As much as Morgan wanted to see more, she feared moving closer would anger the spirits. Much better to stay where she was and observe from a distance. ‘You’re not going to join in?’
George’s chin puckered with emotion. ‘You recall their behaviour at our last meeting? I fear I may not be welcome.’
‘Maybe that was because I was with you. What if you leave me here and walk up by yourself. They might be in a good mood. They’ve welcomed the rest of your family with open arms.’
Near the graves, the shapes transformed into more recognisable people dressed in similar ancient clothes to Mrs Wallace and the children. Arms wide, they embraced and laughed and wiped away tears. Or, what would be tears if ghosts could cry.
‘You’re missing out, George.’ Although if he let go of her hand, Morgan would be unable to see any of this.
‘I’m perfectly fine exactly where I am. I have reunited the family. My work here is done,’ George said.
In the space of the next minute, the Wallace family expanded with more relatives appearing, embracing Mrs Wallace. A group hug stretching across the space of four tombstones. During the embrace the solid shapes lost their form and became cloudy and insubstantial. Every Wallace transformed into wispy grey clouds that dissolved like fog when the sun came up.
‘Did you know that would happen?’ Morgan asked, looking to George for answers.
‘I had a strong suspicion.’
‘You could go with them.’
‘And leave you?’
Uneasiness sneaked up Morgan’s spine as she tried to digest this. He was choosing her over his family.
‘Come on, let’s go home,’ George said, helping her up and heading for the exit.
During their leisurely walk to the tram stop, Morgan said, ‘George, when you asked me to marry you, did you really mean it?’
‘With all my heart.’
Then she’d been right all along. And she’d also been in pretty deep denial. ‘You know that can’t happen, unless by some miracle you come back to life or I . . .’ she blew out a breath to gather her courage. ‘We can’t be together unless I’m dead.’
A few slow nods from George. ‘Yes, I believe that must be the case.’
Cold dread crawled up her neck. ‘Then do you want me dead?’
Silence from George.
Oh God, it had to be true then. ‘Please, George, we’ve always been honest with each other. Don’t fob me off now.’
If he could sigh, he would have. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he placed his hands over his mouth, almost as if he didn’t dare say what was on his mind. They’d reached the tram stop now.
When he spoke, his eyes remained downcast. ‘Before I answer, please believe that I never want you to come to any harm. I could not allow it. As you say, we have always been honest with one another, and so I must continue in that tradition. My dear Morgan, in my baser yearnings, I have wished us to be together so much that I would not have stood in the way of your demise.’
Oh God.
He went on. ‘I know it was so very wrong of me to wish for the worst for you, but with only the very best of intentions. I am also aware that it is so very wrong to even have those thoughts. But you asked for my honesty and I have freely given it. What you do with it is now in your hands.’
Morgan closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths. He’d laid himself bare. In her heart, she could not be angry with him. It didn’t mean the niggling fear went away though.
‘Thank you.’
‘Pardon?’ Finally, George looked at her, his face an illustration of confusion.
‘Don’t beat yourself up. I asked you for the truth and you gave it. Thank you for being straight with me.’
‘You know I would never do anything to directly hasten your departure from –’
‘– It’s OK.’ But it wasn’t, not really. When she took all the spin and gloss off the situation, he’d wanted her dead. The worst part was that deep down, she’d always known this. She’d wrapped his love for her into some kind of noble, romantic fantasy. All the while, she’d been blind to the truth.
And what about her feelings. Did she love him? She loved having him around, but that was different to being truly in love. She wasn’t even sure she knew what love really was.
She’d often thought of George as the perfect boyfriend, but all the wishful thinking in the world couldn’t make that a reality. He was unobtainable. Out of reach.
Dead.
‘I can’t be upset with you, without being equally hard on myself. You are so amazingly perfect that . . . there are times when I could have said goodbye to the chaos of my life for the peace and quiet of yours. No fighting, no illness, no tabloids! It would be heaven!’
George’s eyebrows shot up in shock. ‘Please don’t confess to considering self-harm?’
‘No! Oh, no, no, no. No way.’ Furiously shaking her head. ‘I’d never do that. But, well, you’ve seen how my family is spiralling out of control right now. But it is kind of . . . tempting to think I might go to sleep and not wake up.’ She saw fresh shock on his face and held her palms up to placate him. ‘Just for a second. They’re just thoughts. I’m not inviting you to smother me with a pillow or anything!’
‘Indeed!’
Morgan and George looked at each other. ‘This is insane!’ She said.
‘I concur. Yet it is necessary to clear the air. My dearest love, please forgive me for my thoughts.’
‘I already have.’ Morgan shook her head and couldn’t help smiling. How could she be upset with his thoughts when her own had been just as crazy?
Monday couldn’t come soon enough. Who knew she’d love being at school, surrounded by friends and students and teachers and curious faces wondering if what the tabloids were saying was true. She didn’t even care that people were staring at her while she and her friends ate lunch.
If things got too horrible, they could always retreat to the library. But judging by the way people were treating her – by mostly ignoring her – maybe things wouldn’t be that bad?
