As I exited the ward, I saw through the windows that it was raining outside. A talkative nurse, one I hadn’t seen on the way in, commented, in a typically British way, that that was all we needed, more rain. I stood for a moment watching the droplets break against the glass and then I asked her whether anyone else had been in to see Rose. She said no; it was like the doctor had said, she seemed to have no relatives, no friends.
I watched the rain for a few seconds longer. Perhaps ghost girls didn’t like hospitals any more than the rest of us.
The drive back was much slower, the dark and the pouring rain making for a much tenser journey. I’d foolishly thought seeing Rose would bring me hope, some joy. But how stupid I was; how was seeing her in there, in that condition, going to make me feel better? Her life was a living death anyway; it was just going to continue instead of ending.
I had to get out. That was the only thing to do. I would call my landlady in the morning. Time to get out and never look back. Whatever happened to me now, it couldn’t be worse than a lonely mourning life like this.
The rain was starting to get heavy and progress through traffic was slow. I let a couple of cars pass me on a quiet but crowded residential street, lined with parked cars. It was going to be a long, slow drive home.
As I reached the end of the street, a shape appeared in the road. Leaping from behind a parked van, a child appeared in front of me.
I had no time to react; before I could even put my foot on the brake, they’d thumped against my bonnet and disappeared under the wheels.
I screamed; my head snapped forward as the car came to a sudden stop. I took both hands off the steering wheel and clamped them over my mouth. I was still for just a moment before I howled through my fingertips.
I ripped off my seatbelt and threw myself out the door. I tripped as I got out and had to grab hold of the window to stop myself from falling over. Back on my feet quickly, I swung the door back and got down on my knees to see under my car.
The road was wet and cold and the street-lighting poor – I could see nothing.
Frightened and desperate, I laid down, in the road, looking as far and clear under my car as possible.
There was nothing.
But I hadn’t imagined it. I’d seen a child, felt them thump against the bonnet.
And then I realised, my memory coming into focus, that my victim had been a girl. A blonde girl, pale-faced, dressed darkly, probably in blue.
I got up and on my feet again – she was here. It had to be her. Normal children don’t disappear. I didn’t know why or what had just happened, but I had to get away.
I got back inside and slammed the door shut. My keys were still in the ignition – I twisted them and started the engine.
I took a second to breathe, trying to calm myself.
The passenger-side window smashed. I screamed; a shower of shattered glass sprayed across the seat; I turned my head instinctively away as fragments hit my cheek.
I put my foot down. The wheels spun against the wet tarmac – I had to get away. I drove stupidly fast; I didn’t know what I was running from, but I had to get away. The falling rain was a threat – she only came out when it rained. And while I was outdoors, I was in danger. She was dangerous. Rose wasn’t just trying to chase and love her lost daughter; she must’ve been terrified of her. Frightened of what she’d do if she didn’t go after her. Tormented not just by loss but by fear. For all these years…
A car pulled out in front of me unexpectedly. I almost didn’t stop in time; I skidded dangerously across the road.
I shrieked to a halt. They stopped, seeing just how close I’d come to hitting them they hit their horn loudly. I saw an angry face snarl at me in the glare of my headlights.
I couldn’t take the cramped space any longer. I opened the door and got out, walked out into the road and onto the pavement. My heart was pounding; I had to get a grip. I paced around a little, trying to get my breath back.
After a few moments, I noticed something lying in the road, just by the open door of my car. I walked up to it and leant down.
It was a broken wooden toy train. I recognised it quickly; it was the one I’d dropped that first time I’d ever seen her. That’s what had shattered the window; I hadn’t even seen it. It must’ve gone through the window and hit the door on the other side, slipped down the side of the seat and fallen out when I’d got out of the car.
I picked it up. Two of its wheels were still missing – it had to be the same one.
There was the sound of a car horn. Another car had pulled up behind mine, wanting to get through. The driver side window was wound-down: “Are you all right love?”
I dropped the train and got back in the car.
I drove a little more carefully, but still with speed. I was glad to be back on the country roads, feeling that somehow the wide open space offered fewer surprises than the over-crowded town streets.
When I got home I ran for the front door and locked it quickly behind me. I didn’t even bother to cover up the broken window. The next morning the passenger side seat was soaked. At least the car hadn’t been stolen; but it had been visited in the night.
A message had been written on the back window.
STAY AWAY FROM MY MUM - the condensation was gone, but the words were still visible. It was written big enough to fill the whole back window.
Let it never be said of me that I can’t take a hint.
My mind had already been made up. I phoned my landlady and told her that I would be moving out at the end of the month. I’d paid the whole month so I’d stay till the end, I didn’t want to leave Joyce in the lurch anyhow.
I thought carefully about what to do. I didn’t want to call one of my close friends or family, they’d only berate me for falling off the map and not keeping in touch. I called Kieran, someone I’d been friends with for a while, but had never been so close to for them to have been upset by my long stretch of absence. He was settled with a new boyfriend but happy to put me up and seemed very relieved to hear from me. I didn’t give him too many details, but promised to fill him in when I got back.
I made an appointment with the lawyers. They wanted to see me sooner, but I insisted this was the best I could do.
