else, I need a strong cup of tea and something to eat. After all, I haven’t had breakfast. You should never start work on an empty stomach.’

Although, as I switched on the kettle, I thought gloomily that the last thing my stomach looked was empty. It was all my own fault. I’d discovered the joys of jogging bottoms and leggings, with all the freedom and comfort elasticated waists brought. There was no going back after that.

Unfortunately, that meant I hadn’t noticed how rapidly the weight was creeping on.

‘Clara Milsom, fashion icon. Ha!’ I muttered, smothering newly popped granary toast with butter and strawberry jam. ‘It’s all the fault of my hormones. Bloody perimenopause.’

Toby was positively drooling, which should have been enough to put me off eating, but I was too hungry to care.

‘You’ve had your breakfast,’ I reminded him.

They’d all had their breakfast. Jack had devoured poached eggs on toast before leaving the house at five-thirty for work.

The two youngest boys had descended on the kitchen an hour after he left, and between them had practically emptied a box of cornflakes and the fruit bowl.

I’d been too busy mopping up spills, pouring cereal, making drinks, doing last-minute ironing, and trying to drag Ashton out of his pit to eat anything myself.

I carried my plate of toast and jam and a mug of hot tea into the living room. There was dog hair all over the carpet. Again. I noticed a layer of dust on top of the fireplace and along the bookshelves. Those windows really needed cleaning too.

I flopped onto the sofa and, balancing my plate on my knee, I reached for the remote. Just half an hour watching something inane on the television while I had my breakfast. Then I’d start work properly.

By the time Jack got home, the kids would be back from school, the stew would be simmering on the hob, the house would be spotless, and the windows would gleam. I might even pop to the shop on my way to collect the two youngest boys and buy a pack of Christmas cards to please Declan.

I just needed this half an hour. That’s all.