Tamsyn Murray-Afterlife 01 My So-Called Afterlife

by Tamsyn Murray

  ‘How are you going to know what she looks like?’

  We were strolling along a gravel pathway through the flowerbeds. The scent of the roses reminded me of the memorial garden at school. There would be a plaque there bearing my name by now. I grimaced. Dogs probably weed on it.

  He waved the newspaper he was carrying at me. ‘I told her I’d be sitting on the bench beside the lake, reading yesterday’s Times.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. The newspaper bit was your idea.’

  His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. ‘Might have been.’

  ‘What makes you think she’s going to show up?’

  He shrugged. ‘She said she would. If she changes her mind then we’ll have to go back to the drawing board.’

  It was ten to twelve when we reached the lake, and Jeremy had arranged to meet Sarah at midday. I’d never admit it to Jeremy, but I was hoping this Sarah wouldn’t show up. I sat fiddling with my mended necklace, another plug wedged firmly in my jeans pocket. It ruined the look of my outfit, but since the Kimberly incident I was taking no chances.

  There was a family feeding the ducks not far from us. I watched as their chocolate-encrusted toddler tried to throw a handful of bread towards the water. A few bits of bread landed beside my foot. Without thinking, I kicked out at one of them, taking great satisfaction as it flew over the lake. I was getting really good at touching things. Maybe I should challenge Hep to a game of footie, I thought.

  ‘Lucy!’ Jeremy lowered the newspaper and hissed at me, but it was too late. The boy had seen the bread leap up into the air, apparently on its own. He stared at the ground where it had been, then looked at the empty space on the bench beside Jeremy, a deep frown creasing his tiny forehead. He toddled nearer and repeated the process.

  His mother noticed. ‘Harry! Come here, please!’

  Harry showed no sign of giving up his investigation. Instead, he picked up another piece of bread from the ground nearby and studied it suspiciously.

  ‘Your mum’s calling you,’ I mentioned, earning a black look from Jeremy.

  Apparently realising there was nothing special about the bread, Harry dropped it on the floor and glanced around. His eyes came to rest directly on my face.

  ‘Bogies!’ he said, almost conversationally, and wandered away.

  I’m sure I never behaved like that when I was three. Children’s television has a lot to answer for.

  ‘I think this might be her.’ Jeremy had clearly forgotten about the earpiece because he spoke from the side of his mouth. I sighed and thanked my lucky stars the fate of the entire world didn’t rest on his undercover abilities.

  He was probably right. Walking apprehensively around the lake towards us was a young woman, older than me, but way too young to be looking as frail as she did. Beside her was an older man with white hair. The woman was darting anxious glances at the people around her, as though she didn’t trust any of them. Sympathy softened the last of my anger. Perhaps she’d been luckier than me at escaping her attacker, but that didn’t mean she’d got off lightly. She wore a long-sleeved jumper, even though it was a hot day. Did she have scars she needed to cover? Or were the worst ones in her head?

  Her gaze came to rest on Jeremy and her pace quickened. Closing the paper, Jeremy stood up as she approached. ‘Sarah?’

  She nodded. ‘This is my dad.’

  Jeremy shook the man’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Thanks for coming.’ He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

  Oh nice one, I thought. If they all sat down it left no room for me. ‘I’ll just sit on the floor then, shall I?’ I said in a loud voice. ‘Don’t mind me.’

  Jeremy ignored my grumbling. ‘Well, as I said on the phone, I’m investigating the murder of a teenage girl in London. Some aspects of the crime bear chilling similarities to your attack and I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about it.’

  ‘You’re not a journalist?’ Sarah’s dad asked, his voice gruff.

  Shaking his head, Jeremy said, ‘No. The girl who died was a friend. I want to know what happened to her.’

  At first, Sarah was unwilling to say much. I could understand that. Talking about the attack meant thinking about it, and I avoided doing that whenever possible. It was only natural Sarah would do the same. Jeremy was patient, though, and gradually he eased the story out of her.

