Ghost Diaries 1_Gigi's Guardian_Paranormal Romance Read online

  “I’m one of those people who would rather get started immediately. I’ve only been dead a few days and the love of my life just got together with my best friend. He’s not missing me as much as I’m missing him.”

  “That’s awful, but you wouldn’t want him to die though, just to be with you, would you?” Brenda looked at me with a frown.

  “I might, to keep him out of her clutches! But really, I need to stop thinking about them and move on. My aunt, Pam, suggested I start work and I’m beginning to think she’s right. Doing something new might make me forget.”

  “I’m sorry things turned out like this for you.’’ Brenda sounded upset. “My own demise was much less exciting and I never had to deal with that particular problem. Going away might be the right thing in the circumstances, if we start you off with something interesting. If you don’t like it, you can always change. You must give notice, of course, so we can get a replacement, but people arrive all the time and we never take long. What have you decided to do?”

  “I’d like to be a Guardian, please,” I said as firmly as I could. I was still shaking inside from all the emotion. My self-confidence had vanished and I was unsure how I would cope. Yet anything was better than moping around, with nothing to do except torture myself. Nanna and Pam were correct.

  Brenda nodded. “I thought you might; you’re the right type of person to be a Guardian and it’s not so different from what you did before.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Yes. It rarely works if people opt for a complete change in their first job. Imagine Nero as a Greeter, tenderly helping the deceased to pass over. He only lasted a day and we took ages to sort everything out. Some of his clients were paralysed with terror and couldn’t speak. Are you positive you want to do this right now?”

  “I am. I’d be so depressed if I stayed here, I’d make others unhappy around me.”

  “No one should be miserable in Heaven.” Brenda gave an elaborate shudder. She pulled a large red book towards her with ‘Guardians’ stamped in gothic letters on the front. The first page had a list of names under the heading ‘Urgent’.

  “Now, do you have a time period in mind?”

  I stared at her, feeling startled. “No. I thought it had to be the present, 2012.”

  She peered up at me over her glasses. “Oh no, that would never do at all. The world would be in a far worse mess if we couldn’t send people back to sort out mistakes. Of course, we are not permitted to tamper with certain problems. Pity, I sometimes think.”

  “What kind of things is a Guardian allowed to do?”

  “All sorts. She can prevent things happening; or people marrying the wrong person; or making bad decisions. Some of our most successful Guardians have changed the world. Flavia managed a series of accidents, so St Paul journeyed to Damascus instead of collecting taxes in Alexandria. She got several gold stars for that one. They're sparkling in Cassiopeia. Then Napoleon didn’t invade England. His Guardian was standing beside him on the seashore, when he made the decision. Eustace was naughty and gave Napoleon a mental push at the right moment. Of course, he was a British spy during the Cold War, so he was used to taking risks.”

  “I always wanted to make world history but I didn’t think I’d do so when I was dead!”

  Brenda chuckled. “You never know, do you? Let’s see.” She ran her finger down the list. “Several Guardians want a change as soon as possible. Do you fancy Ancient Greece? No? A riot in Brazil needs stopping? How about Cyprus, looking after a new prophet? Personally I’d go for Greece if I were you. Think of all the sunshine and those bronzed bodies in short tunics, to say nothing of the ambrosia!”

  I had a sudden vision of Brenda, who isn’t slim, skipping around in a flimsy tunic. The thought made me blink.

  “What do you think? Are you a warm weather person, or do you prefer the cold and grim?”

  “I like sunshine but...”

  “I know what you’re going to say...” she interrupted me, “you want to do something worthwhile. Well, the prophet’s important and so is the riot. Or there’s my real favourite, which is bound to cheer you up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d take the job myself, but I promised I’d stay here for a few decades because my assistant needs more training. An American president is about to be elected. He’s dishy and he’s fascinating to be with. An assassin's out to get him and it’d be your job to ensure he doesn’t succeed. Think of all the wonderful dresses you could wear at the White House.”

