Emily's Ghost

By Goldie Alexander

A GHOST OF A CHANCE

Tenderhearted Billie Hatchman has known no day without backbreaking hard work since she found out she was pregnant twelve years ago. Now she’s inherited a bed-and-breakfast from her great aunt, a woman she never met. It looks like her problems are solved. Except, Billie’s not prepared for the immense loneliness that comes with such a life. There’s enough to keep her distracted day to day, but thoughts of Sam Willis, her sexy chef neighbor, aren’t quite enough to fill her nights.

Sam is the perfect man: good to her children, a supportive friend, and he stirs up feelings Billie long ago forsook. Yet Sam is taken, and his girlfriend is beautiful and socially connected—and rich. Could he truly believe a single mother of two would be a better partner and lover? That’s what the kindhearted, spitfire of a ghost in Billie’s bedroom believes. And Great Aunt Emily thinks this love is worth any risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944262624

Book preview

1.

Billie’s appointment was for 9:15 a.m. However, it took half an hour to drive from Balnarring to the lawyer’s office and at the last minute twelve-year-old Aria threw a wobbly about her skirt being too long. Not that Billie agreed, but rather than prolong the usual mother-daughter argument, at the last minute she was tacking hems when she should have been halfway to Frankston.

The only empty space was in a thirty-minute zone. This late, she parked the Honda knowing she was sure to get booked. Then she didn’t have enough coins to fill the meter and the Two Dollar shop across the road made an issue of changing a five-dollar bill. By the time Billie found the right building, she was covered in perspiration.

She found Roger Livingston’s office in a gleaming glass-and-concrete building mostly occupied by doctors, accountants and lawyers. Inside, a mirror in the foyer showed a slim woman of average height with wavy shoulder-length dark brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and a squarish chin that suggested both strength and resolution, a woman in her early thirties whose attractive appearance was slightly marred by a permanent worry line on the bridge of her nose.

Billie paused to check her makeup, smooth her eyeshadow, and adjust her skirt, which felt that bit too snug. If only she’d had time to study her reflection in more detail, she might have wished her cheekbones higher, her nose straighter, her lips thicker, and her outfit a lot newer.

Instead she ran her eye down several names before finding the lawyer’s on the sixth floor.

The lift silently rose and opened into a spacious suite. One entire wall was see-through glass. Billie paused to admire the vista of yellow sand, green sea, and blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds.

A girl, not much older than Billie’s teenage babysitter Carol, but dressed in a formfitting navy dress that must have cost a week’s wages, viewed Billie with suspicion.

Nevertheless, her name and appointment confirmed, she was immediately directed into the lawyer’s office.

A tall thin man in his late fifties in a charcoal suit and a striped tie hinting at some organization or club Billie didn’t recognize came from behind a table to ask, Wilhemina Adrienne Hatchman?

She nodded.

He shook her hand before saying, I’m Roger Livingston. Before we start can you please show me some identification?

She reached into her purse and took out her driving licence.

The lawyer glanced at it, cleared his throat, and pointed her to a chair. So Wilhemina—

Everyone calls me Billie, she said quickly.

Billie? His eyebrows shot up.

I changed it when I was little. My parents went on a trip to Europe. When they counted back, they figured I was conceived in Holland…

She stopped, realizing she was saying too much.

Ah. His face cleared. Wilhemina, now shortened to Billie. A slight smile hovered around thin lips. And you have no siblings?

She shook her head. None that I’m aware of.

No one to query any inheritance?

No one, she repeated, wondering for perhaps the millionth time if having a brother or a sister might have made a difference. But Billie’s parents had been in their mid-forties when she was born. An only child, she always felt like a noisy intruder into her parents’ quiet existence. Now, with her mother Kathryn dying of cancer ten years ago, her father John shortly after, there were no maternal grandparents for her children Damien and Aria. Only one elderly grandfather in Adelaide who visited every other year, and then only when he felt up to it. The bottom line? No relatives. No one to call on apart from her own resourcefulness. Perhaps that was why most of her childhood was spent in a world of imaginary friends. Perhaps that was why she could cope with being single a little easier than some other women.

The preliminaries over, the lawyer went back to the table and sat down. Billie, how well did you know Miss Emily Hatchman?

Hardly at all, she confessed. My grandparents… Well, they didn’t approve of Emily, and they cut off all ties. I only met her once. She gave him an embarrassed smile. Until I got your letter, I’d almost forgotten she existed.

The lawyer’s face remained impassive. He opened a manila folder and removed a file. She obviously thought a great deal about you because she has left you everything she owned.

Billie’s jaw dropped. What could this be? Billie had a very active imagination. When she was young, she drove her mother half mad with the stories she made up. Later, as she grew older and had her own children, her imagination began to catastrophize, to visualize dreadful things happening to them; such as when they were toddlers choking on some plastic toy, and, as they grew older, injured in some dreadful school incident. Not that any ever came true, but it stayed in her mind as a tendency to always picture the worst.

Not enough to imagine what would happen if her children were knocked over by a car, or even diagnosed with a major illness. She also feared the house would catch fire, or the children would be struck by lightning. Her mother had often said, Billie, your imagination will be the death of you. But maybe it was her way of propitiating the gods and preventing such calamities.

