Chapter 24

24

I t feels like I can't breathe as I watch him walk away, but I keep my back stiff and pull my cardigan around me tighter, as if it can keep the pieces of me from flying away. Blinking away the tears in my eyes, I swallow against the lump in my throat.

"Are you okay, Sparky?" Rosie's hand lands on my back when her soft voice calls me by the same nickname my mum uses.

I bite my lip and draw in a shaky breath. "Well," I say, forcing a brightness I don't feel into my voice. "Anyone got any ideas?"

The phone rings in the office, and Rosie's hand drops from my back. "I'll get it."

I nod again. "Well?" I ask the others.

They all stare at me in various states of frustration and distress.

"I can't believe it's come to this," Aggie says quietly. "I thought we'd be able to save it."

"It's not your fault," a familiar voice says from behind me and I gasp and spin around.

There, standing at the foot of the stairs, a little pale and shaky, is Cedric. He looks around the lobby, refamiliarising himself with a room he hasn't seen in decades, then turns his attention back to us.

"None of you are to blame," he says sadly. "This is all my fault. Firstly, by locking myself away and not fighting for this place like I should have, then by hiding the court summons and keeping how dire the situation really is from you."

"It's okay, Cedric." Aggie's expression is the softest I've ever seen it.

"It's not okay," he says with a tremor in his voice. "And now we're going to lose our home because no matter how hard I try, I can't come up with a way to save it."

I rush over to his side and offer him support as he crosses the floor towards the seated area. John the Maid leaps up and takes Cedric's other arm, the huge, burly man guiding the shorter, more fragile one to the chair he just vacated and helping him to sit.

"Tea, Cedric?" Aggie offers, picking up the teapot on the low coffee table, and he nods.

"It's what we do in a crisis, isn't it?"

Aggie chuckles, and the sound's tinged with sadness. Dilys, silent as ever, picks up the small plate of cookies with shaky hands and holds them out to Cedric and then John, both of whom take a cookie, although I'm sure neither of them have much of an appetite. Watching all of them, I'm filled with so much love for this quirky hodgepodge of people.

"It doesn't matter," I state firmly. "I love this place every bit as much as you all, but at the end of the day it's bricks and mortar. What's important is this right here." I point to them. "We're a family and as long as we all stick together, we'll be okay."

"Well said, Ellis." John the Maid lifts his cookie in a toast. "We'll be all right. I've got a sense about these things." A smile plays on his usually austere lips as he looks over my shoulder towards the door.

I follow his gaze and my mouth drops open in surprise as Morgan rushes through, practically falling over the threshold and then skidding along the flagstone floor.

"Oh my god. Morgan?" I rush towards him in worry. "You're going to miss your flight. Did you forget something?"

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

"Are you okay? What did you forget?"

"You told me to find a reason to smile every day," he says in a rush. I stare at him in confusion. "What if I want that reason to be you?"

Warmth blasts through me as his words register, and my smile, no longer forced, becomes so wide that I'm sure my cheeks will start aching soon. "And," he continues, "what if I want that smile to happen in person every day, not on the other end of a video call or during the odd visit to the UK. What if I want to be here—with you—each day?"

"Are you serious?" I whisper.

"As a heart attack."

"I wouldn't say that around here too loudly," Cedric mutters behind me.

"Yes." I grin even wider if that's possible. "YES!" I jump into his arms, winding my legs around his waist as my lips crash against his.

His mouth lands on mine and it's as if my world has righted itself again. It's a comforting feeling, like coming home after a long, tiring journey. I clutch his pert little bottom as he wraps himself around me like a monkey, and we kiss like we're the only two people in the world. That is, until someone clears their throat.

We part and turn to look at my grandfather, who stares at the pair of us with his brows raised so high they almost disappear into his hairline. Ellis slides down my body and I set him gently on his feet, then give the old man my attention.

"Grandad," I say softly. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"No, you were right, lad." He shakes his head. "About a lot of things, starting with me needing to come out of my room. It's not easy. Right now, I feel like my skin's trying to crawl off my body. I'll have good days and bad days, but I'll try."

"And I'll be here to help you," I reply, and his lips twitch.

"Welcome home, Morgan," he says, holding his arms out. "Want to try that hug business again?"

I smile and stoop down to step into his embrace. It's awkward, but easier than the first time, and we pull back after a moment.

"Good job on the pants."

He shrugs. "I thought I'd dress up for the occasion."

"Are you staying?" A small child's voice asks from my side. As I look down, I jolt in shock.

A small boy stands next to me. He's about nine years old and is wearing short pants, a faded checked shirt, and a sweater.

He looks just like I remember.

"Artie?" I sink to my knees so I'm eye level with him.

His expression is a mixture of sadness and frustration. "You said we'd always be friends, but then you went away and didn't come back," he says sullenly.

"I did come back," I give him a small smile. "It just took me a little while to find my way home."

"But are you staying this time?"

I glance up at Ellis and Grandad, then back to the little boy. "Yes, I am."

"Huzzah!" A gruff voice bellows, and I see an old man wearing an old-fashioned naval uniform standing beside a potted plant.

