Tamsyn Murray-Afterlife 01 My So-Called Afterlife (2 page)

‘I don’t know why you can see me either, but I don’t think you can blame the fact that you’ve had a skinful.’

Even in his terrified state, he was automatically on the defensive. ‘I’m not drunk. I may be losing my mind and scared witless, but I’m hardly steaming. Anyway, you don’t look like a ghost. Aren’t you supposed to be see-through?’

My patience was wearing thinner than a pole-dancer’s thong. ‘Look, take my word for it. I really am a ghost. Now either deal with it or go away.’

He eyed me doubtfully. Raising his chin, he reached up and squeezed a section of his cheek between his fingers. ‘I expect I’ll wake up in a minute.’

‘You can pinch yourself as much as you like. It won’t make me disappear.’ I waved my arms over my head and floated a metre or so off the ground, a trick I’d only recently got the hang of. Gravity still rules supreme, even for ghosts. ‘Does this help you believe in me? Woo-ooh!’

To his credit, he didn’t run screaming for the door. It appeared to be a definite option, though.

I took pity on him. If the situation had been reversed I’d have been out of there at the first sign of weirdness. He deserved some credit for sticking around.

‘Honestly, I don’t bite,’ I offered, trying to sound
friendly. Perhaps a bit of humour would lighten things up. ‘The worst I can do is diss your terrible dress sense. Are you wearing that jacket for a bet? You look like a Hell’s Angel who does charity work in his spare time.’

He stared at me, white-faced, for several long seconds before his struggling brain seemed to give up the fight and accept what his eyes and ears were telling it. Whatever else I might have been, I wasn’t a threat to him. His breath gushed out with a loud whoosh.

‘Excellent. My first ghostly encounter and I get a comedian.’ With a dubious shake of his head, he stuck out a trembling hand. ‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but why don’t we start again? My name is Jeremy.’

Reminding myself that this was the first human contact I’d had in ages, I toned down my natural sarcasm. ‘I’m Lucy. Shaking hands isn’t big in the spirit world, by the way.’

Still looking like he was hoping I was part of a really bad dream, he nodded and let his arm fall back to his side. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us.

‘So,’ he said eventually. ‘At the risk of sounding like an idiot, what are you doing here? The men’s toilet is hardly a suitable place to – er – hang out.’

Note to self: do not swear.
Conversation was great, but why did he have to be such a moron?

‘Duh. I haven’t got a lot of choice. This is where I was killed. I can’t leave. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s like there’s an invisible force-field at the top of the stairs.’

Jeremy went still. ‘You were murdered?’ His eyes softened
as he realised what that meant. ‘You must be the girl who was stabbed down here on New Year’s Eve.’

Give the man a banana. ‘Yep.’

He eyed me wordlessly. It didn’t matter. I could practically hear what he was thinking.

‘Yes, it was horrible. No, I don’t know who my killer was. Yes, it totally sucks haunting a toilet and no, I didn’t look at your willy when you were peeing earlier.’

Jeremy puffed out his cheeks and blinked. ‘Well, that’s the basics covered then.’ A tentative smile crept over his face. ‘Thanks for not looking.’

I wrinkled my nose. ‘No problem. Boy bits are disgusting, anyway.’

He laughed. It was a pleasant sound and one I hadn’t heard for a while, if I didn’t count the madman who popped in every few days and cackled away to himself in the end cubicle while stuffing packets of biscuits down the toilet.

‘Can I do anything to help? It must be boring, being stuck down here.’

My impassioned groan echoed off walls. ‘You have no idea. Do you know there are exactly four thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven tiles in here? Or that it takes a vandal three-and-a-half toilet rolls to completely block a toilet?’ I thrust my hand into my pocket and hauled out my phone. ‘Or that a ghostly mobile is about as much use as a jelly space-hopper.’

One eyebrow raised, he looked interested. ‘Can you get a signal?’

A loud tut escaped me. ‘No. Who would I be texting, anyway? I don’t know any other ghosts.’

‘Good point,’ he agreed. ‘So how can I help?’

‘Tell me what’s happening in the world. Have I missed anything?’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, let’s see. The Prime Minister resigned and his main rival took over. No one expects him to last more than a few months, though, and it could mean a general election.’

Shaking my head, I said, ‘Boring. Haven’t you got any news worth hearing? What’s the latest with the WAGs? How’s life in Albert Square? Ooh, has Declan found out about his mum and his best mate yet?’

