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

pocket of his ill-fitting suit jacket. He pulls out a letter I recognise and shakes it open. Arthur Elliott. He looks like a much younger, paler version of his ruddy-cheeked father.
    ‘Melody Bittersweet?’ he says, his nervous grey eyes flicking between us.
    Marina cocks her head towards me as I step forward and hold my hand out.
    ‘I’m Melody.’ I try to fill my voice with easy confidence as I shake his clammy hand. ‘You must be Arthur. Come on in.’
    I step back to make room for him to come inside, and have to yank Marina back by the arm when she stays in place, blocking the doorway.
    ‘Shouldn’t we have a password?’ she hisses at me as Arthur edges uncertainly past us.
    ‘What like?’ I say out of the corner of my mouth.
    She shrugs, closing the door. ‘I don’t know! Donuts? Limoncello babas?’
    I hold in a laugh. ‘Behave yourself. You’re going to scare people off.’
    ‘Says the one who sees dead people.’
    Arthur is hovering by the desk listening to us, his eyes as round as footballs.
    ‘Have I come at a bad time?’ The panic in his whispery croak suggests that he thinks he has come at a very bad time indeed and would like to leave right away.
    ‘No, no. Come and sit down, Arthur. You’re right on time.’
    ‘I am?’ If anything, he looks even more disconcerted to hear that he’s on time for an appointment he didn’t even know he had.
    Marina steps forward and swings the swivel chair in front of the desk around to Arthur. He swallows hard, as if there’s a chance it’s electrified, and then lowers his lanky frame into it and licks his lips.
    ‘Water?’ I ask, walking around the desk and taking my seat. The boy nods. I’m not surprised. He looks as if he’s about to pass out. ‘Marina, could you grab Arthur a glass of water, please?’
    ‘Whisky in it?’ she jokes, looking at him, and he shakes his head slowly.
    ‘I only drink beer. Two cans on a Friday with my dad.’ His eyes suddenly fill with tears and Marina looks stricken. I lower my eyes and give him a second to gather himself.
    ‘That water?’ I prompt Marina, and she pats Arthur on the shoulder as she disappears in search of a glass. That’s the thing about Marina. She’s full of wisecracks, everybody’s funny girl, but there’s a sentimental vein that runs through her to the core. She sat beside me and cried when Kate Winslet pulled that old guy around the swimming pool while I stuck my fingers down my throat and fake gagged into the popcorn. You get the idea.
    ‘You sent me a letter,’ Arthur said, looking at his lap.
    ‘I did. I heard that you might be the right person for a job that’s come up here.’
    He looks up at last, but the expression in his eyes tells me that he doesn’t believe me.
    ‘You heard from who?’
    God. Sticky wicket. I can hardly tell him that his dad came to see me in his high-vis jacket and talked me into offering his son a job, can I?
    ‘A . . . friend?’ I try, and his eyes grow even more troubled. Ah, that’s right. He doesn’t have friends.
    ‘Umm . . . an old teacher?’
    He shakes his head, and I remember his father’s words about Arthur bunking off.
    ‘You know, I can’t remember,’ I say, waving my hand vaguely in the air. ‘Let’s talk about the job and it’ll probably come back to me.’
    He looks at me warily, still unconvinced.
    ‘It’s not much,’ I say, because I haven’t actually thought about what the job will be. ‘Helping out around here, learning the ropes, and coming with me on assignments out in the, er, field.’
    He glances at his super-shiny black lace ups. ‘Will I need to buy some wellies?’
    I frown at him.
    ‘For the fields,’ he explains.
    ‘Oh! No . . .’ I smile. ‘Sorry, Arthur. No, I meant out in the field, as in when I go out to visit clients in their homes, or buildings, or, er, wherever their problem is.’
    ‘But not in fields?’
    I shake my head. ‘No fields.’
    He runs a finger around the inside of his shirt collar