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  “The ghost of Gawdy Castle,” Frankie wailed.

  Mrs Skinner looked surprised. “But Maude wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Frankie’s tears stopped like magic. Everyone stared at Mrs Skinner.

  “You mean the castle is really haunted?” I asked.

  “Of course. Most old places are. But the Gawdy Castle ghost is quite harmless.”

  “But we SAW it in the dungeons!” Emma wailed.

  The tour guide clicked her tongue. “I’m not going to ask what you were doing there. But you certainly won’t find Maude in the dungeons. I usually see her in the hall or the rose garden.”

  “The ghost is called Maude?” Kenny seemed disgusted.

  “What about Kirstin,” Emma pleaded. “I’m really worried about her. Something awful happened down there.”

  “It’s like she was possessed by a demon!” Frankie agreed.

  “Yeah, I really had you going, eh?” laughed a voice.

  Kirstin was sauntering towards us, giving absolutely no sign of being possessed by a demon.

  Frankie’s mouth fell open. “NO way! You DIDN’T!!”

  “I did!” grinned Kirstin. “I played you for suckers and you swallowed it hook, line and sinker!”

  I looked down at my knees. For the first time I noticed the blood seeping through the denim. I was officially angry with Kirstin. “I’m glad you think it’s so funny. Now I’ve got to tell Mum I’ve ruined my new jeans.”

  “I’m sorry about your jeans, Fliss,” she said. “But I truly didn’t think you’d run out so quickly. I was just going to own up when you all took off like a bunch of lemmings!”

  One thing about Frankie is she’s an excellent sport. She gave an embarrassed laugh. “That was a pretty cool trick,” she admitted grudgingly. “For an Australian.”

  “I’d love to have seen us on video,” agreed Kenny. “I bet we were white as sheets!”

  “You were!” giggled Kirstin.

  “And that voice was well spooky!” said Frankie.

  The word reminded me that Gawdy Castle actually had a real ghost.

  “Mrs Skinner, have you seen Maude?” I asked nervously.

  “Oh, you never see her. You know she’s there though. You can smell lavender in the air and you sometimes hear long skirts rustling.”

  Rosie sighed. “That sounds like my kind of ghost.”

  “I hope your phone call wasn’t bad news, Mrs Skinner,” I said shyly.

  Mrs Skinner looked surprised. “How sweet of you to ask. Actually it was very good news. My daughter has just had a baby. We’ve been worried about them both. But they’re perfectly fine!”

  We all congratulated her and told her she didn’t look nearly old enough to be a granny, though like Kenny said later, it’s not that easy to tell with the undead!

  We were just getting back on the coach when I realised I’d left my sweatshirt in the reception hall.

  “Keep my seat for me,” I told the others. “I’ll be back in two ticks,” and I went haring back to the castle.

  At first I couldn’t see my top anywhere, then I found it crumpled behind a radiator in the hall. It was really grimy from the dungeons. Mum’s going to think I’ve been in a war, I thought. I’ve ruined my new jeans and my sweatshirt looks like a dusty old relic from a museum.

  Just then I heard the soft swish of a woman’s skirt behind me.

  “Oh, Mrs Skinner,” I said guiltily. “I was just—”

  But when I turned the hall was empty, and I could smell the sweet scent of lavender.

  That night we prepared for the most bizarre sleepover ever.

  You see, on the way back on the coach, it came out that Kirstin was going to be leaving Cuddington next week. Her parents were dragging her off to some big ecological project down in Cornwall.

  “I’m gutted,” she said. “If I’d been here a few days longer Emma could have brought me to one of your famous sleepovers!”

  Frankie took a huge breath and my heart literally stopped as I waited for her to drop Emma right in the poo! I don’t really know why she didn’t. Maybe it was because she could see Kirstin was genuinely disappointed.

  Frankie leaned across to Emma and tapped lightly on her skull. “Hello! Anyone at home?” She laughed. “Poor Emma. She’s losing it, aren’t you, Emma? I can’t believe she forgot to tell you.”

  “Forgot to tell her what?” said Emma nervously, obviously suspecting some new insult.

  “Duh! We’re sleeping over at Fliss’s tonight, dummy! We’ll see you guys there, won’t we, Fliss?”

  My head was spinning with surprise. “Oh, yeah,” I croaked. “Erm, don’t forget to bring sleeping bags.”

  “And a spooky story and food for your midnight feast, right?” grinned Kirstin. “Emma’s told me all about it.”

  “I don’t believe you did that, Frankie Thomas,” Kenny burst out, as Emma and Kirstin went off in Emma’s mum’s car.

  “YOU can’t believe I did it! I’m not going to sleep a wink, knowing I’m under the same roof as that girl.” Frankie looked genuinely panicky. “I’m really, really sorry guys. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “No, you did right, Spaceman,” Kenny comforted her. “It’s not Kirstin’s fault Emma’s been telling all these lies.”

  “Anyway, how bad can it be?” said Rosie bravely.

  “Just don’t go leaking any crucial Sleepover Club secrets,” Kenny warned.

  But our fears proved totally groundless. When Emma’s mum’s car stopped outside our house later that evening, just one girl got out.

  I ran to the door to let Kirstin in. “Where’s Emma?”

  “It’s such a shame! She couldn’t come. She’s really not feeling well.”

  “Don’t say she’s caught Emily’s nits after all?”

  Kirstin shook her head. “She’s just got a chill. She did get a bit of a soaking.”

  Maybe Emma’s illness was genuine. But I also think she was scared. She must have known she couldn’t keep up the pretence of being a bona fide member of the Sleepover Club. Not once she was on our territory.

  Emma really did us a big favour. We agreed later that our safari sleepover would have been seriously stressful if she’d been there, with her prissy voice and her pulled-back ponytail.

  But we didn’t say any of this to Kirstin. We were too busy stuffing ourselves with the Cheesy Doritos she’d brought, and reminiscing about our mad experiences at Gawdy Castle.

  Kirstin told us she’d half-sussed that Emma wasn’t exactly our big bosom buddy, like she’d claimed in her e-mails. But she was truly astonished when we explained that Emily Berryman was Emma’s real friend. “She never even mentioned her! I wonder why?”

  “You’d have to know Emily to understand that,” said Kenny darkly.

  Kirstin has to be one of the coolest girls I’ve ever met. She had no illusions about Emma, but she totally refused to diss her. “Emma has some good points,” she said. “And she’s obviously nuts about you guys.”

  I thought about that a lot as I finally snuggled down in my sleeping bag. We didn’t do the tent thing in the end, by the way. Even Frankie agreed that we’d had more than enough excitement for one day.

  I could hear Andy upstairs talking soothingly to one of the twins, or he could have been reciting his list of builders’ tools. But it still sounded comforting and homey.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered why Emma really told Kirstin those stories about her imaginary sleepover experiences. We’d never know. Next term Emily would be back at school and everything would be back to normal. But I couldn’t help wondering. Had it all just been acting like Frankie said, or did Emma Hughes really want to be our friend?

  Copyright

  The Sleepover Club ® is a Registered trademark of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  First published in Great Britain by Collins in 2003

  Collins is an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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  Text copyright © Angie Bates 2003

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  Original series characters, plotlines and settings © Rose Impey 1997

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub Edition © MAY 2012 ISBN 9780007387410

  The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

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