I blink and rise slowly as figures begin to appear one by one throughout the lobby. A young woman in an Edwardian gown wearing a sash declaring, Votes for Women! A punk with a lime-green mohawk and leather pants decorated with safety pins and chains. An old woman in a high-necked white nightgown holding an antique ear trumpet and cane. A petite woman who looks a little like the human version of Betty Boop, wearing a black-fringed dress, whose short black hair is sculpted into large, defined waves.

But front and centre is a skinny blonde man with a neat moustache wearing the tiniest pair of white shorts I've ever seen. He also has on a matching shirt and sweater, with a tennis racket resting on his shoulder. Right beside him is a short, rotund woman with wild grey hair who's dressed in tweed, a woman I recognise from the upstairs portrait gallery.

"Bertie?" I ask. She grins, bowing theatrically. "Roger?" I turn to the blonde man, who curtsies and blows me a cheeky kiss. "Leona?" I greet the tiny woman in the fringed dress. She smiles and waves.

I find I can easily identify each person from the stories Ellis has told me about the hotel. Turning to him, I raise a brow, and he grins in reply.

"So you weren't kidding about this place being haunted?"

He shakes his head, the smile fading. "Nope. It's all real. If we lose this place, we don't just lose our home. They do too." He points to the ghosts.

"Oh for heaven's sake, did you not listen to a word I said!" Another ghost appears, this one carrying a clipboard and pen and looking very annoyed. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're not supposed to show yourselves to the living! It's just not done. It's against?—"

"Yes, yes," Bertie booms, rolling her eyes. "Against the rules. We know, but I say sod the rules. Up the establishment and fuck a man. I mean, not me personally I don't do chaps but you know what I mean, right, Skid?"

The punk grins. "Actually, Bertie old girl, it's fuck The Man, but close enough. The inmates are taking over the asylum Stan, so get on board or get out of the way."

"Oh my lord." The one he called Stan sighs long sufferingly. "What did I do to be cursed with you lot?"

"Got lucky?" Roger offers.

"See here. The thing is, Flibblebottom," Bertie begins.

"It's Stanley Fitzgerald Longbottom," he corrects her.

"Whatever." She waves a hand. "This is our home. It's just as important to us ghosts as it is to the fleshies. There's hundreds of years of history and countless ghosts here. This place is just ripe with psychic energy, and we can't just abandon it willy-nilly. I don't give a toss what your bureau says. We're staying, and we're going to help the fleshies save this place."

"Well, it just so happens you're right," Stanley says grudgingly.

"What? I am?" Bertie seems very smug at the thought. "Of course I am."

"I can see the bond you all have with this residence and the living who inhabit it. You are also correct about the psychic energy of the place. Therefore, when I submitted your case to my superiors, I proposed that you be allowed to remain in the house and grounds, and to have limited contact with the living."

"Oh, jolly good show," Bertie cheers. "This deserves a celebration."

"I wish I hadn't used those confetti cannons on Ellis and Morgan now," Roger pouts.

"That was you!" I exclaim loudly. He just grins.

"There will, of course, be rules!" Stanley interjects.

"Of course." Bertie rolls her eyes again.

"You are not completely in the clear. You have been placed on probation." He tears off a piece of paper from his clipboard and hands it to Bertie to read. I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but she looks at Roger, who shrugs.

"Probation's okay," he says, and then he and Bertie high-five each other.

"I will also be remaining in the house under a supervisory capacity to ensure you are adhering to the rules," Stanley says pompously.

Skid snorts. "Good luck with that."

"What exactly is going on, Bertie?" Ellis asks.

"Well, we got into a spot of hot water with the Bureau of Domestic Hauntings after the old murder mystery weekend shenanigans."

"Oh my god," Stanley says in exasperation. "You're not supposed to tell the living about the Bureau. It contravenes rule number six thousand five hundred and forty-two, paragraph E subsection–"

"Yes, yes." Bertie waves him off again, and I didn't think it would be possible for a ghost to turn that shade of red. "Anyway, we're now on probation, so we'll have to go easy on the whole haunted hotel aspect."

"I hate to tell you, Bertie, but there won't be a hotel anymore," Ellis says quietly. "They're sending someone to value the house and contents for auction."

"No!" Roger gasps loudly.

Leona raises her hand to her forehead and faints rather dramatically into the arms of the admiral, who seems to be trying to cop a feel until Leona stands up sharply and slaps his face.

"Are they always like this?" I mutter to Ellis.

"Pretty much. You kind of get used to it."

"Well, if I could break up this little—whatever it is," I say as I turn to Ellis and my grandad, "I may have a temporary fix. I'll hire a new lawyer and see if we can go back to court to argue our case."

"Our case?" Ellis smiles at me, and that's the smile right there that nails me square in the chest, as opposed to the sad, fake smile he did when I was leaving.

"Yes, our case. I told you I'm staying and more than that, I'm investing my money in the hotel."

"Morgan, you can't do that," Ellis objects. "What if we lose and this place still closes? You'll lose everything."