  It had happened late one evening the previous November. Sarah had been on her way home from the pub where she worked as a barmaid and had cut across Hampstead Heath like she normally did. She hadn’t got far when a man approached her. He’d told her he’d seen a car hit a puppy on the road behind them. The injured dog had limped off into some bushes near the toilets; would she wait there while he went for help, in case it came out?

  Sarah had agreed. While she waited, she sent a text to her sister at home saying she’d be a bit late. Minutes later, she was being dragged backwards into the toilets, a rough hand clamped over her mouth. Worried when she didn’t turn up, her dad had gone looking for her and had found her where she’d crawled, blood-soaked and barely alive, out on the heath. There had been no sign of her attacker. Afterwards, the only thing she’d been able to tell the police about the man was that he’d had a peculiar, raspy voice and had a tattoo of a snake showing above the collar of his coat.

  Gravely, Jeremy thanked Sarah and her father, promising he’d be in touch if he had any news. I stayed silent all the way home, stomach churning with relived misery. The facts were horribly familiar. My attacker had baited his trap with a fictional wounded puppy and tried to lure me into a toilet by saying he’d heard it yelping. He had sounded weird, like he’d had a sore throat. I’d forgotten that. I didn’t remember a tattoo on his neck, but the idea nagged at me. I pushed the thought away. It had been cold the night I died. Maybe he’d covered it with a scarf.

  ‘Lucy?’ Jeremy’s voice was gentle once we were alone in the toilets. ‘Was any of that helpful?’

  Wordlessly, I shrugged. Helpful wasn’t the phrase I would have chosen. It felt more like the cuts inflicted by the knife had been torn open again.

  A concerned frown wrinkled his forehead. ‘OK. I think it’s safe to say we’re dealing with the same person. I’ll see what else I can find out.’

  I couldn’t answer. Jeremy was doing this for me, but he didn’t have to face the memories I did. My eyes skittered away from him as I struggled for calm. It was no use. The walls of the toilet seemed oppressive and too close. In my mind, I could see the pool of blood which had seeped from my wounds as my vision dimmed and I sobbed my last few breaths on the floor by the cubicles. Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to be down there any more.

  ‘I have to get out of here.’ I stumbled towards the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jeremy started to follow me, then stopped.

  I couldn’t answer. All I knew was that I needed to be out in the sunlight. I couldn’t hide away underground any longer.

  Chapter 12

  No prizes for guessing that I went to find Ryan. He was at the Dearly D, chatting to Bob, who’d been a Tom Jones impersonator at a nearby pub until his untimely death from a heart attack. Even the sight of his orange tan and big hair couldn’t raise a smile from me. Ryan must have read in my face that something was wrong. He said goodbye to Bob and came over to where I waited. Stumbling a little over the words, I explained what had happened. He didn’t hassle me for details.

  ‘What you need is something to take your mind off things. Come on, there’s something I’ve wanted to check out for ages.’

  We made our way to Camden Town and wandered along the side streets, talking about the silliest things we could think of. He described the braces he’d worn until a few weeks before the crash, I told him about the time I’d managed to fall off my horse in slow motion during a riding lesson, finishing up in an undignified heap in front of the instructor. By the time we got to our destination, the memory of meeting Sarah had faded.

  ‘I still ca
n’t believe you’ve brought me to the zoo,’ I said as we slid through the ticket barriers. ‘I haven’t been here for years.’

  Ryan smiled. ‘I used to love seeing all the animals. Most of all, I wanted to get up close and personal with them, but there were always barriers in the way.’

  I caught on. ‘So you’re planning on doing it now?’ Thinking back to the way Lucifer had reacted, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. A freaked-out domestic cat was one thing – but a lion or tiger? Things could get very messy.

  ‘I promise not to scare them. Let’s go and try the meerkats first.’

  The animals adapted to our presence better than I expected. Some of them were more relaxed than others. We didn’t stay long in the big cat enclosure because they were clearly disturbed, but the otters didn’t flicker an eyelid and the meerkats were great, popping up and down in a flurry of activity to see if we were still there. My favourite place was Moonlight World, a dimly lit series of underground rooms containing all kinds of nocturnal animals. The bats were fascinated by us, which I couldn’t work out.

