“Well, I would make tea, but it seems we’re almost out. Jada, sweetie, would you mind running to the storeroom? Actually, no, wait. You get the biscuits from my bag, which I’ve left in the parlour and I’ll get the tea, because I haven’t unlocked the storeroom yet.”

  “Okay,” Jada says, getting up from the table.

  “Won’t be a moment, Lolli,” Tanice says.

  Before I can protest about being left on my own, they are both gone.

  You are always safe by the hearth, Lolli.

  I inch closer towards the fire and inspect the string of gingerbread men that are strung from one side to the other. Their little currant eyes stare back at me.

  “Like them?” Elsie says. “Tanice put them up just this morning.”

  I almost jump out of my skin. I hadn’t spotted her there, in her favourite spot by the fire.

  “Elsie!”

  “And who else would be in my chair?”

  I can’t help it. I begin to cry. The last time I’d seen Elsie had been in Singapore. She’d come to visit us and we’d had a bit of a fight before she left. Then she’d got sick again. Really sick. “I thought . . . I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I thought you’d never get here!”

  I laugh. And sniff.

  “Now, come sit here by me. Quickly, before the others come back.”

  I go over and sit in the other wooden chair.

  Elsie gives me a look. “I wasn’t joking – I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  “Hello! We promised we’d come. You made us promise over and over!”

  “Yes.”

  “And here we are.”

  “Yes. And now I need you to do something else for me.”

  Typical Elsie – straight to the point. “Seriously, I told you in Singapore. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t like thinking about it.”

  This was what we’d fought about. Elsie was always trying to talk to me about what had happened all those years ago, when the face came out of the wall. She was always trying to explain. And I was always trying to explain to her that I didn’t want to know.

  Another pop from the fire breaks the spell. I turn in my seat, inspecting the room. Wary, as I remember where I am and what once happened upstairs. I’d stopped concentrating some time ago. That door in my mind might be shut tight, but I’d let something seep out through the gap underneath.

  Big mistake.

  I stand. “I can’t be here.”

  “You can, Lolli. You have to. It’s important. There’s something I need you to do.”

  “No. I have to go. I thought I could keep it away, but I can’t.” I’m already moving towards the door.

  “Lolli, wait. Wait!”

  I shake my head. No. It’s coming again. Just like last time. And it’s stronger than me. So much stronger.

  “You tricked me.” I point my finger at Elsie. “You tricked me into coming here.”

  I don’t wait for her reply. There’s no time. There’s only time to run.

  I make it out just in time. The spirit is still upstairs; the hallway wall remains smooth.

  I pass Jada as I go. “I’m going to see Freya next door,” I yell back at her.

  “But . . .” She holds up the packet of biscuits.

  I bang the front door closed behind me and sink down onto the front step, unsure if my shaky legs can carry me any further.

  She tricked me.

  She really did.

  When Elsie had visited us in Singapore, I thought she was being melodramatic about how much help she’d need at the house at Christmastime. I knew she’d had cancer in her leg a while ago, but she’d had treatment and she looked good. Almost back to normal, even if she did have a cane and super-short hair. Unfortunately, at her last check-up they’d found the cancer had come back again. She’d brought her visit to Singapore forward so that she could come and see us before she started another round of treatment. Freya had taken some time off from the art gallery and, during her stay with us, Elsie had constantly been trying to corner me whenever Freya was out of earshot. It was always the same. She wanted to talk about the spirit I’d seen in the house when I was eight.

  I didn’t.

  On her last day with us, Elsie had wanted to visit the Botanic Gardens. Freya hadn’t been sure.

  “There’ll be a lot of walking,” Freya had said.

  “So, I’ll sit down when I have to.”

  “I don’t think . . .”

  Elsie had given her a very Elsie look.

  “Fine. If that’s what you want to do.”

  So that’s what we’d done. We’d gone to the gardens and sat about and just looked. We’d been in the lush ginger garden, admiring a little waterfall when Freya had suggested ice-cream, leaving the two of us on a bench while she went to find some.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I’d said as soon as Freya was more than a few steps away.

  “You’re never going to want to talk about it, but this may be your last chance.”

  “I seriously doubt that. You’re going to bug me about this forever.”

  “Lolli, you know I’m sick again. You know I have to go for more treatment when I get home. I can see that you don’t want to visit the house again, but Tanice can’t handle the special Christmas installation and viewings all on her own and Freya has just the right touch.”

  “I’m not saying I won’t come and help. I’m just saying I don’t want to talk about it. About the house, I mean. And what’s in it.”

  “You need to talk about it, Lolli. We need to talk about it. It’s vital that you understand. I’m not going to live forever.”

  “Don’t say that.” I’d shifted in my seat. “I don’t like it.”

  “Nobody lives forever, Lolli.”

  “Some people do,” I’d replied. “I’ve seen them. And so have you. There was one in the market yesterday. When we were getting lunch. Sitting right across from us. Did you see her?” There’d been one near the entrance to the gardens today too, but Elsie obviously didn’t see him.

  “No, I didn’t. You’re stronger than me. I don’t think I can see . . . all the spirits you see. Anyway, I don’t think that’s what you want for me, is it? To live forever as some poor, wandering spirit.”