For a magical moment she pictured a large sum of money. Wasn’t it like winning a lottery? This was reinforced by the lawyer adding, Your aunt left you a property she ran as a bed-and-breakfast. Oddly enough, when I compared your addresses, I found you lived quite close to each other, though possibly you weren’t aware of this.

Roger droned on. Billie was too shocked to take in much of what he was saying. What an extraordinary coincidence. A bed-and-breakfast not far from the house she presently rented; the Mornington Peninsula was full of them. A winery or a B and B was every second retired baby boomer’s dream…that is, until they found out how much work it involved.

Whatever, it now seemed that through Great-Aunt Emily’s munificence, Billie and her children would have their own home. No more renting other people’s dilapidated houses. Billie would now own her own business. Maybe she could even throw in her cleaning jobs. What a shame she had no way to thank this aunt, except perhaps to make this unknown B and B a raging success. If the house was large enough to run as a bed-and-breakfast, surely it was also big enough to accommodate her small family.

Another thought struck her. If Aunt Emily had known about Billie, enough to know how to find her, how come she’d never bothered to contact her? Perhaps she only knew she had a niece and nothing more. She sat forward. Mr Livingston, how did you find me?

He permitted himself a tiny smile. It was a bit of a hunt, he admitted. In the end I was forced to use a local detective agency.

By now Billie had pulled herself together enough to have a multitude of questions. Can you tell me something about Emily?

Only that she lived alone for many years as she ran the B and B, though she eventually gave up the business when it became too hard. She was nearly ninety when she died. A neighbor found her in bed the following day. She must have passed in her sleep.

A long life followed by a peaceful death. Though Billie had at least fifty years to look forward to, she felt a slight twinge of envy. But there were other matters to be sorted. Can you tell me something about her property? Like…like how big is it? How many rooms?

He shook his head. I can’t give you too many details. Your aunt always came here so I never actually saw where she lived. All I can tell you is that there are four bedrooms, a large living room, separate kitchen and two bathrooms, and that it sits on a good site. But here’s the address. He handed her a sheet of paper and gave Billie another dry smile. As no one is living there right now, I suggest you have a quick look.

After having her sign papers establishing that she really was Wilhemina Adrienne Hatchman, he rose from his chair to show her out. Before he could, Billie asked, Can I have the key to Emily’s house?

He coughed. I’m afraid not. I’m not supposed to hand any keys to you until all the formal work has been completed.

Of course, she said, though she really couldn’t see the rationale behind this. Wouldn’t she be taking over this property in the long run? Anyway, she added, I’ve got the address so I can check the walls and garden.

Too late. From Roger Livingston’s distant expression, she realized he was already preparing himself for his next client.

***

The previous morning Damien had been miserable, whiny enough for her to finally lose patience. Was he developing another cold? The kids in his class donated their germs far too liberally. But Damien was also asthmatic. Colds made it harder for him to breathe. She should have been more sympathetic. She should have brought him with her instead of checking that his inhaler was in his pocket and driving him to school.

Nor did it help that Aria had turned, almost overnight, from a delightful Dr. Hyde into a teenage Ms. Jekyll. Everything led to an argument, even being asked to stack the breakfast plates in the dishwasher: Why me? and That sucks, or Whatever were her usual responses to anything Billie asked her to do.

She sighed aloud. Being a single mum was hard enough as it was; then add their bitzer Harry who, if she didn’t watch out, dragged dead birds, bones and trash through the house, and was always under her feet. She was also dead sick of other people’s leavings she was paid to clear away. Whoever sat at this desk she was currently cleaning was a mess-pot. His bin often contained half-eaten sandwiches, brown banana skins and moldy apples. It must be a man. Right now Billie was off all men, particularly if that man happened to be Timothy, the husband she’d divorced two years ago after an eight-year marriage.

As she recalled those last years, her jaw tightened. Though Timothy had a well-paid job, at least until that engineering firm closed up, he’d never thought to save for a rainy day. In a way, she was relieved when they finally decided to split and he moved in with Tania, though she knew the children missed him.

At least she could look forward to her next job. She tackled this office twice weekly. Her more lifesaving occupation was helping out at Rangoon, the nineteenth-century mansion that was too big for Lisa Prescott to manage alone, particularly since Shirley, their old housekeeper, was overseas and Lisa’s other cleaners mostly too occupied.

Nevertheless, though two-year-old Adam, Lisa’s son, was growing into a handful, Lisa was never too busy to stop work for a chat. Over the last year the two women had become so close, what Billie did at Rangoon never felt like proper work, nothing like vacuuming and tidying this grotty office.

Since Timothy no longer lived with them, the arrangement was that he take the children every other weekend. However, he tended to phone at the last minute to say Tania was ill or needed him for some other, some highly implausible reason. Tania was tall and skinny with perfect cheekbones and a waterfall of blonde curly hair. Even though she was gorgeous enough to be modeling for a well-known agency, and no doubt making heaps of money, Billie suspected Tania had sawdust between her ears…but not enough sawdust to prevent Timothy from missing his children’s sleepovers. Certainly, not enough to remind him that once again he’d forgotten to give Billie whatever he owed for their upkeep.

