Ways to See a Ghost

heard of the Welkin Society?”
    Well yes, because old Norman was always going on about ‘his’ society, that he’d started. But I was never interested, I just thought it was a club for nutters like him.
    Dad reached out, put his hand over Cally’s. “Don’t worry, it’ll work out. I can put a word in with Sondra, if you want. Explain things.”
    “You can?” asked Cally, gazing at him.
    Dad smiled. “We can talk about it this weekend.” He looked at me. “You’ll be all right with that, won’t you, Gray?”
    “All right with what?”
    “Cally and Isis coming over this Saturday.”
    Isis glared at her mum, and Cally blushed.
    “We’ve got a computer,” Dad said to Isis. “You and Gray can play games on it. While I take Cally for a walk in the garden, or something…” Cally blushed even harder.
    “Oh! No!” cried Isis.
    “No way!” I said.
    But what could we do? It was love at first sight with those two…

    … Where am I anyway? I thought I was supposed to be having blood taken for tests, but this is like a storeroom or something. What’s going on? Are you even a doctor?
    No, I’m not. But I don’t think you would have come with me if I’d told you the truth. We’re somewhere quiet and we won’t be disturbed, which is all you need to know at the moment. Look at me, that’s right. You feel calm and safe. You feel perfectly relaxed. You want to tell me everything that happened, everything you know.
    Oh… yes, I do.

She pushed with her feet, idly spinning on the roundabout. Grey-tarmac road whirled into green-grass park, then back to tarmac. She was on her own, rustling in her raincoat. Apart from Angel of course, who was sat on the seat in front, drizzle falling through her.
    “Erewego round the mubberry bush.”
    Angel held on vaguely to the steel frame, happily singing one line over and over.
    Isis kicked her feet faster, eyebrows pulled down. Every time she spun past the view of the park, she could see them. Cally and Gil, cuddling on the bench under an umbrella. Cally and Gil, kissing.
    Her mum had been different these past three weeks.Happy. When Isis got home from school the flat was clean and the windows open. There were cooking smells wafting from the kitchen. Cally sang while she did things, and when the phone rang she ran to answer it. If Isis scrambled across the sofa, getting there first, it was always Gil.
    “Hello, Isis. Can I speak to your mum?”
    No. Go away.
    “Yes, she’s just here.” Handing the receiver to Cally.
    “Gil!” A smile curving Cally’s mouth, her voice softening and filling with laughter.
    I should be happy for her, Isis thought every time.
    But all the years of darkness, all that misery! And now Cally just threw it off, for
him?
The best Isis could manage was a sourish ache. She’d wanted things to change, but this wasn’t what she’d imagined. Now everything was about Gil, even things that weren’t. Like the letter. It had arrived this morning, and was waiting on the doormat when Isis got up. It stood out a mile from the bills and junk mail.
    “Oh!” She ran across the living room, picking it up. A thick cream envelope, addressed to
Calista Dunbar
in careful, flowing handwriting. It looked special, and Isis held it up to the light, but the paper was too thick to see through, and the back was sealed shut, with no way topeek inside. Definitely special, and she couldn’t wait until her mum woke. So she took the letter into Cally’s still-dark bedroom, yanking open a curtain. Daylight blasted over Cally, messy-haired under the duvet. She groaned and held her hands out against the light.
    “What? What time is it?” Her eyes opened in sleepy confusion.
    “Look at this letter for you!” said Isis, holding out the envelope. “Who’s it from?”
    Cally reached out a hand over the scrunched bedding, heaving herself up. She stared at her name on the envelope, frowning as she ripped it open and pulled out a thick sheet of paper. It was neatly scrawled with the same flowing script, and Cally’s pupils darted as she read. A slow, open smile formed on her lips, and she turned the letter over, searching for more.
    “What does it say?” asked Isis, trying to read the back.
    Cally’s eyes were wide. She let out a laugh.
    “I’ve been invited to join the Welkin Society!” She held the letter up, pointing to the signature. “Look! It’s from Philip Syndal himself! He’s really high up in the society – he’s one of the best psychics in