  We both knew the answer to this.

  “You’re a smart girl, Lolli. Haven’t you wondered about the spirits? Wanted to know more?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Do you know something? I think after eighty years I’ve finally found out why we see them.”

  I’d stared at the little rock waterfall in front of us and tried to act like I didn’t care. The truth was, I wanted to hear what she had to say about this. Of course I’d always wondered why. Why did I see spirits? Why did Elsie? And if I could see spirits, why had I never seen my mother? It didn’t make any sense.

  “I was at a lecture a few weeks ago. It was given by a theologian and she was talking about religions and differing beliefs about the afterlife and whether or not the living can have contact with it. I was most interested to hear what she had to say, of course. Anyway, she said something that made me think a great deal. It all centred on one belief about newborns. She said that some people believe that when you’re a newborn baby, you have a thousand portals open in your mind that link directly to all the energy and information in the cosmos. Those pathways shut down quickly and by the time you’re one year of age, they’re all closed off. But if you have a traumatic event when you’re small, those pathways can be damaged. They can remain open and information can continue to flow through. I was six months old when my family’s London home was bombed to smithereens during the Blitz, remember? We were lucky to survive. And you were only weeks old when your mother died. Maybe that’s why your gift is stronger than mine?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a gift.”

  “I would. It makes us different. Special.” Elsie sighed. “Lolli, I’d hoped by now you’d have stopped fighting it. That you’d be open to knowing more. Especially about what happened to you at the house.”

  I’d shrugged. What Elsie didn’t get is that I wanted to know more, but at the same time, I couldn’t. Because to know more, I would have had to think back to that day. And everything inside fought me on returning to that place. That horrible moment.

  “It’s important that you understand what happened to you,” Elsie continued, almost as if she could hear my thoughts. “Do you remember how you said you saw someone in the mirror?”

  I shook my head. Hard. “I told you I don’t want to talk about that day. Ever.”

  “Lolli, you can’t go through your life denying this.”

  I was pretty sure I could. That was my plan, anyway.

  “Look at me. Right now, please.”

  I’d looked at her through narrowed eyes.

  “Lolli, it’s not good for you to be this way. You can’t go through your life being so . . . disconnected.”

  “I’m not disconnected.”

  Silence. In it, I focused on the waterfall and hoped she’d stop talking.

  Elsie didn’t take the hint.

  “We’re all connected, Lolli. To each other. To the past. To the present and future. It can’t be just you. On your own. It’s not healthy. It’s not how things are meant to work.”

  I’d shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not disconnected. I have Freya. And you.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “I . . .”

  Elsie had held up a hand. “No. I don’t want excuses, or arguments. I want you to think about what I’ve just said. Really think about it. And when you come to London at Christmas, we’ll discuss it further. The thing is, I need your help with the spirits in the house. But you have to be ready. You have to be open to listening. There’s no point in discussing it with you until you are.”

  I don’t want to go back inside the house, but Tanice will be sure to come looking for me if I stay out here too long. I decide to go next door – to Elsie’s house – to see what Freya is doing. With no modern oven, or central heating, or other things like that, the House in Spitalfields isn’t really the sort of place you’d want to live in. In Elsie’s words, “There’s a lot that I love about electricity.”

  The door to Elsie’s house is slightly ajar, so I push it open and enter.

  Inside is not like next door at all. It’s bright and modern. The floors are a blond wood, the slim hallway table is painted a warm cream. There are light switches.

  I’m sure I’ve been here before as well, but I don’t remember it at all.

  In other words, I don’t need to worry about things coming out of the walls in here.

  “Freya?” I call out.

  “Oh, Lolli!” Her voice carries down from upstairs. “Come up here!”

  I make my way upstairs.

  There, the first room I pass is filled with old furniture, boxes and a few larger items on display that are a strange mix of bits and pieces. Treasures, Elsie and Freya call them. I spy a unicorn horn (okay, narwhal tusk), a huge paper wasp nest, an automaton of a devil that pokes its tongue out, decorated nautilus shells and vintage Happy Meal toys. There is also a long glass box, covered by a white sheet. That’s the lady. At least, that’s what I call her. She was super expensive – Freya and I flew all the way to Florence to see her and buy her – but I think she’s worth it, because I could stare at her for hours. I go over and lift the corner of the sheet, peering inside. She is what’s called an anatomical Venus. Human-sized and made out of wax, she is extraordinarily beautiful with long, curled, real hair, rosy cheeks and pearls at her neck. She looks like she’s asleep. But that’s not the best bit. If you look further down her body, you realise her torso is a sort of lid. You can lift it off and take her insides to pieces. That’s what she’s for – she is an anatomical sculpture from the late 1700s.

  Sounds weird?

  It is.

  And it’s meant to be. Because that’s what Freya collects. For years she’s been acquiring items of curiosity. Not just old things, but new things too. Anything that is curious and amazing and holds your attention. It’s Freya’s dream to open her own installation – a house-sized cabinet of curiosities. Cabinets of curiosities started to become popular in the 1500s and were rooms rather than pieces of furniture. These rooms were filled with interesting objects belonging to nature, the world of art, archaeology, religion . . . anything, really. I guess you could say they were what came before museums.