The worst part was watching Damien’s and Aria’s faces fall when told once again their dad cancelled that weekend. Thankfully, she could always call on sixteen-year-old Carol if Lisa needed her at Rangoon. Or on one of the odd occasions, a local restaurant short of staff asked her to wait on tables. Even if Aria angrily insisted she was too old to be babysat, Billie needed to know someone was here to keep an eye on things. Always short of cash, Carol was happy to hang around whenever Billie needed her. Billie secretly hoped she wasn’t sponsoring a major drug habit. In the end Carol spent those evenings on her tablet, while Damien played with Harry and his own iPad, and Aria pretended to do homework, though more like she was texting and Facebooking her friends until finally both children were exhausted enough to fall into bed.

Amongst the usual collection of bills, this morning the postman delivered a letter from a Mr. Roger Livingston, solicitor and barrister, informing Billie that Emily Georgiana Prendergast Hatchman, a great-aunt Billie barely knew, as the last time they’d met Billie was three years younger than Aria, had died and would Billie kindly make an appointment with this lawyer when convenient.

Immediately, Billie rang to do just that for the following morning.

Presently, as she continued vacuuming around desks, swivel chairs, trash bins and discarded folders, she tried to remember something about this long-lost relative. As far as Billie could recall, Emily was rarely mentioned apart from a dismissive Emily was too eccentric for our family. All Billie could recall was a craggy face with cropped gray hair, a determined chin, someone her present height only thin, very thin, with long wiry arms who smelt of cigarettes and a sweet smoky odor Billie would later recognize as incense.

Great-Aunt Emily believed in free love long before the sixties. She’d also been a strict vegetarian in a family where the Sunday roast lamb lunch was almost a religion. No wonder the family disapproved. But disapproval formed part of the Hatchmans’ DNA. When Billie at eighteen became pregnant with Aria and subsequently moved in with her longstanding boyfriend, Timothy, her mother Kathryn, who’d never liked Timothy, coldly told her daughter, Nothing good will come of this. He’s not a man who will stick to anything.

He’s got a great job, Billie had protested. They just gave him a raise.

Maybe he’s doing well right now. But I still think he’s too immature to ever settle down.

Unfortunately, Kathryn was right. And a few years later when so many Hastings firms folded up, and subsequent jobs paid less, their lack of finances would become a serious problem. But at the time Billie was head over heels in love and unable to foretell that Timothy’s occasional drink would turn into many, that he just wasn’t ready to take on the responsibilities of being a husband and a father, that his way of protest was a series of one-night stands. Billie could always tell because for several weeks after a rebellion, he drank less and came home straight after work. It was only when Tania turned out to be more serious that Billie decided this marriage no longer worked, and Timothy seemed relieved to have an excuse to leave.

If Billie ever dared pause long enough to think about her current life, there were too many hateful things about being a single parent. There was the persistent lack of money, the children’s constant disappointment, the way many of her coupled-up friends now regarded her as a husband stealer, the way those husbands came on to her thinking she must be desperate for sex. But worse than that, worse than the endless, relentless struggle, was that being a sole parent often felt to Billie like the loneliest place on earth. Sometimes Billie felt like Sisyphus, that mortal the Greek gods punished by forcing him to roll a rock uphill every day. Perhaps someone else might have given up under so much strain. Perhaps it was only her imagination that kept her going, that skill between catastrophizing to dream up better situations—even a dream lover who would also love her children and would be happy to take over her small family.

She liked to imagine what kind of man this could be. What if it was a single man in his thirties who told her he’d been waiting to meet her all his life? Billie couldn’t imagine anyone her own age being attracted to her, not when she quite often felt as if all the optimism of her youth had entirely disappeared.

She made an effort to brighten her thoughts. What could Great-Aunt Emily have left her? Could it be money? Could Emily have somehow known how poor her great-niece was? Given she’d find out tomorrow, Billie returned to more vigorous vacuuming. Tomorrow she would visit this lawyer and all would be revealed.

2.

Soon as Billie left the lawyer’s office, she went straight to Rangoon to tell her closest friend and occasional employer, Lisa Prescott, her good news. Where Billie hoped Lisa wouldn’t be too upset that she would be leaving in a few months, on the contrary Lisa was delighted for her, quickly assuring Billie that she would send any visitors overflowing from Rangoon to her bed-and-breakfast.

Billie shook her head. Not very likely, is it? Since Richard’s mum moved into Cantara Aged Care, you’ve got heaps of extra space.

True, Lisa said thoughtfully. But there are still times I’d rather send certain friends to you rather than have them here twenty-four seven. She paused to say in her most solemn voice, I can’t think of anyone else I know who deserves such a wonderful break. Good on your old great-aunt Emily. Somehow she must have known how hard up you are.

Billie couldn’t contain her excited laugh. Lisa, don’t forget that I’ve yet to see the house.

Yes, of course. Lisa impatiently pushed a thick lock of hair away from her face. When does that happen?

The women called a halt to their