Page 27

POLLY

Polly left Walter at the gate and headed straight through the front door of Appleseed Cottage, finding herself in the hallway.

She didn’t really consider this a cottage.

It was too big in her eyes. One of them grander buildings built for the middle classes, she supposed.

She couldn’t imagine why old Mrs Smithson still lived here, all on her own.

It made no sense since it had four large bedrooms and two bathrooms, of all things!

Fancy having two bathrooms to choose from.

She’d have been glad of that back when she’d been living at Starling Cottage.

There was an agreement between the ghosts that, since walls and doors were no barrier, they wouldn’t visit each other’s homes without an invitation, but since you had to actually see someone face to face to invite them, that didn’t really work with Harmony.

Polly did feel a bit guilty as she checked the downstairs rooms to see if the elusive Hollywood star was anywhere around, but needs must.

‘It’s for her own good,’ she murmured as she headed upstairs. Anyway, she had to admit it was interesting, seeing what Appleseed Cottage looked like these days. No ghost, to her knowledge, had visited here since Harmony had claimed it as her home.

‘Harmony? You up there?’ she called, feeling it only fair to give the woman some warning.

There was no reply, and for a moment, she wondered if she was on another fruitless mission. Then there she was. Harmony Hill. The Hollywood goddess, standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

It was funny, Polly thought, how she’d gone to the pictures to see Harmony in her films, and had been so excited when she’d learned the movie star was filming just a few miles from Rowan Vale, back in the summer of 1946.

If she’d known Harmony had been in The Quicken Tree that night, she’d definitely have paid a visit to gawp at her.

Discreetly, of course. Who knows, maybe she could have got chatting to her?

Maybe she could have stopped her getting quite so drunk?

Maybe she could have stopped her falling into the River Faran and drowning?

But she hadn’t known, so that was the fate that had befallen this young woman who was still only thirty years old, yet had been the darling of the silver screen and the pin-up for many adoring soldiers during the war.

She looked incredibly glamorous, in wide-legged, navy-blue, high-waisted trousers and a smart, short-sleeved print blouse with shoulder pads.

Her shoulder-length hair was platinum blonde, worn in the Old Hollywood Waves style favoured by other glamorous film stars like Lauren Bacall and Veronica Lake.

She was beautiful, and for a moment, Polly felt completely starstruck before remembering that Harmony was now just like her, and that she was here for a reason.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Harmony,’ she said, wondering if she should address this icon as Miss Hill.

‘Yeah? So why did ya?’

Without waiting for an answer, Harmony headed downstairs, pushed past Polly and vanished into the living room.

Polly shook her head, reminding herself to be patient, and followed her, to Harmony’s evident irritation.

‘Jeez, can’t a girl get some privacy? I thought we all had a deal?’

‘I know, and we do in normal circumstances, but we’ve had a meeting, and I sort of volunteered to visit you and tell you about an event that’s coming up soon.’

Harmony sank onto the sofa and eyed Polly warily. ‘What kind of event?’

‘It’s a 1940s weekend,’ Polly explained. ‘The whole village will be involved. There are going to be food stalls, and the shop fronts will be made to look as they did in the forties, and there’ll be music. And films!’ she added eagerly.

‘Movies?’ Harmony sat up straighter. ‘ My movies?’

Polly wished she’d thought that through. ‘Er no. But good films.’

‘Whaddya mean, good films? You saying my movies weren’t good?’ Harmony sounded outraged, and Polly rolled her eyes, realising she’d have to tread carefully if she was going to get the young woman to listen.

‘Your movies were excellent,’ she assured Harmony, meaning it. ‘I think they probably didn’t want to upset you by showing them. I was such a massive fan of yours. I went to the pictures all the time to see them.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Harmony sounded doubtful. ‘Which ones?’

Polly groaned inwardly. It had been such a long time ago and now she was under pressure, her mind had gone blank. ‘Er, One Weekend in Connecticut ,’ she said, grasping at the title of Harmony’s breakout film gratefully. ‘Loved that! So funny, and you were wonderful in it.’

Harmony leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Yeah, I liked that one, too,’ she said quietly. She opened her eyes and grinned at Polly. ‘You know, Betty Grable wanted the part, but I whooped her ass with my screen test. The kid couldn’t catch a break, but what can ya do?’

Polly was tempted to point out that Betty Grable hadn’t done so badly for herself in subsequent years. On balance, she thought it best not to. Luckily, Harmony didn’t seem to expect an answer.