  “Lolli?”

  “Coming!”

  Freya’s head appears in the hallway. “Quick! You’ve got to see this!”

  I run down there. “What is it?”

  “It’s Elsie. She’s so funny. I had no idea about this.”

  I step into the room. And then I start laughing. Because in here are more boxes. But in the corner, there is something else. There, space has been cleared and a scene has been set up. There is a little wooden table with a pristine white tablecloth set for high tea, a gleaming silver cake stand stacked with pink-rose porcelain, fake petit fours and ribbon sandwiches. Two friends sit at the table, having a marvellous time together – an arm flung outwards, a head tipped back in mirth. Oddly, one of them is a stuffed tiger in a cricket outfit and one of them is an alligator in a tutu. In front, a tiny mole valiantly pushes a tea trolley, as if it’s possible for him to deliver the large pot of tea sitting atop.

  Freya and I look at each other and we both burst out laughing.

  Finally, she wipes her eyes. “The little mole! So funny! But so naughty of Elsie to spend time on this. It must have taken up so much energy.”

  “When do you think she did it?”

  “It must have been a while ago. Maybe even before she came to visit us in Singapore. But we really must get back to Tanice. I only meant to drop a few things off. We’ve got to have the parlour finished today if we want to stay on track. Let’s go.”

  I know there’s no point in arguing – Freya is going to make me help out at the house. If I’m going to be spending a lot of time in there, I need to be prepared. So, those portals that Elsie had spoken of in the ginger garden – the ones that have been left open for the spirits to enter? In my mind I picture them as one doorway. And then I imagine that I am sealing that doorway tight. Funny how I’d thought the spirits communicated with me through a door even before Elsie had spoken of portals. Because a door is a kind of portal. You’re never really sure what’s behind a closed door. It could lead anywhere. Open up to reveal anything – a wintry kingdom called Narnia, Wonderland, or an Other Mother with button eyes.

  Doorways are not to be trusted.

  I take a moment to add some details. I visualise an iron door – I’d seen a movie a while ago where someone had said spirits don’t like iron and I’d squirrelled the information away. I make sure the lock is covered. And that there’s a good, thick draught stopper. No spirit seepage here. That had been my mistake in the kitchen before.

  Back at the house, Tanice and Jada have brought up a tray of tea and biscuits to the parlour. There’s a lot to do. The parlour is probably the most decorated part of the house during the Christmas period. It’s the room people seem to love the most, because it feels like the way people imagine Christmas should be. It’s a Victorian-style room, full of little knick-knacks and fripperies. The mantelpiece is cluttered with vintage Christmas cards. There is a real fir tree, a roaring fire and two large comfortable armchairs. In between the armchairs sits a tiny table and on top of it rests a plate with a mince pie, a bite taken out of it. A hardback book has been placed upside down on one of the chairs and some slippers have been kicked off to warm by the grate, where a snoozing cat (stuffed) rests. It’s as if the reader has just paused in his or her reading and ducked out. This is what the house aims to do in every room – give the impression that you have just chanced upon a moment in time. That the maid has just left the kitchen, that the master of the house has just left the parlour, that the mistress of the house has just left the bedchamber. All through the house, speakers play sounds as you enter and exit the rooms to heighten this feeling.

  I know everything about this house. I love this house. I just happen to hate being in it.

  I’ve read pretty much all of the reviews that have appeared in newspapers. Some of them have complained that the house is “ridiculous” and nothing more than a “Hollywood set”. One journalist wrote a whole piece on how she’d spotted some plastic-wrapped candy canes right in this very room. Elsie never cared what people said. About the candy canes, she’d replied, “Your eye can seek out such discrepancies, or you can stand back and imagine and wonder. The choice is yours to make.”

  I stand in the doorway for a moment or two and really drink in the scene. “It looks like Christmas vomited in here,” I finally say.

  Tanice laughs. “I think that’s the decorating style the Victorians were going for. They were not a subtle people. Now, do you think you two could manage the tree by yourselves?”

  Jada looks over at me.

  “I guess so,” I say.

  Freya steps in. “Here’s a photo from last year. All the decorations are in the two boxes over there. Just be extremely careful unwrapping them. Lots of them are glass and quite a number of them are actually Victorian and quite delicate.”

  “We’ll be careful.” I give Freya a look. I know better than to just throw everything at the tree. This will have to be meticulously done. The photo studied, each decoration thoughtfully and carefully placed. I know the sort of glass ornaments she’s talking about; if you breathe too hard, you feel as if they might shatter. I move over now to inspect the special wooden boxes they’re housed in, divided so that each ornament is cocooned safely in its own nest of tissue paper. I run my finger gently over a Saint Nicholas, removing a stray piece of shredded paper from his face.

  Jada nods. “I know what to do. I helped Mum last year. We didn’t lose one decoration.”

  “You did amazingly well. Funny, though, that we’ve already lost quite a few of the chocolates and we haven’t even opened to visitors yet,” Tanice says, looking over at the half-eaten tin.