Read Online Melody Bittersweet and The Girls' Ghostbusting Agency: A laugh out loud romantic comedy of Love, Life and ... Ghosts? by Kitty French - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kitty French
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footsteps retreat over the cobbles, I’m not sure if I feel unnerved or empowered by the fact that he felt it necessary to come by and check us out. A bit of both, I think.
* * *
‘ L unch time ,’ Marina declares when she walks into the office a few hours later, paint in all colours of the rainbow splattered liberally over her apron. She and Artie had arrived back a while ago armed with enough paint and paraphernalia to cover the whole of Babs three times over, and I’ve deliberately left them to it for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, Marina is the arty one out of the two of us, my input would be minimal and most probably ignored. She’s strong-willed like that. More importantly though, I’ve decided this is the perfect staff-bonding exercise for Artie and Marina, a getting-to-know-you, over a bottle of turps instead of a bottle of vodka, because he barely drinks and she could leave a sailor for dead in a drinking competition.
Artie follows her in with flamingo-pink paint in his hair and the widest smile I’ve seen on his face so far.
‘You should come and see Babs,’ he fizzes, animated. ‘She looks, like, amazing.’
‘You’ve met Babs then,’ I say drily.
‘Met her? I’ve driven her!’
I look at Marina in alarm.
‘Chill,’ she shrugs. ‘Only around the DIY store car park. He wasn’t that bad.’
‘I was shocking,’ Artie grins.
‘You’ll be fine after a few more lessons.’ Marina tucks her hair behind her ear and grins at me, her eyes sparkling. ‘Come and see it then, Boss Lady.’
We all troop out to the cobbled cartway at the side of the building to inspect Babs. I don’t know what I’m expecting, and it’s probably just as well that I didn’t have any firm ideas in mind for a logo, because Marina’s design is something that definitely couldn’t have come from my imagination. Or Artie’s, for that matter.
‘It’s . . . it’s . . .’ I’m struggling to articulate my thoughts. ‘Marina, it’s fabulous!’
She preens. ‘It wasn’t just me. Artie helped with the design.’
I look at him standing beside her, a good foot taller and a considerable amount more paint-splattered. Judging by the look of them, Marina had been supervisor and Artie the lackie.
‘We started with this,’ Marina points to the pink circle that forms the outside of the design, following the cross at the bottom with her finger, ‘because it means female, and we are.’ She glances up at Artie. ‘Present company excepted.’
He nods, then points out a little sky-blue circle with an arrow, no bigger than my palm. ‘She let me add this in as long as it’s not noticeable. It means male, because I’m part of the agency too.’ His brow furrows suddenly. ‘You didn’t notice it, did you?’
He holds his breath as his eyes dart towards Marina and then back to me.
I shake my head. ‘I’d never have noticed it was there if you hadn’t mentioned it, Artie.’
I’m not even lying. The small motif is hidden inside Marina’s design. She’s managed to make it so that the Agency name winds in and out of the female sign, bold and feminine, set against two women silhouetted back to back in profile holding a retro pose that is a clear homage to Charlie’s Angels . I look closer, and it’s not just any two women. Those silhouettes are us. Perfectly, intricately us. Not only that. I distinctly remember us striking that pose a couple of years ago for a picture after one or five too many cocktails in Marina’s back garden.
‘How did you do that?’ I marvel, stepping close to study it.
Marina shrugs. ‘Good memory.’
‘She had acetate cut-outs and everything,’ Artie beams.
Marina flicks her eyes to the skies and huffs. ‘I might have spent a bit of spare time last night working on it.’
I know her better than to make too much fuss. ‘Well, it was time well spent. It’s perfect.’
Marina nods. ‘I know.’
Who knew Babs could look so splendid? They’ve touched up her rust spots and
* * *
‘ L unch time ,’ Marina declares when she walks into the office a few hours later, paint in all colours of the rainbow splattered liberally over her apron. She and Artie had arrived back a while ago armed with enough paint and paraphernalia to cover the whole of Babs three times over, and I’ve deliberately left them to it for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, Marina is the arty one out of the two of us, my input would be minimal and most probably ignored. She’s strong-willed like that. More importantly though, I’ve decided this is the perfect staff-bonding exercise for Artie and Marina, a getting-to-know-you, over a bottle of turps instead of a bottle of vodka, because he barely drinks and she could leave a sailor for dead in a drinking competition.
Artie follows her in with flamingo-pink paint in his hair and the widest smile I’ve seen on his face so far.
‘You should come and see Babs,’ he fizzes, animated. ‘She looks, like, amazing.’
‘You’ve met Babs then,’ I say drily.
‘Met her? I’ve driven her!’
I look at Marina in alarm.
‘Chill,’ she shrugs. ‘Only around the DIY store car park. He wasn’t that bad.’
‘I was shocking,’ Artie grins.
‘You’ll be fine after a few more lessons.’ Marina tucks her hair behind her ear and grins at me, her eyes sparkling. ‘Come and see it then, Boss Lady.’
We all troop out to the cobbled cartway at the side of the building to inspect Babs. I don’t know what I’m expecting, and it’s probably just as well that I didn’t have any firm ideas in mind for a logo, because Marina’s design is something that definitely couldn’t have come from my imagination. Or Artie’s, for that matter.
‘It’s . . . it’s . . .’ I’m struggling to articulate my thoughts. ‘Marina, it’s fabulous!’
She preens. ‘It wasn’t just me. Artie helped with the design.’
I look at him standing beside her, a good foot taller and a considerable amount more paint-splattered. Judging by the look of them, Marina had been supervisor and Artie the lackie.
‘We started with this,’ Marina points to the pink circle that forms the outside of the design, following the cross at the bottom with her finger, ‘because it means female, and we are.’ She glances up at Artie. ‘Present company excepted.’
He nods, then points out a little sky-blue circle with an arrow, no bigger than my palm. ‘She let me add this in as long as it’s not noticeable. It means male, because I’m part of the agency too.’ His brow furrows suddenly. ‘You didn’t notice it, did you?’
He holds his breath as his eyes dart towards Marina and then back to me.
I shake my head. ‘I’d never have noticed it was there if you hadn’t mentioned it, Artie.’
I’m not even lying. The small motif is hidden inside Marina’s design. She’s managed to make it so that the Agency name winds in and out of the female sign, bold and feminine, set against two women silhouetted back to back in profile holding a retro pose that is a clear homage to Charlie’s Angels . I look closer, and it’s not just any two women. Those silhouettes are us. Perfectly, intricately us. Not only that. I distinctly remember us striking that pose a couple of years ago for a picture after one or five too many cocktails in Marina’s back garden.
‘How did you do that?’ I marvel, stepping close to study it.
Marina shrugs. ‘Good memory.’
‘She had acetate cut-outs and everything,’ Artie beams.
Marina flicks her eyes to the skies and huffs. ‘I might have spent a bit of spare time last night working on it.’
I know her better than to make too much fuss. ‘Well, it was time well spent. It’s perfect.’
Marina nods. ‘I know.’
Who knew Babs could look so splendid? They’ve touched up her rust spots and
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