There is a queue of people wearing funny costumes in the garden, stretching from the porch all the way to the gate. They are here because Pātti died.
Well, they haven’t come because she died, exactly. More because she’s not supposed to still be here.
The people in costumes aren’t supposed to be here either. Appa sends me to run and wake Auntie, because he wrote the wrong date when he put his advertisement in the paper, and they’ve shown up a week early.
There was a big argument when he wrote the ad. Auntie said Pātti was here for a reason and we shouldn’t rush her away. She and Appa only stopped shouting when Pātti turned on the radio, playing very loud rock music. We knew by then that unplugging it was no good, so Auntie sighed and said he could do what he wanted. Today, Auntie is too sleepy to be angry, and just tells me to help with the guests while she has a shower—if Pātti will let her.
Back outside, Appa is making everyone that believes in the Resurrection come to the front of the line. He says Pātti being here is like how Jesus came back at Easter.
Pātti only ever believed in Sai Baba, though. She slams the door, and a priest drops his bead necklace. Appa explains it’s only a tantrum and says to ignore her, like everyone always did. Could someone please help, my Mother’s presence is Tumultuous, she should be on a Higher Plane. This must be dealt with Now in case it escalates at Halloween. I have a Young Child to Protect.
The priest crosses himself and offers Exorcism. I’m not allowed to watch, but there is shouting and a burning plastic smell from the kitchen. He leaves quickly, carrying a melted candle, his face wet and eyes red. I think he is upset by Pātti looking through the cupboards. She couldn’t remember where anything was when she was alive, either.
I’m sure Pātti is also upset, about being Exorcised, and all the company in her garden, and being out of semolina so she has to make cookies instead of kēsari. I’m a bit upset about that too. No one else in our house makes kēsari.
Appa says Auntie will fix the smoke alarm, and I should entertain the waiting guests. I’m quite good at smiling nicely and holding a tray, but no one has ever asked me to entertain before and I don’t really know how. Several of the guests don’t even notice I’m there. Someone in an orange high-vis shirt steps on my foot and frowns past me, without even looking down. Finally, a person in a suit asks if I’m one of the Residents and how do I feel about being brought up in a haunted house? I tell them it’s not that different to being brought up in an un-haunted house, although Appa and Auntie keep saying it’s better now since Pātti isn’t sick anymore.
The person frowns while looking straight at me, and I quickly move along the queue.
The woman in the black cape prods holes in the lawn with her sharp wooden stick as I explain there isn’t a grave, my grandmother was cremated, her ashes are in the pretty blue urn, should we bring them out? I feel guilty when she leaves, although Appa says the woman is a Fraud and vampires don’t exist, go fetch Auntie with the Nice Serving Tray and Refreshments.
It takes ages for Auntie to make the Refreshments. It’s partly because she’s embarrassed the priest saw her in her dressing gown, and partly because Pātti keeps moving stuff around the kitchen. But the main reason is that Pātti always boiled milk on the stove and added tea leaves and spices. Now, when Auntie tries to make tea with water, the way people drink it here, the electric kettle won’t stop sparking. In the end, she takes an empty milk carton from the recycling and whispers that I should fill it from the bathroom tap. When I get back, she pours that water into a saucepan with tea bags. I guess Pātti won’t know the difference as long as it comes out of a carton. Her glasses broke ages ago, and her nose was totally blocked up when she died.
I arrange the teapot, a new carton with actual milk, and stacks of paper cups on the Nice Serving Tray that has green leaves and orange flowers, and gold edges. Auntie tells me to take it to the guests so she can clean up.
The neat line of people has scattered now. No one wants to stand near the person who keeps waving their sword around, or the one in a helmet carrying a buzzing TV with flashing green lights. Halfway down the garden is a man holding a book he says is the Map to the Kingdom of Heaven. He has a bundle of pamphlets and tries to talk to everyone, but they all ignore him. He smiles at them anyway. I wish I could not mind what they thought and just do what I wanted, like him.
