Quill dropped me back at my flat a day later. In the intervening hours, we'd disposed of the source of the school haunting, been interviewed for the local TV news - Quill excelled himself in front of the camera - and gradually recovered from sleeping in Mrs Kettlesing's musty spare bedrooms. I'd paid for Quill's car repairs; he'd driven us the scenic way home, through some beautiful landscapes. There had been, incidentally, a lot of kissing.
But now our little expedition was over. Quill switched off the engine and waited for me to get out. It was ten pm and the street was empty apart from us. The ghost lamps flickered on and off.
"Well," I said. I had my bag on my lap, with the skull in it. The ghost had been jabbering since sunset, mostly about the indignity of its skull being in a bag with my washing. "It's been nice."
If by nice you mean it's been unutterably tedious, not to mention insanitary, then yes.
I gave Quill a quick smile. He clutched the steering wheel and seemed to gather his strength. "Yes. Lucy... Do you, would you, fancy going for a coffee some time?"
Nobody invites anybody for coffee. Not unless it is a date. A date as in, we are now a couple. Going out. "Coffee," I said.
"Yeah." He shrugged. "Just, you know, it's been nice. Really nice."
"All right."
"Great."
"Tomorrow," I said.
"Ok."
Yes, drag out the torture, why not. Ugh. Watching you two is like seeing two snails at a milkshake drinking contest.
We agreed times and places in a rush, he kissed me with a new possessiveness, and then I climbed out of the car and walked up to my front door. I had a date. With Quill. What the hell was I doing?
But then I thought of his smile as we said goodnight - a wary grin, and his eyes trying not to show how pleased he is. With me. Right now, I could do with a bit of appreciation. Or a lot.
A date. It would be nice.
I could wear my new coat.
This is a terrible idea, Lucy. I mean, are you really planning on regularly locking lips with this chancer? At least with Lockwood it was only a bit of shy hand-holding -
I swung round. The ghost of the thin youth was standing on my front path, slouching, hands in his pockets.
I pointed at him. "You know nothing about me and Lockwood. And you're not going to know anything more about me and Quill either. You needn't think I'm taking you with me tomorrow."
Only because you know my conversation's better than his. You can't face the truth.
"And if you carry on like that I'll put you in a silver box first."
I turned my back on him and unlocked my door.
Fine, said the ghost. I was sick of talking about him anyway. He followed me inside, not bothering with the stairs, but drifting vertically up the stairwell beside me. Now, onto more interesting matters. You look filthy. May I recommend a shower?
in private Quill was such a different person. In public he was spiky, grumpy - swift and sure with his work but awkward with anything else. Yet at home, or in his car driving one-handed with his other hand on my knee, he became carefree and irrepressible. It was as if I had worked magic by kissing him. It was amazing to see, and it worried me.
"Quill. This may not last. A fling, all that."
We were on our way back from a job, in the car. As autumn drew in and the days grew shorter, we'd been able to start work earlier. It was still only just midnight.
"I know."
"I just don't want to get too..."
"Serious. I know. It's fine." He turned down a narrow street lined with terraced houses. "Listen, I live just up here. Dyou want to come in for a cuppa?"
I hesitated. So far we had been on a few dates, by definition in the daytime since nighttime was both deadly and also when we were at work. Most of these had ended by early evening, in the car outside my flat. "Um..."
They had also ended with the ghost pressing itself against the windscreen making kissy faces.
"Ok." And the skull would stay in my bag in the boot.
Quill's house was narrow and small, soot-blackened. It had a single lamp over the door like a hotel. A set of doorbells had different names on the labels.
He unlocked the front door and let me into the hallway. "We'd better keep it down," he whispered. "I don't want to wake -"
"Quill!"
A small foxy-faced woman in a dressing gown emerged from a doorway to our left.
"Mum. I said not to wait up."
"Had to, didn't I." She tied up the dressing gown and gazed pointedly at me.
Quill said, "This is Lucy."
Her eyes lit up.
"From work," he added firmly. "Lucy, this is my mum."
She came forward and shook my hand, beaming. "I know who you are, Miss Carlyle. Lovely to finally net you."
Finally? I gave a faint smile.
"I'll make tea," said Quill, heading for the stairs.
"I didn't know you lived with your mum," I whispered as we passed one landing and ascended to the top of the house.
"Mmn," he said. "I tend not to mention it so as not have the Mickey taken every five minutes. This is me." He pushed open a door and flicked the light switch on.
It was an attic space, like my old room, done out in heavy paisley wallpaper in an attempt at sumptuous baroque style. And it was a bedroom.
I followed him in, my mind racing. I'd just been assuming, even after meeting his mum in the hall, that he had his own flat at the top of the house, or something. That he was about to show me into his lounge.