Jeremy looked blank. ‘WAGs? Do you mean
Crufts
?’

I sighed heavily. ‘Of all the people in London, the only person who can see me knows nothing.’

‘That’s not true,’ Jeremy objected. ‘I know a lot of things.’

‘
Interesting,
I was about to add. Knows nothing interesting. Don’t you even have a paper I can read?’

He shook his head, then brightened. ‘Hang on, though. I know where I can get one.’

Minutes later he was back, free newspaper in hand.

An ungrateful pout snuck over my face. ‘It’s hardly
Glamour
.’

‘It’s all I could get. Here you go.’ He thrust the paper towards me. It fell to the floor with a pathetic splat.

I glared at him. ‘Ha ha. I’m a ghost. We’re not great at holding material things.’

‘Oh.’ Deflated, he gazed at the fallen paper. ‘I could open it for you? Turn the pages?’

It was the first useful suggestion he’d made. ‘OK, spread it out on the floor and I’ll sit down to read it.’

We both looked at the grubby tiles. Even in my formless state, I didn’t fancy sitting in a puddle of wee, and hovering above it was too much like hard work.

‘How about if I lay it across one of the sinks?’

And that was how it began. As unlikely as it seemed, Jeremy and I hit it off and he agreed to come back. More importantly, he swore he’d bring better news and – fan-flippingtastic – a TV magazine so I could catch up on the soaps. I discovered Jeremy was twenty-seven, lived in Notting Hill and wasn’t a geography teacher. He worked as a lighting engineer in one of the West End theatres, which I had to admit sounded like a pretty cool job. I had mixed feelings about him, though. His presence made my existence almost bearable and at least I had someone to talk to, but I couldn’t help wishing he was ten years younger. Still, he made things a thousand times better than they had been. OK, I was still dead and stuck in a place which smelled like a sewer, but not being acquainted with a body snatcher and a mad scientist, there wasn’t a lot I could do to change that.

That’s pretty much where you came in. Once or twice a week, Jeremy stopped by for an hour or so after his evening shift finished, and I found myself sleeping off the boredom less now that I had something to stay up for. I didn’t need
the rest, but unconsciousness beat counting tiles hands down. To stop me complaining about the mind-numbing dullness when he wasn’t around, we tried an experiment where he taped the magazine pages to one of the walls so I could read them after he’d gone, but one of the cleaners took them down, muttering darkly about weirdo vandals and stake-outs. Not wanting to be arrested, Jeremy refused to do it again.

On his next visit, I couldn’t help noticing he looked pretty pleased with himself.

‘OK. Out with it,’ I gave in finally. ‘What’s with the smugness?’

‘I have news.’

‘I know, I’m reading it. Turn the page, please.’

He leaned against the wall. ‘I’ve made a friend.’

I clasped my hands together. ‘Lucky you. How many does that make? Two?’

Ignoring my sarcasm, he went on. ‘I got talking to her at the theatre. She’s a researcher for some supernatural TV programme that wants to shoot there, but more importantly, she claims she’s psychic.’

He had my attention. ‘In what way? Is she properly psychic, or does she just think she is?’

Jeremy shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. Some of the stuff she came out with was a bit peculiar. It was only when she mentioned a spiritualist church they’d filmed at that I paid attention.’

I knew next to nothing about spiritualism, but anyone
who told someone they’d just met that they spoke to the dead was plain weird in my opinion.

‘You didn’t tell her about me, did you?’

‘Of course. I came right out with it – “There’s this girl I see who no one else does, and I turn the pages for her because she can’t hold a newspaper”.’ He fixed me with a level stare. ‘Believe it or not, I’m not totally comfortable with this myself yet.’

I bit back a smile. At least we agreed on one thing.

‘What happens at these churches, then?’

‘People go along to speak to their dead family and friends. Apparently, it’s teeming with the souls of the departed all looking for ways to “pass across”.’ He did that rubbishy thing adults do with their fingers to indicate speech marks. ‘I wondered if you wanted me to go along and see what I can find out.’

‘You’d do that for me?’ I was genuinely taken aback. There were people I’d known my whole life who wouldn’t put themselves out as much. ‘Why?’