‘1935. I was nineteen years old, and after that movie, I was box-office gold.’ She gave a wistful sigh then turned to Polly, her expression curious. ‘Say, what’s this weekend gotta do with me anyway? What makes you think I care?’

‘Well…’ Polly hesitantly sat down on the chair opposite and folded her hands in her lap as she tried to explain the ghosts’ concern. ‘Thing is, we were kind of hoping you’d attend just to have a bit of fun. The truth is, we’re all a bit worried about you.’

Harmony’s eyes widened. ‘About me? Why would you be worried about me?’

‘Since you – since that night – you’ve never really mixed with us.

You keep yourself to yourself, and we’re worried you’re a bit isolated.

Well, a lot isolated, actually. We thought a bit of fun would do you some good, and we all want to meet you properly, you know?

My mum always said it doesn’t do any good to wallow. ’

‘Wallow?’

‘You know.’ Polly wasn’t certain if Americans had the same word for wallow.

‘I mean, just moping around, dwelling on the past. We have to make the most of our afterlives. What’s the alternative?

I know it must be hard for you, what with you being a big star and so far away from home.

Harder than it is for the rest of us, because we know this place and love it, but you’ve got no connections here, have you? Which is why?—’

She broke off, staring in dismay as Harmony faded to black and white.

She looked just as she had in her films. It was a trick she seemed to possess that none of the other ghosts did.

Whenever someone said anything to upset or annoy her, the colour would drain from her, as if it was her way of trying to disappear from their sight.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Polly cried. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Who says you upset me?’ Harmony demanded, tilting her chin in defiance.

‘Well, er…’ Polly looked helplessly at the actress’s monochrome form.

Harmony followed her gaze and slapped her thigh in exasperation. ‘Damnit! What gives with this anyway? I can’t control it. Does it happen to you?’

‘No,’ Polly admitted. ‘I don’t know that it happens to any other ghost of my acquaintance.’

‘I was kinda worried you’d say that.’ Harmony sighed, and as she did so, the colour gradually returned to her, easing Polly’s mind a little.

‘You look just like you do in your films,’ Polly reassured her gently. ‘As beautiful as ever.’

Harmony smiled. ‘You’re a nice girl, honey. What did you say your name was again?’

‘I didn’t,’ Polly admitted. ‘Sorry, that was rude of me. It’s Polly. Polly Herron.’

Harmony’s eyes widened and she stared at Polly as if she’d just seen her for the first time.

‘Polly Herron?’ She tilted her head, eyeing Polly in an unnerving manner. ‘So, you’re Polly, huh? I guess I shoulda known. Your clothes, your hairstyle. Only you and me here from the forties, right?’

‘You, me, and a little girl,’ Polly corrected her.

Harmony sat forward. ‘A little girl? Oh! You mean the bossy kid from Harling Hall, I guess?’

Polly laughed. ‘Yes, Florrie. She’s sort of been adopted by Agnes and Aubrey.’

‘She has, huh? Well…’ Harmony studied her beautifully manicured nails for a moment. ‘How old is she anyway?’

Polly shrugged. ‘Ten, I think. She’s an evacuee from London.’

‘Ten? You sure?’

‘Well…’ Polly thought about it. ‘Yes, she’s definitely ten, because she and Immi were the same age when Callie moved here but then Immi had her eleventh birthday, so yes. Florrie’s ten.’

‘Right.’

Was it her imagination, or did Harmony sound disappointed?

‘Does it matter?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Huh? No, no of course it don’t matter. Just thinking how sad it is that a kid died so young. I mean, I thought thirty was bad enough, but jeez…’ Harmony shrugged. ‘It’s good to meet you at last, Polly.’

‘It is?’ Polly felt flustered and ridiculously flattered. ‘Actually, we have briefly met before, but we weren’t properly introduced. You sort of took off before we could say anything.’

‘I did? When was that?’

‘Oh, it was not long after I crossed over,’ Polly said with a shrug.

‘Some of the ghosts took me under their wing and decided to take me on the rounds to meet everyone. You were sitting on a bench outside the church, and you seemed miles away. You didn’t notice us approaching you until we were right beside you, and when Isaac tried to tell you who I was, you got up without speaking and walked away. ’

Like you couldn’t get away fast enough .

‘Gee, I’m sorry. I guess the air was blue after I left, huh?’ She shook her head. ‘I was still pretty new to it all back then, ya know? I was used to people chasing after me for autographs and I still felt the need to get away.’

But what’s your excuse now?