I?’ replies Annabeth.
Mum laughs and gets to her feet, then helps Grace up. ‘You probably think we’re bonkers,’ she says to me.
I grin. ‘Must be something in the water here.’
Her eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘Oh, do I embarrass you, darling?’
‘Of course. But isn’t that your job?’ I joke. ‘As a parent?’
To be honest, she could prance around on the lawn doing the dance of the seven veils stark naked and I’d cheer her on. It’s such a relief to see her so happy and upbeat these days.
‘Come on. Hurry up,’ says Annabeth, passing us at speed. ‘That programme’s on in a minute.’
‘What programme?’ I ask, as we follow her back to The Stables.
‘It’s about Princess Anne,’ says Mum.
‘You mean The Princess Royal,’ calls Annabeth sternly.
‘She thinks we’re related to royalty,’ mutters Grace, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s a story that’s been passed down the generations and, for some reason, Beth’s bought into it.’
I stare at her. ‘Hang on. Are you two related?’
‘They’re sisters. Didn’t I mention that?’ says Mum.
I shake my head in bemusement and Grace laughs. ‘I know. You’d hardly believe it, would you? We’re like chalk and cheese in everything.’ She pauses. ‘Well, maybe not everything.’
Something in her tone makes me glance over. Her sunny expression has vanished.
But before I have time to wonder, she smiles at me. ‘Did your mum tell you she’s coming for a spa weekend with us?’
‘Oh, lovely. Can I come?’
I’m only jesting but Mum looks at me in delight. ‘Of course you can, love. That would be wonderful.’
Feeling bad for getting her hopes up, I put my arm round her and give her a little squeeze as we crunch our way across the gravel to The Stables’ main entrance. ‘I’d love to, Mum. But I can’t. I’m just—’
‘Too busy. I know.’ She smiles at Grace. ‘This daughter of mine …’
The pride in her voice makes me feel emotional. But also guilty. Yes, I am too busy to take a weekend off. But it’s more than that. I simply don’t have the spare cash. But Mum knows nothing about my dire financial state. And while I tell myself I’m only keeping it from her so she doesn’t worry about me, deep down I know it’s also because I’m too ashamed to tell her.
‘You could come to the séance instead,’ says Grace matter-of-factly. ‘You must be able to take an evening off?’
‘Séance?’ I look from Grace to Mum in bewilderment. ‘What séance?’
The two of them glance at each other and grin.
‘It’s Annabeth’s idea,’ murmurs Mum as we climb the stairs to Annabeth’s first-floor flat. ‘Venus at the yoga class in the village fancies herself a bit of a psychic and she offered to conduct a séance here for free.’
Grace chuckles. ‘She’s hoping Venus might be able to conjure up the spirit of our dear departed Great-Aunt Edna.’
‘But why?’ I ask, mystified as to why anyone would want to try and summon dead people.
‘Oh, Great-Aunt Edna was a practising psychic herself. And Annabeth’s convinced she might be able to confirm whether or not we have royal blood.’
Grace grins. ‘It should be a laugh. Venus is nutty as a fruitcake with extra pecans.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of it,’ whispers Mum to me and I make a face in agreement.
‘In here,’ calls Annabeth, and when we walk into the living room, she’s perched on the edge of her chair, eyes riveted to the TV screen.
‘Shall I put the coffee on?’ asks Grace.
Annabeth waves her hand impatiently at Grace. ‘Just look at that chin.’ She points at the screen where the Princess Royal is making a speech at some charity gala. ‘Doesn’t that just prove it?’
‘Prove what, Beth?’ asks Grace.
‘Well, I’ve only just realised her chin is exactly like mine. Look.’ She sticks out her chin, angling her head helpfully.
As one, we all transfer our baffled gaze from the Princess Royal’s chin to Annabeth’s.
‘Well, what do you think?’ The action of thrusting out her chin makes her sound like she’s just had heavy dental work.
Mum tips her head thoughtfully to one side. ‘They’re very, um, similar chins, Annabeth.’
I nod. ‘Very similar. As chins go …’
Annabeth nods at Grace in a told-you-so sort of way.
Grace snorts. ‘If we’re related to royalty, I’m a bloody corgi’s auntie.’
After sitting through the chin programme, trying to keep a straight face, and drinking coffee made by Grace, Mum and I take our leave and go back to her flat.
‘Did I tell you I’m doing Ron and Andrea’s wedding on Saturday?’ I ask, knowing she’ll be interested.
She frowns. ‘Really? Well, you take care. When that man has a drink in him, he’s more slippery than a wet fish. And he does like his drink.’
I laugh. ‘It’s his wedding day, Mum. I’m sure even Ron can be trusted to stay sober and keep his hands to himself on the day he marries Andrea.’
I’d like to think so, anyway.
Mum shudders. ‘Do you know he once propositioned me in the supermarket?’
I nod, smiling. I’ve heard this story a thousand times before. ‘I was a toddler in the trolley and he asked you how to judge a melon’s ripeness.’
Mum nods, looking affronted but enjoying it all the same. ‘When I showed him how to press the end, he waggled his eyebrows at me and suggested we continue the lesson back at his house!’
I grin. ‘If you’d said yes to the melon-pressing, I bet Ron would have run a mile.’
She purses her lips. ‘That’s not the point.’
‘What’s this?’ I ask, noticing a hardback book with a black cover on the side table. Thinking it’s a thriller, I pick it up and my eyebrows rise at the title: Talking to the Dead: Seven Ways to Successful Communication with the Other Side.
I hold it up and Mum waves her hand. ‘Oh, nothing. Just something Venus left behind. She thought I might be interested,
