The Girl and the Ghost

by Ebony McKenna

  ‘– seeing a ghost? Yes, I really was seeing him.’

  ‘I thought you were making him up. Y’know, to get attention,’ Gareth said.

  Morgan shot back. ‘And steal your thunder? I couldn’t if I tried! Dave, you’ve gone quiet. Are you all right?’

  For the next few minutes they boggled and asked the most obvious questions and drove Morgan mad. Gareth walked up and poked his hand right through George, then screamed and leapt backwards.

  If they weren’t already so traumatised by Dad’s public disgrace and Gareth’s blagging, it might have been a fun family moment.

  Looking over their heads George said, ‘I see you still have the barbarians at the gate. I could walk amongst them and –’

  ‘No!’ they all said at once.

  George’s hands flew up in surrender. ‘As you were.’

  Morgan smiled at George’s willingness to come to her rescue. He really was beyond perfect. ‘The faster they get bored with us and leave, the faster we can get back to normal. As long as we hold tight, we’ll be OK. Won’t we, Gareth?’

  Her brother rolled his eyes.

  ‘Gareth!’ they all said.

  ‘Oh all right.’

  ‘You have to promise,’ Morgan said.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Promise like you mean it!’

  ‘Fine. I promise to lay low for a week.’

  Rachelle scoffed. ‘A whole week?’

  ‘All things considered, I can see why the world has such an appetite for your family,’ George said.

  Morgan’s brows drew together.

  ‘You’re utterly mesmerising. I can only express my continued gratitude that it happened to play out under my roof.’

  A roof that might not be there for long. Morgan reminded them of the most important issue hanging over them. ‘Speaking of roofs, what are we going to do about the demolition order?’

  ‘Let them, I don’t care.’ Rachelle poured a glass of wine.

  ‘Mum, it’s not even ten.’

  ‘It’s happy hour in France.’ She took a sip.

  ‘Mum, if the house goes, George goes.’

  Gareth coughed. ‘All things considered, that might not be such a bad thing. He turned his back on George and held out his phone to get a selfie. ‘Why won’t he show up in this?’

  ‘Your head’s too big,’ Dave said.

  ‘Don’t you dare share that!’ Morgan grabbed for his phone and missed.

  Gareth held it out of reach, as if teasing a child with a sweet. Reverting to infancy, Morgan jumped to grab it. ‘Give it here!’

  ‘Ner-ner,’ he laughed. Clearly his nose had stopped hurting. Maybe Dave should punch him again.

  ‘Mu-uuuum!’

  ‘Children!’ Rachelle pressed her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it!’

  Morgan poked Gareth in the armpit and he yelped in shock.

  ‘Got it!’ She grabbed his phone. For good measure, she deleted the photo.

  ‘I wasn’t even!’ Gareth sulked.

  An idea sprouted. She took her phone and iPad and put them on the table. ‘I’m never touching these again.’

  ‘As if!’ Gareth scoffed.

  ‘I mean it. I’ve had enough face-web-tubing for a lifetime,’ Morgan said. ‘I don’t need it. Neither do any of you. I bet you can’t even go a day without internet.’

  ‘I bet you can’t,’ Gareth shot back.

  ‘I can last a damn sight longer than you.’

  ‘You’ll just go upstairs and use the laptop.’

  ‘No I won’t.’

  ‘Darling, that’s all very admirable, but how will you do your homework?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I’ll . . .’ Morgan stopped to think for a moment. ‘I’ll do it down here, where everyone can see me, and then you’ll know I’m only using the internet for research.’

  ‘Or you could use books,’ Dave said.

  Whose side was he on?

  ‘OK,’ Morgan felt she was losing too much ground, but she’d declared herself now and she had to go through with it. ‘I love books, I’m happy to use them. I’m going to switch the wi-fi off right now.’

  On the table, Gareth’s phone vibrated.

  Morgan dared him. ‘Care to join me for a week of serenity, or can’t you hack it?’

  ‘You’re such a child,’ Gareth said, snatching his phone back.

  Morgan made chicken noises.

  Beside her, George laughed into his sleeve. ‘What sport!’