  “I’m a bit off dishy men at the moment.” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice. I’m not sure I succeeded, because she looked hurt. “I couldn't cope with anything like that right now. Hits too near home. None of those choices appeal to me.” I hesitated. I wanted to be Michael’s Guardian or Mandy’s. No harm in asking, was there? Maybe Pam was mistaken.

  “I'd like to look after a specific person.”

  “Michael, for example?” Brenda asked immediately and shook her head. “Most people ask that question and the answer is ‘no’. I’m sorry but you wouldn’t be objective and put the client’s best interest first. No one could. Think how you’d feel if he married your friend and they had children. You couldn’t do your job properly. We have an unbreakable rule. Your client must be a stranger.”

  “Anyone will do then. You choose.” I had to fight back my tears.

  Brenda was watching me closely and her eyes watered in sympathy. “Everyone wants to be with those they love or hate, but, believe me; this is for the best. You would be looking backwards instead of forwards. When you meet Michael again, you won’t be the same and neither will he. Everyone will have had different experiences. You might have met someone else, or decided to give up emotion for good, which makes life so much easier. You'll meet both of them again and you can tell them your feelings then, if you still want to.”

  How silly of me not to realise we would all be together someday. Perhaps I might not try to murder them, although, at this moment, I strongly doubted my self-control.

  “Do you have a favourite period in History, or a place you want to work in?" Brenda interrupted my thoughts. “You can go anywhere, you know.”

  I thought hard for a moment or two. Then I had a sudden memory. I was sitting with my mother, while the rain was pouring down outside, looking at her old photographs. They had been taken in parks, at rock festivals and in street markets. I loved the pictures and the stories she told me.

  “This might sound silly, but Mum lived in London during the Swinging Sixties. She was nineteen and she had a wonderful time.”

  “Yes. Such a colourful period, but the ban extends to mothers too, you know.”

  “If half the things she told me are true, I don’t want to find out about the other half.” I smiled at the thought.

  “Very wise.’’ Brenda pointed to a name on the page. “This girl might suit you. She’s a little younger than you are and she’s living in a workers’ hostel in Euston Road in 1967. She needs to make an important choice in the next six months. If she doesn’t, a vital medical discovery won’t be made. This is an urgent case. Her present Guardian is needed to sort out a ship’s captain, who is going to poison half of Alaska. What do you think?”

  “Sounds interesting.” At least I would have a chance to find out if the Sixties were as much fun as I’d imagined. “I’ll do it. What’s her name?”

  “Gigi, short for Birgitta. Her father is Norwegian. Her mother comes from Antigua, so she’s a bit of a mixture. Sign here please.”

  Brenda handed me the quill pen and I wrote ‘Ariane’ awkwardly in the column marked ‘Guardians’.

  “Why on Earth do you use a quill?” I surveyed the large blot at the end of my name with annoyance. “Wouldn't an ordinary pen be better?”

  “This is another of the things we haven’t changed yet. The Records Department is so stuffy,” Brenda told me. “Now…” She handed me a chit. “Take this to Costume and they’ll kit you out. Then you hav
e to go to Angels Central for your Action Pack.” She rose and held out her hand. “Have a wonderful time and don’t worry. Your first assignment is always exciting and terrifying at the same time, but I'm certain you’ll do a good job and have fun. Best of luck.”

  Day Five, Heaven.

  I went to Costume this morning. What a place! So big you couldn’t find the end. Racks of clothes were everywhere, sorted by date and country. I felt as if I was standing inside a huge glass wardrobe, hanging in the sky with nothing to hold me up. The Victoria and Albert Museum's collection is tiny by comparison. There was everything you could possibly imagine. I stood at the entrance, absolutely spellbound by the sparkles and colours. When my eyes focused, I was entranced with a harem outfit, which was hanging nearby. All swirly glittering silks, encrusted with gold. I reached out to touch it and I heard shuffling footsteps behind me. A guide took me firmly by the arm and led me away. She was looking at my chit and reading the labels on the racks as she went.

