Melody Bittersweet and The Girls' Ghostbusting Agency: A laugh out loud romantic comedy of Love, Life and ... Ghosts? Read Online Free Page B

his head. ‘Bloody hurt, it did.’
    ‘I imagine it would, yes.’
    ‘Write his name down in case you get a vacancy?’
    ‘I’ll remember it. Little Arthur Elliott.’
    ‘You don’t know where he lives.’
    Resigned, I get up from the comfort of the armchair and cross to sit behind my desk where I open up the wide drawer. Marina has laid out all of my new stationery as if it’s the first day of term. Fresh A4 writing pad, pristine and lined, ready to go. Sharpened pencils. Unused eraser. A neat line of blue, black and red pens. God, I love that woman.
    I pick up the pad and a pencil and write ‘Arthur Elliott,’ across the top of the paper. I transcribe the address Big Art relays to me, and then smile, my pencil poised. I’m quite enjoying the feeling of writing things down at the desk, it feels like an actual job.
    ‘Anything else I should know? Qualifications, that sort of thing?’
    I chew the end of the pencil and glance at Big Art, who once more looks on the verge of unsheddable tears.
    ‘None,’ he whispers.
    ‘None?’ I say, far louder. ‘Not even an F in woodwork or something?’
    ‘Bloody bullies!’ the words burst from Big Art’s chest. ‘Gentle giant my Artie is, and they just wouldn’t leave him alone. Always on the outside he was, never included. Me and his mother didn’t even know anything about it until we were called in to see why his attendance was so awful.’
    ‘He was bullied?’
    Big Art nods. ‘Summat rotten. ’Bout his acne, his snake, his height. You know how it is with that sort, like a pack of dogs with a bone. He’d have been alright if he’d had a mate or two, but he never really seemed to find anyone.’
    No one understands the loneliness of being an outsider more than I do. If I hadn’t had Marina, my own school life could very easily have mirrored Little Art’s. I look at the mournful, ruddy-cheeked man in front of me and withdraw some proper writing paper from the desk drawer.
    ‘Come and sit down, Art.’
    Half an hour later, he’s a changed ghost. Together we’ve written a letter to Arthur Elliott Jr. offering him the position of apprentice ghost-hunter, stating he’s been highly recommended and that he should come at his earliest convenience and identify himself to Melody Bittersweet, sole proprietor of The Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency on Chapelwick High Street. The name has been a subject of hot debate over the last week between Marina and me. She made a strong case for The Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency, though I do still fear customers will expect us to turn up in God-awful white jumpsuits and suck their offending ghosts into tanks on our backs.
    Big Art beams approvingly at the letter as I fold it in half. ‘Little Art loves Harry Potter, the mystery of it will appeal to him.’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t have an owl to deliver it,’ I say, licking a stamp and fixing it on the front of the envelope.
    In front of me, Big Art is already starting to fade.
    ‘Seems like you might make your mum’s birthday after all,’ I whisper.
    ‘Look after him for me.’
    ‘I’ll try,’ I say, carried away by the sentiment. I place the letter in the out-tray to post later on. Look at me using my out-tray! I pause for a second to soak in the mini-thrill of working at my desk for the first time, and then on second thoughts I pull the envelope out of the out-tray and scrawl ‘The management regret to inform you that reptiles are not permitted on the premises’ across the bottom in red capitals. Eternal promise or not, if Arthur Elliott turns up here with a python he won’t make it past the front door.

Chapter Three
    ‘ I forgot the donuts .’
    It’s two minutes before nine, and I stare at Marina aghast then lay my head on the desk. ‘We’re doomed.’
    She laughs and pulls a pretty, vintage Amaretti Virgina biscuit tin from her huge handbag as she shrugs out of her jacket. ‘Will these do instead? Nonna made them fresh this morning especially for you.’
    I