‘Your phone was out all weekend.’ That was Olivia.
‘We were worried.’ That was Emma.
‘Worried heaps.’ Olivia again.
‘But if anything really awful had happened we would have seen it on the news, yeah?’ Thank you Kaz.
Morgan told them about her self-imposed communications ban.
‘You’re mad!’ Kaz said.
‘It’s just for the rest of the week. I have to do it to keep Gareth quiet as well. If we stay away from it all, everything will blow over. It practically is already. The pack has already moved from our front gate, so that’s a plus.’
‘They’re back at school though,’ Kaz said, holding up the screen of her phone. ‘Look who’s enrolled.’
Did her internet ban include looking at someone else’s device? Pretty hard to avoid when it’s right in your face. Plus, Morgan wasn’t even holding the device so she gave herself permission to have a look. Her heart sank. A former supermodel and reality TV show host had enrolled her son at their school. Only the junior school, mind, but that building was directly across the street from the senior campus.
It could only mean more media attention.
‘At least they’ll be looking the other way.’ Emma picked at the rest of her lunch.
A strange feeling stole over Morgan. It couldn’t be jealousy, could it? How bizarre. A few days ago, she’d hated the media intrusion. Now they’d virtually forgotten her.
‘It’s like a boyfriend who dumps you before you get the chance to dump him,’ Kaz said.
Not that she’d experienced that particular heartbreak, but the sudden media attention, followed so swiftly by the vacuum when they moved on to the next scandal, had left her feeling every kind of confused.
Leaving school that afternoon, Morgan felt sorry for the new kid in the media spotlight. Only a small part, though. Another very small part wondered if she wasn’t interesting enough for them anymore. T
hen she mentally slapped herself and knew she should be relieved that their lenses weren’t aimed her way.
Perhaps, if she and her family kept behaving themselves, they might end up being normal?
The hopeful thoughts lasted almost all the way home, until the tram brakes came on before they reached the proper stop. The driver stepped out of her seat. ‘Sorry folks, there’s an incident up ahead, and we can’t move forward. I’ll have to let you off here.’
Passengers began muttering and asking questions. Three fire trucks with lights and sirens flashed past, driving on the wrong side of the road on their way to an emergency.
Don’t you dare turn up my street, Morgan prayed as she watched the trucks do exactly that.
Oh shit.
The driver manually opened the door to let the passengers out. ‘Be extra careful. Mind the traffic. Step off slowly.’
Traffic all around them had stalled, with the intersection lights up ahead flashing orange. Slipping between the cars, Morgan made for the footpath as more sirens filled her ears. Truck exhaust fumes choked the air, making her cough. No, wait, it wasn’t fumes. It was smoke.
Double shit.
Police cars blocked her street. Heart racing, Morgan raced up to the nearest police woman. ‘I live up there, what’s going on?’
The police woman said, ‘It’s not safe, we’re evacuating the street.’
‘But my family’s up there.’
‘We’re evacuating the street. Just stay here.’
No way was she staying. Not when she could see enormous plumes of smoke rising from where she absolutely knew, with complete certainty, her family home should be.
‘Is it number twenty-seven?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The fire. It’s at number twenty-seven isn’t it?’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Morgan Parker. My house is the one on fire, isn’t it?’
‘Please stay here and I’ll find out what I can.’
Stupidly, Morgan stayed exactly where she was. How the hell could her home be on fire? Sure it was old, but it had all new wiring and modern everything inside it. Geez, someone must have lit it. Had her mother firebombed the place in retaliation against her father? Had her father done it to destroy the place ahead of the council ripping it down? Had Gareth done it in a desperate bid for attention?
Waiting on the other side of the police line only gave her more time to stew, instead of doing something. Firefighters up ahead were training enormous hoses towards the house.
Oh shit. If the house turned into a burnt pile of rubble, what would happen to George?
She ducked around the police barrier and ran towards whatever was left of her home.
‘Hey!’ Someone shouted.
‘What are you doing?’ That was someone else.
No time or breath to explain. Morgan ran into the neighbour’s driveway to get nearer the back of the block. If she could run, breathe and talk at the same time, she’d explain the need to grab some roof tiles. That’s all she needed. Just a few tiles, to save George.
She definitely wasn’t running into a burning building. Just sneaking into the garden to grab a few tiles.
Damn, the neighbour's fence was utterly impenetrable. Brick all the way, creeping fig trimmed perfectly with no purchase for a school girl to scramble over. Damn this neighbourhood for having such excellent gardeners.
Shit, shit, shit.
OK, she’d have to try something else.
If only she hadn’t so thoroughly cleaned out her school bag, she’d have a few tile pieces still in there and wouldn’t need to do this.
Think, think, think.
Nope, nothing came to mind. She edged along the fence line and bolted for her family’s driveway. More shouts, sirens, noise, smoke, stink and screaming.