  ‘That’s enough from you!’ Gareth stared daggers at him.

  ‘A whole week of peace and quiet. I’m going to love it!’ Morgan logged in to the wi-fi connection. ‘You’re kidding! Our server is called Lady Penelope?’

  Dave rolled his eyes.

  Mum dabbed at hers. ‘It was your father’s pet name for me.’

  Morgan screwed up her face. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’

  ‘Honestly! Everything is smut with you kids. Your father is Parker and I’m Lady Penelope. They were characters in Thunderbirds.’

  ‘Is that the password?’ Morgan gave it a shot but it denied access.

  ‘Try Rolls-Royce,’ Dave said.

  Morgan did, and it worked. ‘Good. I’m switching it off for a week.’ She tapped at a few more settings and the server went down.

  A collective groan carried on the wind from outside. A quick look out the window revealed the media pack shaking their heads and looking at their useless devices.

  ‘Bonus! If they can’t leech our wi-fi, they’ll have one less reason to hang about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room to enjoy some much-needed peace and quiet.’

  17

  Serenity

  Because of the mayhem and carry-on in the kitchen, Morgan hadn’t had time to properly congratulate George on his good news.

  Leaving her brother, mother and manny to argue amongst themselves, Morgan headed upstairs for some peace and quiet. It felt strange not to have her phone with her. She’d left it downstairs, switched off, as part of her promise to quit.

  ‘That’s so awesome you found your family,’ she said as she fidgeted in her pockets, wishing the phone might magically manifest inside them. Darting a glance at her lap top, she stifled the urge to switch it on and check social. It hadn’t even been an hour and withdrawal symptoms were kicking in. She wondered if this was how smokers felt when they gave up?

  ‘It is indeed something of awe to find them,’ he said. ‘Uh, Morgan dear? Why don’t you sit down and stop pacing the room?’

  She was pacing? ‘Oh. Yeah. Right.’ She sat next to him on the chaise. She locked her hands together but her whole body was on edge.

  George reached for her hands to still them. ‘The timing is incongruous. I reunite with my family at the same moment yours is falling apart.’

  At his touch, the modern world did that melting-away-trick and she found herself in George’s Victorian room again.

  With a gasp, she realised they were not alone.

  ‘You could not see them in your bedroom, so I brought you to them instead,’ George said.

  ‘Whoa, they were in my room the whole time?’

  ‘They were. We are concurrently in your modern room and this re-creation.’

  ‘They were there and I didn’t see them?’ Kind of freaky to think there were even more ghosts in her room. She had to swallow a few times. Then she felt rude for not saying anything nice to the woman standing in front of her. She wore a heavy dress that went all the way to the floor. The extra junk in the trunk made her bottom look enormous.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you. Dearest Mother, this is Miss Morgan Parker of Parker Packaging. Morgan, this is –’

  George’s mother completed her own introduction, ‘– Mrs George Wallace, of the Bradenfield Wallaces, via Portland Bay.’

  How strange to call yourself by your husband’s full name. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Morgan said, hoping her smile would cover her nerves. This felt pretty serious, meeting George’s mum. As if she and
George were a serious thing now. Which felt nice and yet strange and some other weird things she didn’t want to examine too closely because otherwise she’d overthink it.

  Mrs Wallace tilted her head and said, ‘Indeed.’

  Oh, she was a snooty one!

  ‘Pray tell, what does your father do?’ Mrs George Wallace asked.

  Morgan bit down her first response, which was, ‘He embarrasses us no end,’ and settled for, ‘He runs a packaging company, Mrs Wallace.’

  Her head lifted, as if to look down her nose at Morgan. ‘He’s in trade, then?’

  Mrs Wallace’s face looked younger than Morgan’s Mum’s but she carried herself with so many decades of stuck-up-edness she may as well be eighty. The phrase, ‘You’re one to talk,’ was on Morgan’s lips but just in time she thought better of it. After all, the ghosts at the cemetery hadn’t been too friendly. If this was Mrs Wallace in a regular mood, she didn’t want to see her in a foul one.

