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The cinema was across the way from the teashop, tucked into a small cul-de-sac with only a handful of cottages.

It wasn’t like any other cinema I’d ever seen, and you could almost be forgiven for thinking it was just a large house from the exterior, if not for the sign over the entrance and the movie posters – facsimiles of the originals – attached to the noticeboard by the front steps.

Not only that, but he’d created an Edwardian and Great War experience at the station, hiring people to portray soldiers and their sweethearts gathered on the platform, as well as opening a very popular station teashop, with mahogany furniture, polished silver teapots, lace-edged tablecloths, and staff dressed in uniforms not unlike the maids in early episodes of Downton Abbey .

So we’d all kind of held our breath when it had been announced that there was to be a new owner, and the age of the Davenports was ending, even though we’d known it was inevitable, as soon as it became obvious that Brodie couldn’t see the ghosts.

He’d been our last hope, after it was revealed that Lawrie’s son didn’t possess the gift. With two generations of Davenports now without the sight, we knew Lawrie had no choice but to pass the estate to someone who did have it.

Callie had been a bolt from the blue. Aunt Polly said the previous owners had all had some connection or other with this place, but Callie had none.

She was originally from East Yorkshire and was living in Leicestershire when she visited Rowan Vale with her daughter as part of a school trip, and Lawrie had discovered that she could see all the ghosts.

Although we’d had to accept that the Davenports’ time was over, I’ll admit we’d been nervous that Callie wouldn’t get it . That she wouldn’t understand how important Rowan Vale and the Harling Estate were to us all, and how much our history and heritage mattered.

So, as I watched her standing on the stage at The Magic Lantern, enthusiastically telling us of her plans and dreams for the 1940s weekend, I couldn’t help thinking how lucky we were, because it was pretty clear to me that it mattered almost as much to her as it did to us.

‘Lawrie’s been in touch with the vintage car club, and the plan is to line up all the vehicles along Church Lane,’ she said, her eyes shining with excitement.

She turned her head slightly and grinned.

‘I know, I know, but Silas will just have to lump it,’ she said, clearly answering a comment by one of the ghosts.

There was a smattering of laughter. We all knew Reverend Alexander by reputation, and that he wouldn’t take kindly to a line of old cars outside All Souls, attracting even more visitors.

In the seat next to me, Amelia Davies, the vicar of All Souls and the bane of Silas’s afterlife, gave me a wry grin. ‘Poor old Silas. Bless him, I can almost feel sorry for him.’

From what I’d heard from Aunt Polly, she was the only person who’d ever said that!

Fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, Amelia was an easy-going sort of person, which was probably a very good job.

How she coped with living in the vicarage, knowing Silas’s ghost was sharing her home with her, was beyond me.

I’d have been holding nightly exorcisms, just to be on the safe side.

I glanced around, but there was no sign of Aunt Polly, which surprised me.

I’d have thought she’d have been one of the first to arrive, eager to hear Callie’s plans.

Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her all week.

I’d been expecting her at the teashop every day, but she hadn’t showed, and when I’d popped upstairs to her flat a few times to open a window, dust round, and run a hoover over the carpets, there’d been no sign of her.

I hoped she was all right, before realising she couldn’t really be anything else. I mean, it wasn’t like I needed to worry about her being ill, was it? She must have found something new to entertain her.

‘So what about our shops?’ Mrs Chesterton said. ‘Where do the Victorian and Swinging Sixties businesses fit into the scheme of things?’

‘Well, what I’m hoping for is that, although I wouldn’t expect you to change your stock or do anything different that weekend, you wouldn’t mind changing the look of the exterior of the shops.’

As a loud murmuring began, she raised her hands.

‘Only slightly! Nothing too drastic, I promise! My idea is for every business in the village to tape their windows, the way they did during the war to protect from potential bomb damage and shattered glass. And if you could perhaps hang some vintage bunting, that would be great. A few posters in the window. You know – dig for victory, careless talk costs lives, that kind of thing.’

‘But we’d still be able to sell our usual goods?’ Mrs Chesterton asked suspiciously.

‘I promise, I wouldn’t want to cause you any disruption, and of course I wouldn’t expect you to change your stock just for one weekend,’ Callie assured her.

‘All I’m asking is you enter into the spirit of things by dressing your shop fronts up a bit.