Those last two weeks passed very slowly. With my life moving towards something, it really put into perspective just how lonely and empty and pointless those months had been. Just empty, devoid of anything. Better to live or die than live in purgatory. Whatever happened from this point on, I decided I’d never go back to ______. I felt truly sorry saying to Joyce that I’d be back to visit her, when I knew I wouldn’t. I had made one friend, but I’d probably never see her again. I had her number, swore I’d friend her on Facebook where we could exchange empty pleasantries.
I still had pathetically little in the way of possessions. Packing my belongings took less than half an hour. Before I left, I sat alone in the house silently. Though I’d brought with me so little, with it gone, the house seemed empty, foreboding, dark. I sat uncomfortably on a low stool in the living room. Clouds were gathering once again in the sky. It would be raining again soon.
I walked slowly into the hall. I was supposed to return the keys to Mrs McMurray that afternoon. I undid the door latch and let the door hang open. The clouds lingered ominously; in my mind they rolled like smoke rumbling from a fire burning out of control. The rain would fall soon; I might not have much time.
It felt like now or never; if the rain came down again, I might never escape. What did it matter, Mrs McMurray could get the keys back by post; send the deposit back by bank transfer, if she knew what that was.
I closed my eyes tight, gripped hold of my suitcases and pulled myself out of the door. With purpose I marched towards the car and threw them on the back seat. There was no time to apply more tape to the cardboard patch that covered the broken passenger-side window. There was no time to go back inside and check whether I’d left anything behind.
I locked the front d
oor, sat in my car and I drove away. For once and for all, I sat in my car and I drove away.
But before I left, before I abandoned purgatory, I had one last thing to see. One last silly gesture I had to make.
I took a detour via Rose’s house, hoping, though I knew it unlikely, to glimpse her at home through her window. Maybe she was still in hospital. Maybe she was dead. Maybe she was making a cup of tea. I probably would never know; the chances of me spotting her, catching her in just that moment, in her front window, were so ridiculously remote.
But I’d run over a ghost girl only a few weeks ago, so anything was possible.
And despite the odds, she was there. To my disbelief, I saw her as I panned past in my car. She was sat by her window, right up against the glass.
She was in a wheelchair, her leg broken and supported, held up horizontally in its cast. She was looking out; not at me in my car, but up into the sky, the clouds, the threatening tumultuous grey.
I wondered what she must be thinking as I passed. Was she in agony, forlorn because she was trapped there and unable to see her little girl? Perhaps she was terrified, frightened of what her angry, destructive child might do without her to stop her, to calm her.
Perhaps all this was nothing new. Perhaps she’d tripped and fallen a dozen times, got sick and been forced into bed time after time with new colds and viruses brought on by the freezing temperatures. Perhaps each time she hoped that she wouldn’t make it; that her and her baby would finally be reunited in death, to walk the storms forever, together. Maybe that was just her rotten luck, the same odds-defying misfortune that had taken her daughter from her in the first place.
Perhaps she feared death, because they might never be together again. Perhaps she thought none of those things. Perhaps sodden and ruddy, she just carried on because that’s the only thing she knew how to do.
I reached the bridge over the river – I crossed it with surprising ease, as if I never quite believed I’d ever make it. The clouds kept themselves restrained, the rain did not fall. My way out was assured; you could leave purgatory if you still had the strength to do it.
One day I’ll have the guts to find out; see what happened to old Rose. Find out if she died out on the hills or tucked up in bed somewhere. Maybe warm and cared for, probably just alone. This will sound cruel, but I think I’ll do it one day when I feel at my lowest, to remind myself just how lucky I am. That whatever lies ahead of me, I can take comfort that at that moment I was able to escape.
I remember keeping my eyes firmly on the road as I drove, never allowing them to drift away to the sides. If she was there watching me as I went, I never saw her. Thank God, I never saw her again.
CAT LADY
I used to be able to hear her through the walls. You’d hear her talking to them: “What are you doing? What have you got there? Are you being good?” You know, like they were her kids or something.
Used to get on my nerves. When I’m working, I’m up at around five or six. When I’m not working, I still usually wake up same time – can’t help it. I’d try going back to sleep but she’d keep me awake talking to the cats. I dunno what was up with that downstairs bedroom. Soon as Chelle moved out I took her room upstairs. It was smaller but at least it was quiet up there.
I dunno how many of them she had. At least three; I mean, there was definitely a black one, a ginger one and a brown one, but I swear they weren’t all the same cats – they had different spots and marks on their fur. Used to shit in the back yard. She had no one else living there and I don’t think she ever had friends over. Least I never heard them.
Then he showed up. I’d met him a few times down the road in The Lion. He was a cocky prick from the start. All swanky suits and sunglasses, and car keys – he always used to come marching in and slam his keys down on the table like he was cock of the walk just getting home. Tosser.
He was an estate agent or developer or something. Buying up all the derelict and shitty council houses and doing them up to sell on. Mostly for student landlords. You didn’t need do anything fancy for the student houses; just paint the walls and put locks on the doors, that’s what he used to tell me.