"Not everything." I take his hand and pull him against me. I smooth that one errant curl of his that's hanging forward into his eyes and brush my thumb over his chin. "Like I said before, my money's not enough to save it, but it's enough to buy us some time to come up with a viable plan, one that's not stuff it in a drawer and hope it goes away." My gaze flicks to my grandfather, who has the good grace to look slightly ashamed.

"I'll invest!" A familiar voice yells above the chatter of the ghosts.

"Who's that?" Grandad frowns and turns to look.

I glance over to the front desk to see Rosie holding up her phone, and on the screen is my brothers face.

"What the hell, Warren?" I sigh.

"What?" he says. "Did you really think I was going to miss this? It's like watching my own private Hallmark movie, only with pirates and tennis twinks." He squints into his screen. "Are you guys having a costume party?"

"No," I snort. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Well, I called the hotel while you were on your way back and got the lovely Rosie to put me on video call on her phone so I wouldn't miss you declaring your love to Ellis. Is that him?" He shifts his face on the screen. "Morgan, move over and let me see him, he's much prettier than you."

Ellis waves, smiling widely. "Hi, Warren."

Warren stares for several long seconds and blinks. "Wow," he mutters reverently. "It's like looking directly into the sun."

I snort. "Back up. What were you saying?"

"Oh." Warren shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. "Um, I witnessed your declaration of love. Seriously, bro, you really need to work on that. I saw the old guy hug you—hey, Morgan's grandad. I'm his brother, Warren, and I'm way more loveable than he is!"

Grandad chuckles behind me.

"Can I call you Pops?" Warren calls out. "I've always wanted to call someone Pops."

"If you must," Grandad snorts.

"Just be grateful he's wearing pants," I mutter to my brother.

"Anyway, I say the declaration, I give it maybe a 4.6. It needs work. Saw you hug Pops, oh, then the screen went a bit fuzzy. Got some sort of interference, couldn't really hear anything."

I lean over and Stanley smiles a little smugly.

"Oh yeah, and then I said I'll invest in your hotel." He leans to the side as if he can see around me. "Did you hear that, Pops?" he calls out. "I'll invest in your hotel, you can name a wing after me or something."

"I don't think we could fit your whole personality in one of the wings." Grandad chuckles.

"Oh that's weird." Warren gives a mock shudder. "He sounds just like you."

"Uh guys?" Rosie says. "A whole coach load of people just turned up."

We all turn to peer out of the window when the front door bangs open and a stream of pensioners barge in with wheelie suitcases, chattering loudly.

"Oh my goodness!" Ellis exclaims in delight. "Essie! Martha!"

Two tiny identical women who must be in their eighties, at least, rush over to Ellis and start petting him and cooing over him. He hugs each of them in turn, so I guess he knows them. I glance over to my grandfather to find him smoothing down his hair and breathing into his palm to check his breath.

I can see I'm going to have my hands full with him.

"Morgan," Ellis beckons me over. "This is Essie and Martha Gordon, they're twins. They came for the murder mystery weekend."

"Best weekend ever!" The ladies grin. "My goodness, you're a handsome boy and tall too."

"May I introduce you to my grandfather." I grab his arm and tow him over.

"Oh." Martha and Essie both turn their attention to him. "Good genes. Obviously the looks run in the family." They scurry over to him, flanking him and wrapping their arms through his. "How about a drink, handsome? Let's get Dilys to pour us something naughty."

Even over the din in the lobby I can hear my brothers laugh. "Oh my god," Warren laughs calling government his shoulder for his assistant. "Celia, get me booked on the next flight to Manchester. I have to see this with my own eyes."

"Great," I mutter, that's just what I need. My brother, let loose with a bunch of badly behaved OAP's.

"Essie, Martha, not that I'm not thrilled to see you but what are you doing here?" Ellis asks the octogenarian twins.

"Oh we told you we'd be back," Essie says. "We're selling the flat and we'd like to rent permanent rooms for me and Martha, plus we told a few friends about the–" she glances around, " ghosts " she mouths.

I look across the lobby myself and see Bertie and the others have disappeared.

"Of course everyone was madly curious, so here we all are!"

Ellis laughs in delight, clutching my arm. "I should go and help Rosie get everyone booked in."

"Wait, a minute," I pull Ellis away from everyone else, leaving my grandad being fussed over but the two elderly women.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to say," I run my hand through my hair. "Actually, I don't know what I want to say." I laugh. "My minds gone blank."

"That'll happen a lot here," he says looking over at all the noisy pensioners most of whom appear to have forgotten to turn their hearing aids up judging by the decibel level they're speaking at.

"Morgan," Ellis says shyly. "I'm glad you came back. I… I didn't want you to go."

I cup his jaw gently and trace his cheek with my thumb. "I didn't want to go either, not just because of this place but because of you."

"Really?"

I nod. "I'm not ready to put a label on whatever this is between us, but I know it's something that doesn't come along every day."

He rises up on his toes and kisses me, snaking my arms around him I pull him in closer breathing him in until we're finally forced to part.

He laughs breathlessly, pressing his forehead to mine. "Now what?"

"Now," I reply, dropping a soft kiss on his lips. "Now we find a way to save the hotel. Together."