  ‘Now mother,’ George said in a calming tone. ‘It’s a lovely day. Shall we take a turn in the gardens?’

  The room dissolved and Morgan found herself by the lake. She whispered to George. ‘I don’t think she likes me.’

  Mrs Wallace turned to them and her face brightened. ‘George darling, please make introductions.’

  George turned to Morgan with a smile which helped things click into place. His mother lived in the half place, giving her the memory of a goldfish. How convenient! This time when they introduced themselves, Morgan said her father was a baronet.

  ‘How lovely,’ Mrs George Wallace said, this time with a broad smile.

  Next time, Morgan thought, she’d say her father was an Earl. Mother Wallace would probably kiss her.

  In response, George gave her the broadest smile, as if to say, ‘You catch on quickly’. In return, Morgan gave him the kind of smile that said, ‘Your Mum has completely lost her marbles.’

  Two days later, Morgan wanted to climb the walls. From the window in the stairwell outside her room she could see the gates at the front of the property. There were no photographers hanging about. Not one! As if the world had completely forgotten about them.

  Two days! It boggled the mind how quickly they’d lost interest. Turning the wi-fi off had thinned the ranks almost immediately, but to have nobody there at all was a stunning turnaround. Kind of insulting really, now she came to think about it.

  As much as she didn’t want to, she had to give thanks to Gareth for saying absolutely nothing more to the media. Not a word. It beggared belief but he’d done it. Her father – well, she hadn’t seen him – he’d said nothing publicly either.

  She reached for her laptop to message the good news to her friends, then remembered her self-imposed ban. It was only Saturday too, so she had to get through tomorrow before she could get back to the wonderful normality of school on Monday.

  How strange to think she desperately wanted to go to school. Two days ago, she couldn’t have borne it. Now she couldn’t wait. The phone? Sure, she could use that, but she didn’t want a full conversation. Talking directly over the phone always felt weird anyway. Too confronting.

  ‘Salutations on this delightful afternoon.’ George appeared by the chaise longue.

  ‘George!’ Morgan flew at him in delight. Surprise and that horrible falling feeling took over as she flew into him, knocking them both backwards. His body was both solid yet not there at the same time.

  ‘From such a reaction, one might suspect you craved company.’

  ‘I’m going out of my mind. I don’t know how you coped in your day. I’m not even texting.’

  He boggled at her for a moment, then shook his head. ‘You’d be surprised. My mother and eldest sister always seemed to be in the midst of something important. I recall they sewed prolifically.’

  Morgan rolled her eyes. No way would she take up sewing.

  George said, ‘It is charming to see my mother and sisters are getting along very well in their new circumstances. We chat amicably. I don’t mind that they forget what we talk about. It’s simply lovely having the family together. They have forgotten the family tragedy and shame, which improves things no end.’

  ‘Sounds awesome.’ Morgan wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. His body yielded like a plush toy.

  ‘You did not seem to absorb my strong hint. I may have been too subtle.’

  ‘No, George, you weren’t subtle at all. You want me to talk to my mother. But if I do, it will only remind me of how much I would rather be tweeting my friends.’

  George shook his head and smiled. ‘Have it your way then.’

  It was lovely to simply be with George and talk normally about anything other than her own family problems. For the next long while, George regaled Morgan with his adventures in the afterlife with his mother and siblings. She listened with rapt attention. Partly because he was interesting but mostly because it spared her the ignominy of defeat if she went downstairs and turned the wi-fi back on. If anyone questioned her, she could say she was checking for a message from the council. That was vital for saving the house.

  ‘Now that we are reconciled to our fate, I do believe it is time to forgive my father his sins.’

  ‘You’re going for sainthood now? If I remember right, he’s the reason you joined the afterlife so quickly.’

  ‘That’s as may be. However, if he or I had done anything differently, I would never have met you.’

  ‘Really?’ Flurries spread through her.

  ‘Precisely. And I doubt any real life I could have led in eighteen eighty could have compared to the delights of this, or of you.’

  Warm things unfurled in her tummy. ‘Since you put it that way.’

  They smiled at each other, content to be happy in each other’s company.

