Chapter 1

Checkout Supervisor Paula Queagley so much enjoyed recounting to her friends that one of her underlings knew ‘His Majesty, the Papal Ambassador’ that she forgot to be mean to me for a while. That meant I got allocated a reasonable amount of shifts at the supermarket and I wasn’t castigated for giving customers four-second smiles instead of three seconds.

I received a cheque in the post from Cardinal Rolando Calcavecchio which, while more than covering my expenses and the lost income from ending my supermarket shift early to exorcise the demon afflicting the Head family, was strongly indicative that the prospect of my reinstatement was going badly. The private referrals also seemed to disappear, but I interpreted that as a good thing, due to a downturn in demonic activity.

One afternoon I got home from my supermarket shift to find the ‘new messages’ button lit on my home phone. There was one message, from Verity Head, asking me to call her back. I made myself a refreshing cup of tea and composed myself for a few minutes before dialling the number she had left.

“Hello, please may I speak to Verity Head,” I said when my call was answered.

“Who is calling?” asked a man whose voice I didn’t recognise.

“Tell her it’s Seamus O’Malley.”

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t accept cold calls. I suggest you send lend a letter stating your business in writing.”

Suddenly I heard a voice I recognised in the background. “Who is it, Hopkins?” she asked.

I remembered the full-body hug I got from Belinda when I was leaving the Head’s mansion.

“Just a cold-caller,” replied Hopkins, whoever he was.

Lost in the memories of feeling and smelling Belinda’s nubile teenage body, I unintentionally blurted out, “Beachy!”

“And now he’s calling me bitchy, Miss,” said Hopkins.

“Let me speak to him,” said Belinda.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Miss. This cold-caller seems a pretty nasty type.”

“HOPKINS!”

There was a rustling as the phone was handed over then Belinda’s voice came on the line, “Hello, who is this?”

“Hello Belinda, it’s Seamus O’Malley. Your mother left a message asking me to call her back.”

“Hello Father, I’m afraid she’s out at the moment. She should be back in an hour or so. I’ll tell her you called. And I’ll get you added to the list of approved callers. Daddy has to be very strict on who is allowed to call, being a Supreme Court Judge.”

Almost exactly an hour later my phone rang. I dashed across my tiny flat to answer it, then decided to play it cool, waiting until after the third ring. If the practice was good enough for Lucifer!

“Hello, is that Father Seamus O’Malley?” came Verity Head’s voice.

“I’m not a Father,” I explained. “The Vatican offered me my job back if I successfully exorcised your demon, but they’re stalling because I negotiated with the devil.”

“Oh,” said Verity. “That might explain why you were so hard to track down. I had to resort to some severe arm-twisting of your cardinal before he’d give me your contact details. He said you were ‘in’ something or other.”

My blood ran cold. That meant the Catholic Church had basically sent me to Coventry while they considered whether to expel me. That also explained the lack of private referrals.

“I have a proposition for you,” continued Verity, “but I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Could I meet you somewhere for a coffee?”

Neither of us knew where the other lived since I hadn’t paid much attention while the cardinal’s chauffeur had driven us to the Heads’ mansion, so we swapped details and agreed to meet the next day at a service station about half way between us.

After I parked my little powder-pink Nissan in the service station car park, I looked around at the other cars and tried to guess what Verity would be driving. A luxury car like a BMW? A Chelsea Tractor? Neither felt quite right.

I headed for the service station’s food court and the coffee shop franchise. Verity was already there, sitting at a table and nursing a large cup. I bought myself a cup of tea, wincing at the exorbitant price, and joined her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said.

“Not at all. I always aim to arrive early in case of traffic jams,” she said.

“Good to hear your voice is back to normal.”

“Yes. That only took a couple of days. However I still wake up to nightmares about being possessed. Your cardinal referred me to a specialist counsellor; one from the phone book would have probably had me committed for claiming to have been possessed.”

I nodded, although never having been possessed, I couldn’t relate to what she’d been through. I changed the subject. “Aren’t you worried about being recognised in public with me?”

“Why, have you got something to hide?”

“No, but you’re the wife of a Supreme Court Judge.”

“The privacy of the judiciary is well-respected by the fourth estate. If it isn’t, injunctions can be issued to make life very hard for reporters. If anyone here recognises me it’s because of my heritage, not because of whom I’m married to.”

Verity took a sip of coffee and I mirrored her.

“What’s the proposition you wanted to put to me?” I asked.

“My hapless brother Felix has bought a weekend cottage in the West Country. It’s in the national park. Anyway, the dumb blonde he married refuses to stay there, claiming it’s haunted.”

“Let me guess. It’s an old property and there are lots of unexplained bangs and creaks, particularly as it cools down at night. The church gets a lot of calls about that sort of property, and I’d guess that less than one percent have a paranormal cause.”

“I’d like you to investigate anyway. I’d make a handsome donation to the church just for the peace of mind.”

“I’m sure the church would appreciate it, but they didn’t give me my job back so I’m working as a part-time supermarket cashier and I can’t afford any time off. I suggest you call the cardinal and ask for someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else,” said Verity. “Two someone elses failed to recognise and exorcise the demon that was possessing me. I want you because I know you’re the real deal. I’ll just make the cheque out to you instead of the church.”

“The church has basically sent me to Coventry. If they found out that you’re employing me in contravention of their measures, they’ll do the same to you.”

“Do you get any holidays?” asked Verity.

“I guess. I’m on a zero hours contract so I’m not entitled to much leave.”

“Could you get away for a couple of days for an expenses-paid holiday to a luxury cottage? It’s not the same as employing you and the church doesn’t have to know. If they should find out, my husband can respond in kind if they make life difficult for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

And that’s how we left it. I let Verity leave first because I was curious. When I saw her getting into a well-used Land Rover, comparable in age to my daughter, I had to chuckle. I should have known. A down to earth, get the job done vehicle, manufactured before the marque got sold down the river.