  ‘Aren’t they blind?’ I asked as a large bat unhooked itself from a branch and swooped around me in a circle.

  Ryan held up a hand, frowning in concentration to make his skin solidify. The bat landed on his outstretched fingers. ‘No, that’s a myth. These are fruit bats, and have good eyesight, but they use sound waves to travel in the dark. I’d say they have more idea than most animals that we’re here.’

  I watched the bat take off. ‘How come you know so much about them?’

  ‘I was going to be a vet. I suppose that’s why I feel so comfortable here.’

  I’d had no idea what job I wanted to do when I finished school, beyond the usual daydreams of marrying a super-rich celeb, which was looking unlikely now, and living a jet-set lifestyle. Art had been my favourite subject but, as the school careers advisor had pointed out, it wasn’t a proper career.

  It was nearly closing time and there were only a handful of people around. We could have stayed but it didn’t seem right somehow, so we made our way out of the bats’ glassfronted enclosure and headed towards the exit. As we neared the heavy black doors, Ryan stopped.

  ‘Lucy, wait. There’s something else I want to try before we go.’

  I paused, throwing him a questioning look. He beckoned me into a dark corner.

  ‘I really like you, Lucy.’

  Zoing! went my stomach, doing its weird somersault thing again. It was turning into a regular event where Ryan was concerned. ‘I . . . er . . . like you too.’

  He licked his lips nervously. ‘Good. That’s good, because what I was wondering was – if you wanted to – maybe we could try . . . kissing?’ His wide eyes found mine. ‘But if you don’t want to it’s fine.’

  My breath came in shallow gulps. ‘OK.’

  His face lit up. ‘Really?’

  I nodded. ‘Have you done it before? As a ghost, I mean.’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  Oh yeah, I’d made a habit of jumping other ghosts in the months I’d been dead. I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I thought back to my last snog attempt, with Dean Watson at the Year Ten Christmas party. It had been wet, mostly, and Pringles-flavoured but deliciously tingly at the same time. ‘Do you think it’ll feel the same?’

  ‘Because we’re ghosts, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I smiled wistfully. ‘I can’t help wishing we’d known each other when we were alive. I know we can still touch each other, but it doesn’t feel like it did before I died. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe there’s a way to make it feel the same.’

  He held up a finger and made it solid. I caught on and raised my own finger to touch it. For the briefest second my skin tingled, as though we’d really connected, instead of the shadowy touch I usually felt. I blinked unsteadily and lowered my hand.

  ‘Almost.’ I swallowed, nervousness and happiness battling to make themselves felt. ‘It’s almost like being alive.’

  Ryan’s eyes were steady on mine. ‘This is going to work,’ he whispered. ‘Ready?’

  I nodded and closed my eyes. Pouring all my concentration into making my lips real, I tried not to let my nerves put me off. It wasn’t easy. Usually I summoned up some anger to help me make contact with the real world, but anger wasn’t one of the emotions swirling inside me now. But passion was – maybe I could use that. I seized on the feeling and felt my lips change. Millimetres away, I could feel Ryan doing the same. Slowly, I leaned towards him until my mouth brushed his. I pressed gently into him, parting my lips and then – oh bliss of all bliss – we were kissing! I was actually snogging the delicious Ryan, just like we would have done if fate had been kinder.

  Seconds later, we broke apart, panting with the effort of taking solid form even for such a short period of time. When we’d got our breath back, Ryan was grinning. ‘That was amazing.’

  I couldn’t help it. A matching smile broke out on my own face. ‘Yeah, it wasn’t bad. We could do it again sometime, if you like.’

  He reached down and took my hand. ‘I might just take you up on that offer, Lucy Shaw.’