  “Lahore…Lisbon…Liverpool… London… Here we are. Now the period is?” She consulted the notes again. I had a good look at a red velvet gown with panniers and a ruff edged with pearls. The embroidery on the train was wonderful.

  “No, dear, Nineteen Sixties not Fifteen Forties!”

  “That dress reeks! Don’t you ever wash them?” I held my nose in disgust.

  “The modern ones, yes, but everybody stank to high Heaven, way back when. If you were clean, you’d stand out and we couldn’t have that.”

  “Why not? No one can sense us, can they? After all we’re ghosts now.”

  She stared at me in so much horror; I wondered what I had done wrong. “We never, ever, use the ‘G’ word! Didn't anyone tell you that?” She peered down at my notes.

  “Oh, you’ve only been here a few days. No wonder you don’t understand the basic rules. Whatever is Brenda doing, sending you out already? You won’t know the half of it.”

  I was rather taken aback, but my imminent departure wasn’t Brenda’s fault. She’d told me to take my time and I had ignored her advice, so I felt obliged to defend her.

  “I insisted on going. I wanted to forget certain things”

  “Bit of a shock being dead? Oh well. You’ll manage somehow or scream for help, if you’re stuck. Loads of us are always around, the Guardians of all the people your client’s in contact with. Their details will be in your Action Pack. Remember in future, if you talk about us, say ‘spirits’ or a job title like ‘Guardians’ or ‘Adorers’. We get a bit sensitive. The ‘G’ word makes us seem as if we are all going around rattling chains and walking through walls.”

  “Okay, but you just told me that I would stand out if I was clean. I thought people can’t see us...er...spirits or smell us. Why all this?” I waved my hand at the racks of clothing stretching up into the sky.

  “Most of them can’t sense us at all. A lot don’t want to, but a few can. We call them 'Sensitives'. Fortunately, most ‘Sensitives’ think they’re imagining things. Some become Mediums, in spite of the bad publicity, and try to communicate with us. Sometimes they even succeed. We need to be as discreet as possible, to keep their numbers down. We’d have absolute bedlam up here, if the living could talk to us whenever they wanted to. No peace at all. So we try to blend in as well as we can, that’s why we dress in the clothes of the period. Which would you prefer - someone who looked perfectly ordinary or a bloody figure, with his head under his arm?”

  I laughed. “I see what you mean!”

  “Here we are. This is the right section.”

  The rack was a riot of colour, full of mini-dresses and psychedelic shirts. Chests were piled with accessories: boots with stacked heels; platform shoes; big floppy hats; beads and bangles.

  “Which do you want then, male or female?”

  “Female, of course!”

  “Don’t shout! Some people do like a change!”

  I couldn’t possibly imagine being anything but a woman. “Not me, I’m quite happy as I am.”

  She sighed. “You were lucky. Must have been lovely to live in your century. So many women were ridiculed and abused throughout history. A lot of them take the chance to change sex, now they can. I did for a while myself, until I thought ‘What the hell! I’m me’. I used to be one of the Salem Witches, so I had some excuse. Didn’t do anything much; my spells were always a bit wonky. At least I never had to get married and have fourteen children like most of the other women. I came to a sticky end, of course, as you probably remember. I was hanged, better than being burnt at the stake. That would have put me off bonfires for some time, to say nothing of barbecues!”

  She touched a button and a rack swung down. “Here you are. These should suit you. Choose about half a dozen outfits, so you can fit in when you go to different places. Change the colours. Just imagine how you want them to look. You can alter yourself too, the same way.”

  “Will any changes I make be permanent?”

  She grinned. “Only if you want them to be. Change back afterwards, if you like. Whatever you decide now lasts as long as you’re on this assignment. Take as much time as you need choosing. No rush. I’ll be here, when you’re finished. Enjoy yourself!” With a wave of her hand, she left me.