Appa calls him a Profiteer who is after souls rather than money, then walks off to join someone in white robes with a briefcase and a big blunt stick, who I hope is a wizard.
The Profiteer keeps smiling while he puts the Map on the Nice Serving Tray, with instructions to read it in a special order and pray. Pātti never prayed, except to Sai Baba. Only…the Kingdom of Heaven sounds grander than messing around in our house, and she does still listen to me. The Profiteer makes it sound like it could be fun. So I say I’ll tell Pātti, and that her cookies will be ready soon if he’ll wait.
But the Profiteer says it is too late for my Grandmother, she must be Exorcised. It is also too late for Appa, who Refused to Believe. It is Providential I talked to him, as I could still be Saved if I let him be my Guide. He doesn’t want any Satanic Cookies, thanks, and I shouldn’t either, if I Aspire to Heaven, but he will accept a cup of tea made by my Poor Mother who can also be Saved. The first steps to being Saved are to be a Good Child and fetch sugar and something to stir with. He will pray for us.
I tell him Auntie made the tea, because my Poor Mother is dead and didn’t stay in our house, although I’m sure she would have stayed if she knew how. He turns red. It seems a good time to go inside for the sugar.
As soon as I step away, Pātti starts the sprinklers. The Guide and all his pamphlets are soaked. I wonder if he will pray for us anyway. They said there was no room to enroll in my new school either, until Appa talked to them. Maybe the Guide could make them let Pātti into Heaven, though I can see why they might not want her, after doing the fire alarm and the sprinklers in one morning.
I’m sorry to miss the wizard, but I do want to be a Good Child. It’s awfully tiring for me running around to keep everyone happy. It must be easier for Good Children. I leave the Nice Serving Tray balanced on the wizard’s briefcase in case he wants tea—or the Map, which is the kind of thing wizards like for their quests. Then, thinking about the lonely Kingdom where Pātti isn’t allowed, I go inside. Auntie calls from the sofa that she is fed up with this nonsense, also the smoke alarm is in the bin, please don’t let anyone start any fires.
This is unfair. Pātti hasn’t started any fires since she died. After that, she learned to use the timer. She doesn’t only use it when she is baking, so it does wake us up sometimes, but all four of us agree this is better than setting the house on fire.
The kitchen is filled with mixed-up fresh-sweet-cookie- and plastic fume-smells, and banging from the pantry. Bits of dough stick to the table, the fridge, and the ceiling.
“Pātti, you already found the icing sugar. You chucked it on the table. It’s leaking.” I decide the wet Guide won’t care about his tea. It’s not warm enough to stand around dripping while he waits for the sugar. I could take him a towel, but Pātti would definitely get him with the sprinklers again. In one way, she is very like the Guide. She doesn’t care whether people like her either. While she’s often grumpy, I don’t think she’s ever sad.
The pantry door bursts open. A dented can of tomatoes rolls past. By the time I catch up to it, most things are back on the shelf, even if they are upside-down or sideways and not at all in what Appa calls the Right Places.
“Can I frost the cookies, Pātti? I won’t make more mess than the dough you threw everywhere.”
Even when Pātti is in a bad mood, she never gets annoyed with me for teasing. She just slides the whisk and the baking sheet of hot cookies over. I fetch a bowl and a jug of water.
“I’ve never made the icing before. Can you teach me?”
We hear a crash through the open window, and loud voices in the garden. The whisk knocks gently against the bowl when I stand up. I suppose Pātti wants me to ignore Appa yelling at her about the Nice Serving Tray. Anyway, it was probably the wizard doing a bad spell. Appa should know she can’t be causing trouble outside when she’s here with me, where she belongs.
“If we buy semolina, can you teach me kēsari next time?” I sit back down, leaning across the table for the bowl. Then my chair shuffles a little closer, and I can reach it.
I tip some sugar into the bowl and blow on a cookie. They won’t be cool enough to decorate for a while. “And Pātti, can you teach me how to be more … like you?”
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