It would be business as usual inside, and I’d make that very clear on the programmes for the event. ’

‘What about us?’ asked Mandy, one of the girls from the salon. ‘Do you want us to do 1940s hairstyles for the day?’

‘Honestly,’ Callie said, ‘it would be entirely up to you.’

The salon usually offered beehives and backcombing to any tourists who wanted to try the authentic 1960s look for themselves, as well as carrying out their usual modern hairstyling for locals.

‘Ooh,’ Amelia mused. ‘Might treat myself to a Betty Grable do, or a Rita Hayworth. I could dye my hair red. What do you think?’

‘Maybe you should cut your hair short and stick a moustache on instead,’ I said wryly. ‘I don’t think there were any women vicars in the forties, were there?’

‘Oh heck,’ she groaned. ‘You’re right. I suppose I’ll have to remove the dog collar then.’

We turned our attention back to the matter in hand.

‘I think it would be fun to do forties hair for a change,’ another hairstylist, Ingrid, was telling Callie, her voice full of enthusiasm. ‘Victory rolls and pin curls – that kind of thing. We could look it up on the internet and see how you do it and have a good practise on each other.’

Mandy nodded. ‘We could. We might be able to find some old 1940s magazines online to put in the salon instead of the 1960s ones, too.’

‘That would be brilliant.’ Callie sounded delighted and there was an unmistakable note of gratitude in her voice.

‘What about us, Callie?’ A young man I didn’t recognise who was sitting not far from me had stood up, and as he was wearing ordinary, modern clothing, I wasn’t entirely sure if he worked at Rowan Vale at all.

‘What’s happening at the station? Business as usual, or do you want to transform from First World War to Second? ’

Callie glanced at Mia, who’d been sitting quietly by her side. Mia worked at Harling Hall not only as housekeeper, but as an admin assistant. In Lawrie’s day, she’d been his Girl Friday. She stood up.

‘Didn’t you get the email, Matthew? There’s a meeting at the Victory Tearooms tomorrow for all station staff to attend.’

Matthew – who I guessed must be one of the ‘soldiers’ at the station – frowned. ‘Sorry, Mia. Must have gone into spam.’

‘You never check your emails, you mean,’ said a young woman sitting next to him. ‘How many times have I told you?’

I recognised her. I think her name was Andie. She sometimes took part in the pub quiz at The Quicken Tree, and I knew she worked on the vintage buses, as a conductress or “clippie”. She must be this Matthew’s friend or girlfriend.

‘Sorry, Mia,’ she called. ‘We’ve been away on holiday. First day back at work tomorrow, so we’ll be there.’

‘There’ll be another newsletter going out in a couple of days,’ Mia assured us.

‘This time, it will be individually tailored, so you’ll know exactly what we’re hoping you’ll be able to do and what your part will be in this event.

For most of you, it honestly will be business as usual.

For others, it will just mean dressing up your shop fronts.

We’re not expecting miracles, especially given the short notice.

However,’ she added, glancing at Callie, ‘we do have treats in store.’

Callie smiled. ‘Special thanks to Lucy and Sam at the record shop, who have sourced some vinyl albums featuring original recordings of 1940s music and a vintage record player. We’re going to be playing music through a series of strategically placed speakers throughout the village, that will really help build the atmosphere.

And our lovely vicar, Amelia, has also promised that the church choir will be learning some wartime songs and will entertain us all with live music from the period, so that’ll be fun, right? ’

‘She hasn’t heard them sing,’ Amelia whispered to me before smiling and nodding at Callie.

‘And,’ Mia added, ‘we’re hoping there’ll also be a special event to round off the weekend, to which you’ll all be invited. More news of that as soon as we can share.’

As we filed out of the cinema into the early-evening sunshine, which had made a welcome return, Amelia nodded over to where Betty and Rissa were walking, deep in discussion.

‘There’s a surprise,’ she said. ‘Rissa made it very clear to anyone who’d listen that she wanted nothing to do with the 1940s weekend, yet here she is. Well, hopefully that means she’s got over Brodie at last.’

‘Hey, did you know her dad was in the village looking for her last week?’

Amelia frowned ‘Looking for her? Was she lost or something?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘He said that he’d read in the papers that she worked at Rowan Farm, which I thought was odd. If she’s his daughter, surely he’d know she worked there already? It’s not like she’s only just moved here, is it?’

‘Very strange,’ Amelia agreed. ‘Maybe they’ve had a falling out or something. Did he seem angry? Anxious? Upset?’