  George’s lips curled up at the edges. ‘Perhaps it is your turn to forgive your father?’

  ‘Ha!’ Morgan sat back. ‘It’s far to early for that. I’ve got a good few weeks of stewing left in me.’

  ‘Stewing?’ His lips tilted.

  ‘Stages of trauma. The first is full-on, which is all about the shock, then comes raging and screaming, which some people can really string out. I’m in the stewing stage, where I’m holding a grudge for as long as I can to make sure he learns his lesson.’

  ‘A baffling array of emotions by anyone’s reckoning.’

  ‘Next comes the confessional. That’s all public where you say how many mistakes you made and how you wish it was different. I won’t be doing that stage. Dad might. Gareth definitely will.’

  ‘And you’ve come to this information how?’

  Guilt made her swallow. ‘Binge-watching dramas.’

  In reply she earned utter bafflement on George’s face, but he shrugged the confusion away and said, ‘No matter what your father has done – and believe me, I feel the betrayal as keenly as yourself – at some point you need to reconcile. After all is said and done, he is still your father and he loves you.’

  ‘Urgh,’ Morgan got up and parked herself on the end of her bed. ‘Why do you have to be so right? I’m nowhere near ready for it.’

  That was George’s cue to sit beside her and take her hand. ‘Take your time. He’s made mistakes, but your heart is so big, I’m sure you can forgive him.’

  ‘Forgive and forget, right?’

  A lop-sided grin filled his face with mischief. ‘I didn’t say anything about forgetting.’

  The pressure slid from her shoulders. ‘I wish I could forget. It’s all so gross. Every time I see Mum being upset or Dave being stoic, it brings it all back. Mum’s talking about letting Dad come home but . . . how can she ever trust him again after what he did? And there’s a half-brother – or is it sister? I can’t remember – out there, who I’m connected to as well.’

  George gave a slow shake of his head. ‘We have such contrasting problems. You wish to be rid of any knowledge about your father’s activities. I wish I could remember more. Being dead plays havoc w
ith your memory.’

  His mother was testament to that. ‘What bliss. To forget the last few months.’

  ‘If that were the case, you would forget me.’

  Morgan rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I could never forget you.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘You bet.’

  They enjoyed the silence for a while, but reality kept niggling at Morgan. As comfortable as they were in each other’s company, they’d talked about everything except the big issue they had to face. ‘Now that you’re talking with your Mum again, and the rest of your family is OK, do you think all those ghosts at the cemetery might calm down?’

  ‘My goodness, how remiss of me not to suggest such an outing. Perhaps . . . with no barbarians at the gate to follow us and interfere, now might be a good time for a family reunion?’

  Unlike last time, Morgan didn’t have to worry about paparazzi making an idiot of her as she visited the cemetery. Today, all she had to contend with were her nerves. Nerves that made her reluctant to touch George for fear the contact would open the window into his strange world. A world where spirits swirled above their graves.

  She walked through the iron gates with George, his mother and his siblings. They made a strange collective; Wallaces dressed in Victorian garb while Morgan stood there in two-tone long sleeves, jeans and runners.

  ‘Come children,’ Mrs Wallace said, leading her brood in exactly the right direction towards the family graves without having to consult the wall of names.

  ‘How does she know where they are?’ Morgan wondered.

  ‘She must have visited them many times,’ George offered.

  Bafflement had Morgan shaking her head. George’s mother had terrible short-term memory problems, yet her older memories were set like railroad tracks.

  As the family gravitated towards the Wallace burial site, Morgan took a few side steps towards a park bench. ‘I might sit this one out a bit, if that’s OK.’ Because last time they were here, things were super freaky.

  ‘Marvellous,’ George said. ‘Simply marvellous.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Can you not see?’

  ‘I don’t want to – oh!’ George placed his hand over hers and the connection to the other world sparked to life. Instead of recoiling in fear, Morgan found herself smiling. The dark grey shapes over the Wallace graves were not barrelling towards them in anger. Instead, they were tumbling and making gentle sighs. ‘That’s amazing. They’re really happy this time.’