  We let the evening rush die down before heading home. I knew something was wrong the instant we turned into Carnaby Street. Around the top of the stairs to my toilets hung a cluster of interested onlookers and several television cameras appeared to be pointing towards the entrance. An uneasy frown creased my forehead. It didn’t take a boffin to work out something weird was going on. The question was what.

  ‘I don’t like this. Let’s take a closer look,’ I said.

  We edged nearer. Halfway down the stairs stood a woman with a clipboard. She was arguing with a man in a dark suit.

  ‘Look, this toilet is a site of suspected paranormal activity and I intend to catch it on film.’

  ‘As a council employee, I can assure you, madam, that the only thing you’ll catch on camera here is members of the public using the facilities and they won’t be very happy about you filming them.’

  ‘The Ghost’s the Host is a very well-respected scientific television programme. We’re not a peep show.’

  The man folded his arms, jerking his head towards the film crew. ‘I don’t care. There’s no way I’m letting you in with that lot. Apart from anything else, it’s more than my job is worth.’

  The argument went on for several minutes before the woman gave up and stamped back up to ground level. My eyes followed her as she crossed to the cameras, and I caught a glimpse of magenta hair. I scowled. It could only be Elvira.

  ‘That woman is turning into a major pain in the arse,’ I complained, pointing her out to Ryan. ‘I don’t fancy hanging around here while they sort this out. Let’s go and find Jeremy. If he’s not at work yet he soon will be.’

  Jeremy took the news grimly. ‘The Ghost’s the Host is the show that filmed here. They didn’t find any evidence of ghosts, but you’d never know that from the show they churned out.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ I said. ‘From what I saw of it when I was alive, the whole programme was pretty pathetic.’

  He threw a glum look around the lighting box. ‘There’s no way they’ll get permission to film in your toilet, but it’s going to cause us problems. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back there tonight.’

  I stared at the floor glumly. ‘Where am I supposed to go? I can’t stay away too long – I’m not risking getting dragged back there.’

  ‘You’ll be OK for a while yet,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ve known experienced ghosts stay away from their haunting zone for anything up to a day. It wore them out, though.’

  Alarm shot through me. The last thing I needed was another side effect to leaving the toilet. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that staying away for that long is tiring. You’d need to recharge your batteries there before you could leave again, but it doesn’t mean you can’t keep clear most of the time.’

  Sniffing, I
folded my arms. ‘Even if you’re right, I still don’t have anywhere else to go. No offence, but I don’t want to hang around your subway all night.’

  ‘Can’t you stay at Hep’s?’ Jeremy suggested.

  I gave it some thought. ‘I don’t know. She’s a bit edgy these days. I think she’s depressed – even more than usual.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose you could sleep at my flat.’

  I looked at Jeremy in surprise. He’d never spoken much about where he lived. ‘Have you got a plasma screen? And MTV?’

  Ryan grinned. ‘Way to get those priorities right, Lucy.’

  Fixing me with a level look, Jeremy said, ‘No, and it’s probably a good thing or you’d take up residence in my living room.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Go and find something to do for a few hours. When I’m done here, I’ll take you home with me.’

  I tried not to show it, but I was genuinely excited. I didn’t imagine for one minute that Jeremy’s flat was a palace, but it would have sofas and a television and the floor wouldn’t be swimming in pee. At least I hoped it wouldn’t. I might even be able to convince myself I could feel the softness of the carpet under my feet. Elvira had set out to trap me, but she’d ended up doing me a favour. Maybe I’d even catch up with the latest happenings in Albert Square. A tiny grin crossed my face. Even if I couldn’t be there all the time, I was looking forward to the first of many cosy evenings over at Jeremy’s.

  Chapter 12a

  I’m not superstitious. I don’t have a problem with black cats (unless their name is Lucifer) or an irrational fear of ladders, but for some reason it bothered me that Jeremy’s flat was number thirteen.

  ‘Didn’t you think about it before you moved in?’ I asked him as he held open the door.

  ‘I can’t say I gave it much thought, and I haven’t been especially unlucky.’ He shut the door behind me. ‘Apart from meeting you, obviously.’

  ‘Charming.’