But no. There was a tiny sofa, a coffee table and a bookcase, a rack hung with an assortment of Quill clothes, and a double bed.
I was suddenly quite far out of my depth. "Um."
He shut the door behind us. Throwing down his door keys, he caught me around the waist and bent to kiss me.
"Quill," I said, "what are you doing? This is your bedroom."
"Yes," he said.
I fended him off, which is not as easy when you don't have your sword with you. "You don't make people a cup of tea in your bedroom," I said.
"Actually I do." He pointed. A kettle and small fridge stood by the wardrobe. He shrugged off his jacket. "How do you take it? Wait, of course I know. Sit down."
Some innate British politeness prevented me from sticking my hands on my hips and calling him out for bringing me, after work and one kiss - all right, about a thousand kisses - straight to his bedroom. I sat down.
He made tea and brought it to us, sat down beside me. The bed was behind us.
"I can't stay long," I said, reasserting myself.
He didn't reply.
We drank tea.
"Lucy," he said after a long while. "I only brought you up here for privacy. My mum's a light sleeper."
"Mmn."
"I wouldn't want you to think -"
"Well, maybe make tea in the kitchen, then."
"I know, I know." He touched my knee, sending a tremor through me. "Listen, I promise I didn't bring you up here to take you to bed."
He looked into my eyes as he said it and I had to tear my gaze away. "Good. Right. Exactly."
"Although, my god, the way you kissed me -"
My neck was flaming hot. "Yeah. About that -"
"I thought I was going to faint." He grinned, shook his head in disbelief. "Well, I won't forget tonight in a hurry. The poltergeist, and then the post-poltergeist celebration..."
I didn't trust myself to agree or disagree.
He stood, picked up our empty mugs, and took them to the tiny sink in the corner.
That was my chance to stand, stretch, wish him goodnight.
I didn't move.
He frowned, and stood hesitating. Came and sat back beside me.
"If you didn't bring me up here for that," I said, nodding towards the bed, "which by the way was never on the cards -"
"I know -"
"Then what for?"
"Tea," he said. "Honest. And, obviously, I was hoping that when we'd drunk it I might kiss you in the privacy of my own home."
My stomach did a little flip. "Ok," I said.
"If you wanted, if you haven't got to get back immediately, to the skull, or whatever - "
"Quill, I said ok."
"Oh." He gave a laugh of surprise and pleasure. Then straightaway he touched my cheek, slid his hand round the back of my neck and pulled me towards him.
After a long while, he said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but can we please move to the bed? I've got the arm of the sofa in the back of my neck."
We stood, clinging to each other, and shuffled to the bed. He tugged at me to sit down, lie down.
I wanted to, for sure, but also it is plain stupidity to get into, or onto, bed with a man without making things very clear. The skull's unpleasant warnings sounded in my mind. "Listen," I said.
"Lucy," he interrupted. "I like you far too much to ruin this by doing anything you don't want to do. Believe me I could cock this up in three seconds, but I'm trying really hard not to, for once in my life."
"Right. Good. Thank you."
"Honestly," he said. "I would never -"
I raised my eyebrows.
"Well," he said. "Not unless you wanted to." He gave an exaggerated wink.
"Quill!"
He laughed at my outrage, and kissed me again.
Oh, you've had your cup of tea, then.
"Ugh. Too early for talking."
Grey dawn light edged over the rooftops. I was carrying my bag, and my daily newspaper, up the stairs to my flat. I couldn't see the ghost - it was too close to daylight - but I could hear it all right.
You spent the night at his house, said the ghost. And left me in the car.
I reached my front door and unlocked it carefully, so as not to wake my neighbours. When I got inside I said, "Well, you've made it very clear that you can't stand the sight of us together."
I put the skull in its usual place, and a faint glow slid away from it and into the darkest corner of the room. Even so, I could barely see him, but he was there - a boy with dark hair, narrowed eyes and an attitude problem.
It may be repulsive, but it's the only entertainment I've got.
"Well, watch telly or something. I can leave it on for you."
I threw down the folded newspaper. "Or you could read."
The front page held a boxed article at the bottom. 'Top Teen Run Agency Returning To UK: Nation Awaits Lockwood.'
I turned the paper over, kicked off my boots and yawned. Quill and I had slept, but sharing a bed is not as conducive to rest as you might think.
Lucy...
I paused in the act of pulling back the bedcovers. I was still fully clothed, but what the heck. Sleep called me with a powerful voice. "What?"
The ghost's whisper was barely audible. Daylight shimmered into my flat. Don't...
"Don't what?"
Lucy...
And then he was gone.
