When they eventually left Sal’s grave several minutes later, Mavis’ cheeks ached delightfully and she felt about five stone lighter. The journey to her great-grandmother’s grave was not long, the burials being arranged in rough family groups, but even so it felt significant. It was as if she were moving away from something, or towards something. Or perhaps just back to where she had been before.

  Sal led the way, flitting from side to side. Knowing that she would stay around until touched by sunlight, she no longer worried about straying too far from her grave. Instead she relished her new form of movement, sometimes moving her legs in a mimicry of how she had walked in life, other times gliding around, spinning and twirling as if skating on a frozen mill-pond. Her enthusiasm was infectious for Mavis, as was her anticipation. Mavis could almost feel her aunt’s excitement at going to see her grandmother again.

  The ritual took place as before. The matter of the ritual remained the same, of course: there was still the candles, still the incantation, still the colour change of the flames and their sweeping inwards to form the shape of the new spirit. The details around it varied, though.

  The first change was when Mavis again placed down the handkerchief to protect the headstone. Sal made a noise behind her as if she wanted to say something but didn’t want to interrupt.

  “It’s all right, Aunty Sal, this isn’t part of the ritual. What’s the matter?” Mavis turned to face the spirit with concern on her face, but was relieved to find a tender smile on her aunt’s face.

  “There’s nothing the matter, pet. I just wanted to say that it’s a nice touch, the hankie. I noticed it before, and should have mentioned it then. And the flowers as well. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  Mavis half-blushed. The gratitude was genuine, and it made her feel warm inside. Of course, she tried to play it down.

  “It’s just a few asters, nothing fancy. It’s much easier in the spring...”

  “It doesn’t matter what it is, what matters is it shows you care. It’s good to know you still think about me.”

  “Of course I still think of you, Aunty Sal! I’ve missed you.” That time it was Sal’s turn to be shocked by the depth of feeling.

  There was a moment of silence before Mavis carried on. It would be easy to imagine that things became awkward from there on, but both women knew how much the other loved them. For Mavis at least, it was good to be reminded. And it brought out something of the show-woman in her.

  Whereas her movements had been almost furtive, her words quiet, during the first summoning, now Mavis had an audience and she was playing up to her. She began to twirl her cloak dramatically, to place candles with a flourish. The five candles were lit with exaggerated and grand gestures, while she intoned the chants with a dramatic cadence. All of this would have come as a shock to most people who knew her now, husband included, but the ghost of her aunt stood on the path and showed her appreciation. Her hands clapped with a eldritch crackle after each candle was lit, and an appreciative gasp greeted the colour change. The sweeping inwards of the beams of light was greeted with a quiet “Wow.”

  A staticky round of applause broke out as the candle flames coalesced into the face and form of a third woman. Her face was older, the hair tied back more loosely, but the family resemblance between her, Sally and Mavis was striking. The same nose, the same intelligent eyes, the same hint of mischief in her smile. The manner of dress was markedly different, though, tightly cinched around the waist and with a much higher collar. The new spirit curtsied low in response to the applause, leading to a whoop from Sally loud enough to recall Mavis to where she was and what she was doing. Mavis started and looked around quickly, but there were no sounds of people coming to investigate, no distant lights weaving their way through the graves. She relaxed, and turned to greet her ancestor.

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  “Mavis, meet my Gran, your great Gran.” Sally had drifted over to her grandmother and both of them floated in place facing Mavis. She recalled the crackling sound of Sally’s claps, and gulped.

  “Um, hello, great Grandma,” she gave a distracted curtsy, “it’s lovely to meet you, but I’m not sure it’s safe for you two to be so close to each other. Let me just check...”

  “What could be the worst that could happen?”

  Before Mavis could react, her great grandmother had reached out and poked her aunt in the ribs. Immediately, she started to emit a series of popping sounds and started to shake. Sally, after a moment, began to cluck and quack, floating up and down in what was, for a moment, quite an alarming manner.

  Mavis took two involuntary steps back, before she realised that neither woman looked in any distress and that the sounds they were making were becoming gradually more ridiculous. It was when Sally rolled her eyes in the very same way that she’d done to make Mavis laugh as a little girl that she was certain no harm had been done. A relieved chuckle escaped her lips.

  At that the two spectres stopped.

  “It is lovely to meet you, Mavis. And I was getting rather worried about the younger generations. You looked rather serious for a moment. I am glad that the family sense of fun has not yet been lost.” Her voice sounded very precise to Mavis’ ears, her choice of words sometimes archaic, but the tone was kind. “Now, as much as I appreciate how great a grandmother I am, I could see how constantly using that as my name might become tiresome. My given name is Deirdre Weaver, my family often used to call me Dearie. Perhaps you might call me Granny Dearie?”

  The potentially touching moment was undermined by a snort of laughter from Sally. Mavis felt the corner of her mouth tug up.

  “She can’t call you Granny Dearie! That’s the name you’d give to a sinister old woman in a scary story! Or else just a character from some children’s tale.”

  Deirdre huffed theatrically, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You know those are two completely different things, Sally. I am sure Mavis already has a gran...” There was no real animosity in the debate, but years of acting as the peacemaker or organiser forced Mavis to speak up.

  “I didn’t call either of my grandmothers ‘Gran,’ so I could use that for you just like Aunt Sally does, maybe?” The intervention came from her more recent life, but from her younger, cheekier self, came the next comment: “Or, I could be more formal, O Great Grandmother, Matriarch of the Weavers, source of...” her flippancy died as her two relatives turned and looked at her.

  “Either is fine with me, love.”

  Sally drifted over to her niece, who was standing there a little unsure of herself. Halfway across, she remembered to use her legs. She leaned forward until her mouth was near Mavis’ ear. “I’d like to give you a hug, if that’s all right, pet. Don’t know what it’ll feel like, mind.”

  Mavis nodded meekly. She had a momentary flash of panic as her aunt’s spirit extended her arms around her. What would she feel? The icy touch of the grave? Static shocks that burned like cold fire? Nothing at all, as her aunt passed straight through her? That last frightened her most of all.

  In the event, the hug was nothing like any of those things. It was more like the wind whipping around her person on a breezy day, like the first touch of carelessly grasped hot metal before it burned you, like the brush of leaves as she walked by a bush.

  Sally stepped back, and for the first time there was sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a proper hug right now, pet. I’d ask someone else to do it. Is your mother not around, nor your brother?”

  “No, they’re... they’re still living, the last I heard, but Rickon married to a girl over in Hindsbridge, and Mum went over there to help look after the children. It’s about a two day journey. We don’t see much of each other.”

  “That’s a shame, because I know they love you full well, and they would keep you yourself, Mavis pet. Which reminds me,” Sally span around, her hand remaining atop Mavis’ shoulder, “we didn’t get to the reason we summoned you, O Great Gran, Matriarch of the Weavers, source of eternal tea and something, grand wotsit of the thingummy, most high and mighty...”

  “I think I prefer just Gran after all. It feels a little facetious when you call me that.”

  Sally posed for a second, mid-declamation, mouth open, one arm raised high, the other hand still resting on Mavis’ shoulder.

  “Well, Mavis is looking to find herself, and she called to me because of the stories I told her when she was young, and I brought her to you because you told stories to me.”

  Mavis opened her mouth to say something about family history, but then closed it again. That was basically it.

  “If that is the reason I have been summoned, who am I to resist the will of my great-granddaughter? Take a seat, love, and I will tell you of how I met your great-granddad, and how he was so impressed by me he walked into the river. Twice.”