He used to talk to me cos no one else in The Lion wanted to have anything to do with him. Not exactly the most open-minded mob in there; they’re the kind of thick-skinned old bastards who think giving women the vote was too much of a fucking liberty. They see a big black guy walk in, flashing his cash, and, well… if he hadn’t have been built like a brick-shithouse’s dad then they’d have glassed him and kicked his ribs in. Instead they just kept their distance and called him a nigger when his back was turned.
Me, I’ll talk to anyone. In my business it’s mostly Poles and Russian’s these days anyway; they’re the only ones desperate enough to do the work. Doesn’t pay to be having a problem with where someone’s from. Wouldn’t get any work if I did. Anyway, what’s so great about England anyway that makes us so high and bloody mighty?
Couldn’t stand the bastard, but he’d talk to me anyway. I put up with it because I hoped he might throw us a bit of work, us both being in the same sort of business. And when you’re out of work, it’s not like you got much else to do. Believe it or not, there is only so much Sky Sports that you can watch before you start to go a bit mental.
I think he already knew me from somewhere. But he was like that anyway; he always acted as if he was your best mate, even if you hardly knew him.
So after seeing him down there a few times, suddenly he starts turning up next door. I thought at first that he was the new landlord and wondered whether he’d be paying me a visit too. But the old cat lady turned out to be his aunt; first we’d heard about her having any relatives. Me and Gregg had never seen anyone show up there before except for the postman or when her shopping would get delivered – they’d bring the cat food in on huge trays. I swear that’s all they ever brought her; we thought that’s what she lived on as well.
He showed up there a few times. It was a bad summer for me, recession and all. I was having to sign on and just had to sit around doing nothing, and it really drives me up the wall. Always like to be busy, you know? And you can’t afford owt when you’re skint. You search for pennies just to have a pint.
But he’d show up there every so often and a couple of times they’d have a row. You couldn’t usually hear her talking to the cats, not in the living room during the day. But you could hear them two going at it. Dunno what about, I used to turn the volume right up. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess. And then when he was gone, she’d carry on with the cats. Telling them how she wasn’t going to be turfed out of her own home.
After a couple of rows, he didn’t show up for a while and he wasn’t down The Lion either. Then one day – close to the end of summer I think, cos I had a couple of weeks working for me cousin Nick doing house clearances, but I was back on the dole – I came home and there was an ambulance parked outside our house. I was a bit worried at first; thought Gregg had maybe larged it too much once and for all. But it was outside her house, the cat lady. And I walked to the door, my door, just as they were wheeling her out.
She was zipped up in a bag – finally kicked it. The neighbours had found her – Polish couple. They’d heard the cats making a racket and had gone round to complain. They saw her lying face down in the hallway. Weren’t sure how long she’d been there.
Sad way to go, on your own like that. I mean, if those two nosy buggers hadn’t looked in she might’ve laid there for weeks.
You know it was only then that I realised that I had no idea what she looked like. Two years I’d been there. Didn’t know what she looked like. Never looked her in the face once in all that time. Pretty sad really, but I suppose that’s just what folks are like these days. I only know the Polish pair cos they’re always complaining to someone about the bloody noise.
Anyway, he didn’t waste his time. They were round there in days clearing the place out, loaded a couple of vans up with junk and then ca
me over to renovate the place. I used to chat to the guy in charge when I saw him; still trying to find work. Apparently the place was covered in cat shit, took ’em days to scrape it all out. The cats were gone though, no sign of them unless Mr Flash took them away. I could imagine him going down the canal in his BMW to drop off a few sacks. He was a caring kind of guy.
Yeah, we all thought he might’ve had something to do with it. I mean, you’re never sure and the police never came round and looked the place over. But he wanted the house, and he got it. And we all thought it was all just a bit of a coincidence, him showing up just a bit before she died. And what happened next… I don’t believe in ghosts or any of that shit but that was pretty fucking fucked up.
The house was done-up, the builders had gone and not been back for a couple of days and I’d looked in and the place looked pretty cleaned-up. I was in The Lion and he was there having a drink with some guys who were trying to pretend he wasn’t there. He came to talk to me as usual and he started talking about the place. They’d done a really good job getting it ready. No mention of his aunt or anything, nothing said about how devastated he was or anything like that.
He said I should go around and see it. He was pissed and I wasn’t interested. But he wanted to go around there and he wanted me to go with him. So just then he starts talking about what I’m up to, what work I’m doing. And he knows full well I ain’t up to shit. But he keeps on, there’s some stuff I might be able to help him out with up at the house and he could use a guy like me to help him. I’m desperate so I end up going along with it.
He drives me there in his BMW, even though he’s drunk. He leads us up the path and steps, keeps going on about how his guys are the best and that’s why he pays ’em more. Seemed like the usual bunch of fuckwits to me, but what do I know?
He lets me in and goes on about how the house was in a terrible mess and they’d had to tear up the carpets and rewire the place. Just showing off. First thing I noticed was he’d put in panel flooring, which was going to mean shit loads of noise complaints. He showed me the front room; he wasn’t sure whether it was going to be a student house or whether he was going to sell it as normal. So it was just empty, could be a bedroom or a dining room.
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