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happens there at all.’
    Um. Not quite the successful woman-about-town image I was aiming for, but there you go.
    ‘Do you lose your car keys a lot? Find the answering machine’s cleared messages without you listening? Plants you’ve watered dry up and die?’

    ‘No, absolutely not. And I don’t do plants.’
    I was scowling at him now. I probably didn’t look very attractive. But I was starting to get a prickly feeling between my shoulder blades – because while none of those things happened in my flat, thank God, they did happen in my office. All the bloody time. Doors I leave locked are open the next day. Files I’ve organised alphabetically switch round so my Zebediahs are in my Aardvarks. And no matter how many times I decide on a ‘special’ place to put my keys, I always find them somewhere else. I’ve had that office for the last three years, and I’ve never once managed to leave it without a full-on purse search. All this time I put it down to me being a bit ditzy, and occasionally a bit pissed, and now rent-a-ghost over there was telling me it could all be down to some ‘mischievous’ spirit?
    I shivered a bit. The temperature had dropped right down; I must have been cold. It couldn’t possibly have been because I was spooked.
    Dan slinked off the sofa and on to his mismatched feet. I know ‘slink’ isn’t a word you often associate with six foot two inch males, but he does move in a way that’s… graceful, I suppose. He stretched, then headed out of the door, returning a few minutes later with mugs of tea and a packet of Hobnobs. God, the man knew how to live.
    A scrawny black cat followed him back in, weaving round his ankles. It sat and stared at me with narrowed eyes. One narrowed eye, to be precise – the other socket was empty, and grown over with grizzled grey fur. He only had one ear as well, and even that was sticking out at a funny angle, like it had been broken and reset by a drunk vet. It was the kind of manky creature you’d call Lucky for a joke.
    ‘Who’s this?’ I asked, staring it down.
    ‘That’s Balthazar. He’s my familiar,’ answered Dan. I felt a churn in my stomach.
    ‘Nah, not really,’ he added, looking at my stern expression. ‘Where’s that famed sense of humour you Scousers are supposed to have? That’s just Bert. No idea where he lives, or who thinks they own him. Appears now and then looking for food.’

    Bert gave me a cat sneer, and leapt up into the windowsill, keeping one careful feline eye on us in case we made any sudden moves.
    As well as bringing the tea, Dan had a multicoloured woollen blanket slung over his shoulder, which he brought over and threw across me.
    ‘It’s getting colder, and the heating’s bust,’ he said, tucking me in. I jumped as I felt his fingers accidentally brush the inch of bare flesh that was peeping between my T-shirt and my jeans.
    He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and retreated back to his own couch.
    Was he flirting with me? Or just taking the piss? I couldn’t tell, so I dipped my biscuit into the tea. Left it there way too long, until it fell to pieces, and I burned my fingers trying to scoop the biggest chunks out.
    ‘Do you want me to help you?’ he asked, expertly withdrawing his biscuit, totally intact.
    ‘No, I’m all right, ta,’ I said, ‘I don’t mind a few crumbs.’
    ‘I didn’t mean with the tea. I meant with the case. I have certain strengths, but I’m not a qualified investigator. Together we could make everything move along much quicker, and the sooner we sort this out the better. What do you say? We’ve got the right names for it. And I could even help you improve your dunking technique if you like.’
    Part of his face was obscured by the steam floating up from his mug. But I knew there’d be a grin lurking there.
    He was definitely, definitely flirting. And I was definitely, definitely enjoying it.
    What would Father Doheny say?

Chapter 7
    ‘Pass us that bag of 50ps,