Jeremy looked pointedly into cubicle one, where the friendly neighbourhood vandals had stuffed so much toilet roll into the bowl that it was overflowing. ‘Since I seem to be the only one who can see you, I feel responsible for you, and much as I enjoy spending my evenings in a public toilet, I think it might be a good idea to find a way to get you out of here.’

He wouldn’t get any complaints from me. Even so, it meant a lot that he’d go to such an effort when he could easily walk away and never see me again.

‘Well, thanks.’ In case he thought I was getting all mushy on him, I added, ‘Don’t go thinking that means we’re proper mates or anything.’

Satisfied we understood each other, I turned my attention to the gossip columns. Surely that Hollywood couple weren’t adopting another baby?

‘Do you know why I really came back?’ Jeremy’s voice was soft.

Sensing he was about to reveal something, I glanced up. ‘My charming personality?’

A brief smile flickered over his face. ‘When you were watching me in the mirror, your expression reminded me of someone else. A few years ago, I was at Camden tube station one night when the woman next to me threw herself in front of the train. In the split second before she jumped her eyes met mine.’ Swallowing hard, he shook his head. ‘You looked like her, pleading for someone to understand how you felt. No one deserves to be so alone.’

Tears swam into my eyes. I blinked them away. ‘It’s all right once you get used to it. Sitting through double science was worse.’

The spell broke. ‘I almost believe you. Why don’t I fill you in on last night’s
EastEnders
?’

Grateful for the change of subject, I listened and didn’t correct him when he got the characters mixed up. He was an adult and deeply uncool, but somehow it didn’t matter. He cared enough to keep coming back to me. Right at that moment, it was all I had.

‘They said what?’

I couldn’t believe my ears. If this was Jeremy’s idea of a joke, he was an even worse comedian than my dad.

One eyebrow raised, he spread the paper he’d brought across the sink. I approached without much enthusiasm.
The Times
wasn’t on my list of acceptable reading matter.

‘I’m only telling you what the woman at the Church of the Dearly Departed told me. Spirits can escape their earthly prison – that’s here for you – as long as they have something from that place with them when they go. Anything will do.’

I glanced around. ‘What did you have in mind? Reckon you could wrench a loo-roll holder off the wall for me to carry around?’

Jeremy frowned. ‘Of course not. Something a bit more portable would be better. A toilet brush, maybe?’ His gaze came to rest on the door of cubicle one. ‘Didn’t you say vandals had knocked the toilet seat off in there?’

They had, late one night as I’d been snoozing in my cupboard. The racket had scared the bejaysus out of me, but they’d been oblivious to my terrified scream and had only run off after the plumbing had started making ominous creaking noises. I eyed the door doubtfully. As much as I longed to get back out into the real world, was Jeremy seriously suggesting that I take a loo seat out with me?

‘I don’t care if no one else can see it. If you think for one minute I’m going out in public wearing that you’ve got another thing coming. I do have some pride.’ Another thought occurred to me. ‘Anyway, Brainiac, how am I supposed to hold on to it?’

To prove my point, I waved my arm through the wall.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She was a bit hazy on the details.’

Probably because she was making them up as she went along. ‘What else did she say?’

Jeremy unfolded the lightweight chair he’d brought with him and sat down.

‘That ghosts are the souls of people with unfinished business on earth, seeking a way to get to the next plane of existence.’

I opened my mouth to make a smart remark about airports and closed it again. It was good of Jeremy to find this
stuff out. If I ever wanted to see the shops again, I needed to keep him sweet.

‘And did she give you any hints about how I’m supposed to do that?’ I said.

He threw me an uneasy look. ‘You resolve whatever is keeping you here. In your case, that means finding the person who killed you, I expect.’

My stomach tightened with sudden anxiety. That was Rule Number Two: Never Think About What Happened Last New Year’s Eve. It was cowardly, but I preferred not to dwell on the manner of my death.

Seeing my reluctance, Jeremy changed tack. ‘We could always try getting you exorcised.’

I rolled my eyes and hid behind sarcasm. ‘Look at me, Jeremy. Weight gain is not currently an issue.’

He smirked. ‘Not exercised. Ex
or
cised. As in a priest comes and banishes you.’

I’d seen a horror movie once. GCSE Occultism it wasn’t. How was I supposed to know all these bizarre terms? Whatever it was, it sounded charming. ‘Why didn’t you mention it earlier? Do I get a choice where I’m banished to, or is it generally to the pits of hell?’