The Ghost Who Left No Streaks

I've dealt with stubborn bird marks, stubborn ivy and one particularly stubborn jelly today. But a window that showed yesterday instead of tomorrow was new territory, even for me.

It happened on our last stop in Markyate, just as Halloween lanterns began glowing along the street. Kim was packing away the cloths and Alfie was deciding whether the village hall's pumpkin looked frightened or merely disappointed. Inside, volunteers were setting up a children's Halloween tea. Outside, our reflection had disappeared.

Instead of three cleaners in blue polos, the big sash window showed a candlelit ballroom. Ladies in long skirts swirled past gentlemen with magnificent whiskers. Somewhere, a piano played three thin notes.

Alfie stepped sideways. The dancers didn't.

'If that is the fancy-dress party,' he said, 'we are seriously underdressed.'

Kim tapped the glass. On the other side, every dancer stopped. A silver handprint appeared beneath her fingers. Then the window gave an enormous hiccup and began blowing cold, shimmering bubbles out onto the pavement. Each bubble contained a tiny waltzing couple.

One floated into Alfie's pumpkin. The pumpkin started humming.

'Right,' I said, putting down my pole. 'That's unusual.'

The hall organiser came rushing out. The inside of the glass was frosting over, the Halloween decorations had begun turning backwards, and the children's tea was due to start in twenty minutes. Worse, the window wouldn't open. Every time she tried the latch, a ghostly voice whispered, 'Not quite finished.'

That was when the gentleman arrived.

He stepped straight through the wall, wearing a flat cap, a waistcoat and a bow tie that looked older than my van. A wooden squeegee rested under one translucent arm. His moustache curled so proudly it might have required its own planning permission.

'Evening,' he said. 'Edwin Puddles. Window cleaner. Formerly of this parish. Very formerly, as it happens.'

Alfie stared at his boots. You could see the paving stones through them.

'Do you still have to pay for parking?' he asked.

Edwin chuckled. Kim, who was taking all this far more calmly than either of us, pointed to the glass.

'Is that your work?'

'Last pane of my last round,' he said softly. 'Halloween, eighteen ninety-one. The charity ball was starting. They asked for the windows to sparkle so the lantern light could reach the children outside. I left one little corner cloudy. Been meaning to come back ever since.'

He lifted his wooden squeegee. It passed straight through the window. His smile faded.

'I can remember the job,' he said, 'but I can't finish it on my own.'

The bubbles were multiplying now. A miniature orchestra sailed past my shoulder, squeaking a tune. The hall door rattled. Inside the glass, a little girl in Victorian clothes stood apart from the dancers, holding an unlit paper lantern.

Edwin explained that the unfinished corner had trapped the memory of the ball. Every Halloween it tried to escape, but tonight the children's lanterns had woken the whole thing up. We had to clear the corner before the clock struck six, or every window in the hall would turn into a ballroom until morning.

Alfie glanced at the other twenty windows.

'I'd rather not quote for that,' he said.

I tried the modern pole first. One careful pass. The pane shone beautifully, but the cloudy corner grew darker. Kim tried a fresh cloth. No change. Alfie offered the pumpkin as a light source. It sang louder.

For a moment, none of us knew what to do. The clock above the hall door clicked towards six.

Then Kim bent down and looked along the frame.

'We're cleaning the glass,' she said. 'But what if the mark isn't on the glass?'

Behind the old sash catch, she found a curled scrap of paper. Edwin leaned closer.

'My daughter's lantern drawing,' he whispered. 'I tucked it there to keep it dry.'

Alfie held his pumpkin steady while Kim teased the paper free with the edge of a clean cloth. I supported the sash and eased it open, slowly, carefully. A breath of warm air came out, smelling faintly of candle wax and lemon soap.

Edwin showed us the old method: Kim worked the corner in small circles, I drew the squeegee down in one gentle pass, and Alfie caught the last drop before it ran into the wood. Three pairs of living hands, guided by one very experienced ghost.

The cloudy patch vanished.

Inside the glass, the little girl's lantern lit up. She waved to Edwin. The ballroom dancers bowed. Every silver bubble drifted back through the pane, and the cold disappeared as if someone had opened an oven door.

The clock struck six. Our own reflections returned. Alfie's pumpkin stopped singing in the middle of a rather ambitious note.

Edwin stood a little taller.

'No streaks,' he said, with enormous satisfaction.

We put the fragile drawing in a clear protective sleeve, and the organiser promised to display it inside the hall. Before our ghostly colleague faded, Kim asked if he'd like to stay for the Halloween tea.

'Can't manage a biscuit these days,' he said. 'But thank you for asking.'

Alfie raised his pumpkin. 'Happy Halloween, Mr Puddles.'

Edwin touched his cap. 'Look after one another. And always check the corners.'

Then he dissolved into a little shimmer of lantern light.

The children arrived to warm windows, cheerful pumpkins and the most sparkling hall in Markyate. The organiser handed us three mugs of tea and a plate of spider-shaped biscuits. Kim took a photograph of the lantern drawing. Alfie checked his pumpkin twice to make sure it hadn't learned another song.

As we loaded the van, a tiny wooden-squeegee shape appeared in the cleared corner of the glass, then faded. I gave it a nod.

We'd gone out to finish our own round and ended up helping someone finish one he'd started a hundred and thirty-five years ago.

A strange Halloween? Definitely.

A good day's work? One of the best.