  I spent the rest of the morning living every woman’s dream. Endless outfits and all free. I touched one and I was wearing it! No hassle, no trying to wriggle into tight clothes. Everything fitted me like a glove and was comfortable! A mirror appeared to show me my reflection - back view too. I altered a few of the colours and shapes. I only had to think ‘this would be better in blue’ or ‘this shows my tummy’ and everything changed. I took hours, changing the things I had never liked about myself. My legs are long, but I made them more shapely - superb for wearing minis. My hair became blond and lost the annoying waves I couldn't get rid of when I was alive. My tummy flattened for the first time in my life and my hips shrunk. All without dieting! I like being in Heaven!

  I chose dresses, skirts and blouses, jeans and shorts, sweaters and coats in a positive rainbow of colours. When I emerged at last, my guide checked my choices. She made sure I had the right accessories for each outfit. She looked me over approvingly and nodded.

  “Well done. You're still you, but better, if you know what I mean. A lot of people go mad. They become so thin they're like sticks or they cut off half their noses. You’ve got the right idea. Small changes, but they make a difference.”

  “Now,” she said, as she packed my things neatly into a large, colourful beach bag, “you need to go to Angels Central.”

  “What's that?”

  “The Guardian’s Head Office. They'll give you your instructions and ‘Action Pack’. They’re odd, even for this place, but don't believe everything people say about them. They’ve never lost anyone yet. They’ll explain anything you don’t understand, or, at least, they’ll try to. Some of their explanations are unfortunately a bit like my spells – wonky. You must read the Action Pack, before they will let you go Downstairs. Then you report to the gatekeeper for transit.”

  “Is his name Peter?” I asked and she giggled. There seems to be a lot of giggling in Heaven.

  “He takes a turn, mainly because people expect him to. He always greets those who have been very good in their past life. There’s not many of them, as you can probably guess. He has such an easy time; he’s recently taken up golf. That will keep him occupied for a while. You should hear him moan about reducing his handicap. Boooring! Usually Ramona’s on duty. She likes it, because she’s nosy and wants to know who’s going where. Hope your assignment goes well.”

  “Thanks a lot for your help.”

  I started to leave, staggering under the huge bag, when she called after me, “Don’t be silly, struggling like that. All you need to do is - think where you want to go and you’ll be there.” So I did and it worked. One minute I was talking to her; the next I was whisked away and found myself on the path outside Nanna’s house. It wasn’t like flying, more as I imagined a tran
sporter to be.

  “Beam me up, Scotty!” I murmured with a grin. I’ve always wondered how that would feel and now I know.

  Day Six, Heaven.

  Angels Central is a big white monstrosity in the middle of a shining lake. The setting is lovely, with purple-clad mountains reaching down to the water on all sides. Exotic birds swim in huge circles and wavelets gently lap against the walls. The place should be stunning, but the building does not match its setting. Perhaps a committee dreamed up the design. It sprawls in a weird mixture of styles, including Tudor, Sixties concrete and onion domes. Black and white Tudor-style onion domes are hard to believe! I wonder where they got that idea from? The building takes your breath away with its ugliness. I didn’t realise anything so unsightly would be allowed in Heaven, unless they permit perfect ugliness. Angels Central could certainly take that prize. Maybe that’s the reason why it exists.

  Most people get into the building over a short causeway, although those who can fly, like the cherubim and seraphim, use an upper entrance. I'm not sure of the varieties of angels yet. There seems to be millions of them. They’re all white and look exactly the same to me, rather like shiny seagulls seen from a distance.

  Angels Central is a bustling place. People stream in and out, wearing costumes from every country and era. Some are exotic, others mundane. I smiled at the sight of two men with briefcases and bowler hats, looking as if they were off to work in a London bank.

  I made my way over the causeway and entered through the huge glass doors. A chime rang out as I came into the foyer and a woman, wearing a pointed medieval hat and long purple robes, floated over to join me.

  “Good morning. My name is Magdalen. I’m your guide for this visit. How may I help you?” Her voice was lovely, with a tinge of a foreign accent.

  “Good morning. I'm Ariane. I’m here to pick up my Action Pack,” I replied, matching her formality.