Nothing would stop her. She darted down the drive and raced along her own fence line, keeping her distance from the burning wreck of her family home. There were tiles near the back of the house. She’d made them fall down there, that first time she pulled a tile loose and the others came free. If she could just run around the side –
Something marshmallowy flew into her stomach, pushing her away from the house. Just as she tried to work out what it was, something else cold and solid punched her in the back. Suddenly freezing, Morgan couldn’t even scream in shock. Soaking wet. What the hell?
A firefighter grabbed her and rolled her over. ‘Never run into a burning building.’
The words ‘I wasn’t’ were on her lips, but she was winded and couldn’t breathe. Had he punched her? And what was with all the water?
‘Stay with me,’ he said.
Shivers racked her body. Unable to speak, it hurt to breathe. Jeez, they’d broken a rib or something. What had he punched her with, a hammer?
Morgan tried to sit up.
That’s when everything went black.
18
Crunch Time
‘You’re here?’ Morgan opened her eyes to see George.
‘I sincerely apologise for hurting you. I had to stop you from injuring yourself, so I pushed you away from the house. Then the firemen knocked you out with the water hose. Extraordinary!’
He’d stopped her from racing into the house? Blinking, Morgan tried to process everything as she looked around. George was wearing his traditional riding clothes and sat in a leather wing-back chair by a crackling open fire. It could only mean one thing. They were back in the half place.
The last thing she remembered was the driveway coming up to meet her. There were so many emergency services people. So much noise and . . .
She sat up from the leather chair to find herself wearing a stuffy corseted dress, buttoned all the way up to her neck. ‘What happened to me?’
‘Are you bruised? Anything broken?’
She must have hit the ground pretty hard, but she felt light all over. Uh-oh. ‘Am I . . . dead?’
‘Most certainly not, I can assure you I shall do nothing to interfere with your continuing good health.’
Relief washed over her. ‘What happened? . . oh queef, my whole stupid family.’
‘I am unfamiliar with that term.’
‘It’s where you want to throw up but you have nothing left.’
‘A most excellent definition. The situation of your father making a cake of himself is indeed queefworthy material.’
If he weren’t so good at being entertaining, Morgan might spend more time wondering how she went from smacking out on the driveway to being in the half place without a scratch on her. ‘Right now I can’t even.’ Morgan slumped back into her leather seat, which squeaked as her body squished into it.
‘Cannot even what?’
Shaking her head, Morgan said, ‘It’s short for ‘I can’t even think’. I think that’s what it means. Maybe it’s, ‘I can’t even cope with it,’ whatever ‘It’ is. Urgh! I’m rambling now.’
‘I do hope the half place is not affecting your memory as it used to affect mine?’
‘Honestly, I really could do with forgetting so much stuff. My family can’t even go a week without being idiots.’
‘Your family is indeed far too interesting for the public to possibly ignore.’
‘Sarcasm becomes you.’
George sat upright. ‘That was not the tone I was hoping for. I merely stated the truth.’
Conflicting memories in her brain refused to join up with competent thought processes and form a coherent whole.
George asked, ‘Why did you run towards a burning building?’
‘I was trying to save you.’
‘I admire your bravery, and I am exceedingly flattered. But your actions were surely redundant.’
‘I wasn’t going into the house. I just wanted to grab a few roof tiles or something, so that you wouldn’t disappear.’
‘My dear, brave, foolish Morgan.’
‘It must have worked though, because you’re here. We’re here.’ Plus, she wasn’t in any pain at all. That had
to be good, right? Unless that meant . . . ‘Did I do something really stupid and kill myself by mistake?’
George waggled a finger at her. ‘As I stated before, you are indeed alive and you will soon be in rude health. And I am going to make sure you get back to your family.’
Morgan’s hands splayed to the side. ‘You don’t want me now?’
Pain lanced his features. ‘Sweet Morgan, I want you more than I want the sun to rise in the morning. But you cannot stay here. I admit there was a time when I would have gladly taken your words as final and had you in my arms forever. But that was before I understood how precious life could be. Even with the scandals and gossip and crazy world you inhabit, every moment is important.’
Which meant returning to pain, both physical and emotional.
‘Please, Morgan. You have a full life ahead of you. Go back to it and live it.’
‘Go back to what, the house will be a pile of crap by now.’
‘More wet ash than house,’ he said.
‘Have you seen it? How bad is it?’
‘It’s more or less completely gone. The modern kitchen remains, blackened from the fire. But my ancestral home is unrecognisable.’
‘Then . . . How are you here if there’s nothing left of the house? I didn’t get any roof tiles before crashing out.’
He held her hand – it was wearing a lace glove more fitting to his era than hers. ‘If I may?’ He peeled it away from her hand. It caught on something as he did so.
The coral ring. The one that had belonged to his mother, which he’d given her when he’d proposed.
A sob caught in her throat. ‘I forgot I was even wearing it. I guess I didn’t need to run in after all. What an idiot.’
‘Not in the least. You were were fuelled with courage and consideration for my wellbeing,’ George kissed her curled fingers, ‘and I will spend the rest of my afterlife repaying that bravery and love. And I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Oh dear, bad metaphor. How about the blink of an eye instead?’
The Girl and the Ghost Page 19