Ways to See a Ghost

filled with a sudden urge to rush over and ask if she could move in.
    “She looks really nice,” she said.
    “Suppose so,” said Gray, not even looking back. “Is Cally telling people’s fortunes then?”
    Isis nodded, wanting to crawl underneath the bench.
    “I didn’t know she could do that,” said Gray, sounding impressed.
    “I don’t think she can,” said Isis. “But I don’t think she can do spirit readings either, so what difference does it make?”
    Gray laughed, swinging the carrier bag against his legs.
    “You’re so lucky,” said Isis, staring enviously at Gray’s mum. “I have to drag after Cally all the time, doing this stuff.”
    “It’s the same with my dad and his UFOs,” said Gray.
    “No it’s not!” said Isis. “No one sees you, your dad doesn’t make you sell tickets!” She was nearly shouting, shocking herself.
    Gray’s carrier bag came to a stop. “Are you all right?” he asked, narrowing his eyes a little. “Is this girl stuff or something?”
    “No!” She took in a breath.
    “It’s since we went out to the field—” she started, but a crash echoed across the mall, cutting off her words. The chat and shuffle of the shoppers stilled for a moment, as people paused their shopping and looked around.
    In front of the fortune-teller’s tent, Cally was picking up her knocked-over chair, the cause of the clatter. She was staring, red-faced, towards the entrance. The neat figure of a man was walking confidently towards her. Philip Syndal.
    What did he want?
    “Hang on a minute,” Isis said to Gray, and set off towards Cally, her pace getting quicker. He was a liar, a fraud – he’d proved that at the theatre.
    Cally didn’t notice Isis, instead she smiled brightly at Philip, walking a few steps to meet him.
    “Phil. How wonderful.” But it wasn’t quite convincing.
    “I heard from another member of the society that you’d be here,” said Philip. “So I thought I’d come along, see you at work.”
    Cally’s smile wavered. She fiddled with her dress and her newly bought shawl.
    “Of course,” she said. “Um, they led me to expect something slightly more… professional when I agreedto the booking.” She gestured at the shoppers, the tacky little tent.
    Philip lightly touched her arm.
    “It’s always this way when you start out,” he said kindly. “I worked the nightclubs. At least everyone here is sober.” He turned his head, spotting Isis. “I see you’ve brought your lovely daughter along.”
    “She always comes to my performances,” said Cally, throwing a ‘behave yourself!’ look at Isis.
    “Even on school nights?” smiled Philip.
    Cally gave a slightly ashamed laugh. “Well she can do her homework in a corner. And if we get back really late I always let her sleep in. I just tell her teachers she isn’t feeling well.”
    Isis blushed. Cally made it sound way worse than it was. She’d only lied to the teachers twice.
    Philip didn’t answer, looking at Cally intently for a moment. Then he turned away.
    “You know,” he said, “they do a very good cappuccino in the coffee bar here.”
    But now people had started noticing him. Two middle-aged women were pointing. Another woman, carrying four shopping bags, pushed in front of Isis, then waved somemore people over. A little crowd started to form around Philip and Cally, mostly made up of women. The noise level was rising, the same excitement as had filled the theatre. Isis was getting pushed away from her mum.
    Gray tapped her arm. He was behind her.
    “Who’s your mum talking to?” he whispered.
    Isis looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you know who Philip Syndal is?”
    “Is he famous or something?”
    “He’s a psychic. He’s been on telly!”
    Gray shrugged. “I’ve never seen him.”
    A woman pushed in front of them, then another, driving them back to the edges of the crowd. Philip was transforming himself for the growing audience, smiling and looking oddly handsome in the sunshine. He’d separated, ever so slightly, from Cally.
    “He looks taller than just now,” said Gray, staring. “How’s he done that?”
    “It’s called stage presence,” said Isis. “Cally says all the best stage psychics have it. It’s like an act, sort of.”
    On the other side of the crowd, a red-haired woman wearing a stripy dress pushed her way towards Philip, holding out a scrap of paper and a pen.
    “Can I have your autograph?”
    And with that, the crowd was unleashed. Closing