Ghost House (Soul Mate - Book One)

by Richard Crawford

  "Tommy? What the fuck, dude?"

  Mickey and Max. I can't tell if the day just got better or worse.

  Mickey catches on pretty quick that I need to get out of here. He hauls me up on my feet. It all goes a bit blurred for a while. Then we're heading down the street, Mickey's got my arm over his shoulders and he's sort of dragging me along. Max's ignoring us; he just wheels the bike and whistles some complicated tune, composing some avant-garde classical shit in his head.

  I wonder what Mickey and Max are doing hanging out together. Max is wearing black leggings and a gold wrap skirt that looks like an old curtain. The leggings stop inches above his dirty trainers. He's wearing a ladies shirt but there's no way anyone would take him for a lady. His hair's real short. He's slim but his shoulders are wide and he walks like a quarterback. He's still whistling and humming to himself as if we're not here. As if I'm not here. There's something weird, but I can't figure it out.

  Mickey doesn't seem to remember he was pissed off with me the other day. Or he's not holding a grudge. That's good because I need a favour. It would be easier if it was just him. Max is busy ignoring me and that's good. I lean closer to Mick and say, "I need to go--"

  "You need a doctor, dude." Mickey looks at me and winces. "You wanna go to the hospital?"

  "No." I shake my head and a splatter of blood lands on Mickey's shirt. He pretends not to notice. He knows I don't like hospitals. Before I can tell him I want to go to the park, Max says,

  "There's a kennels a couple of streets over." He looks at me and smiles but his eyes are flint hard. "The vet will sort you out."

  I'm in no shape for Max's shit.

  "Lay off him, dude," says Mickey. "He's banged up pretty bad."

  Max is staring at me like he's trying to tell me something. "Just don't get sucked into anything, Mickey," he says. "There's a reason he has no friends."

  Bloody Max. If I was in better shape I'd finish this with him right now. He knows something about what happened with Danny. He's always dancing round it. But he never comes right out and says anything. If I was in better shape I'd right out ask him. Man up, Max, tell me what you're going on about.

  Or perhaps I wouldn't.

  "Hey, cut it out, man." Mickey shoots Max a look. Maybe Max being an asshole could work out all right for me.

  "Yeah," I say. "Shut up, Max,"

  Max stops, raises his hands and shrugs as if he's saying, whatever. The bike falls on the pavement. We stand there as the wheels spin. People walk in the street to go round us.

  Mickey's still holding me up. He's not buying Max's drama queen shit. After a few moments, Max shakes his head and turns on his heel, gold skirt flaring like Superman's cape. The pout on his face making him look a real diva. Mickey watches him walk off, like perhaps he's hoping he'll change his mind. When Max's gone he props me against a waste bin and picks up the bike.

  "Where do you wanna go?" he asks.

  "The park," I say as we hobble out onto the road like two old cowboys getting ready to mount up.

  "The park, why?" Mickey swings a leg over the bike and shuffles forward so I can get up behind him. "They won't let you sleep there, dude. The warden's a vicious bastard. I still got the bruises."

  It takes me three goes to get on the bike. "I don't want to sleep there." I'm on the seat, gritting my teeth because every bit of me hurts like hell.

  Mickey twists round to look at me. "You don't really wanna go to the park."

  "Yes." He still doesn't move. "Today preferably."

  "I think you got amnesia, dude. We should go to the hospital."

  He's not going to do it unless I tell him. I really don't want to tell him. "I've got to meet someone."

  He looks at me as if he's suddenly thinking Max was right.

  "Nothing bad, Mick, I swear."

  He's not convinced and we're still not moving.

  "I'm meeting a girl." I'm so pissed off to say it to him he can see right off it's the truth.

  "You gotta date, no way, dude!"

  "It's not a date. I'm just meeting up with her." Mickey is not the easiest guy to explain this to. He's grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  "You can't go on a date looking like that," he says, as if it's the funniest thing he ever heard, but at least he stands on the pedals and we're moving. Cars honk and I don't look as we wiggle and swerve all over the road. Then Mickey gets the bike going in a straight line. I'm clinging round his waist like I'm a little kid and he's my teddy bear except I'm leaving bloodstains on his shirt.

  There are two big hills on the way to the park. It's rush hour and both hills are choked with traffic. Mickey goes kamikaze down the Cowley Road, weaving in out of the cars and buses. Drivers in Oxford really hate cyclists. I think we're going to die under a bus. The ghosts are going to have to find a new sucker to deal with their shit.

  We head across the bridge, then up the High past grinning gargoyles. Mick swings down St Aldates, nearly hitting some gormless tourists, and we race down the hill at breakneck speed.

  We reach the park and I'm still alive. Mickey slides the bike to a halt spraying dirt and pebbles everywhere and pissing people off. I try to get off but nothing's working and my knees give way. I sit in the dirt for a bit, working up the energy to move.

  Mickey watches me get up and try to brush the dirt off. There's nothing to be done about the blood. I can only guess what my face looks like. Mickey's still watching, he shakes his head.

  "What?" I ask.

  "Really, dude, you can't meet a girl in the park looking like that." When I don't get it he says, "You'll scare her, man, you look like a psycho."

  He's right. Suki doesn't need to see me like this. She's got a bad enough impression already. But I can't stand her up either. Mickey's standing there grinning like an idiot, but he's the only option. So I tell him what she looks like, where she'll be waiting. "Don't say anything crazy," It's not like anything I say will make a difference. "Just tell her Tom can't make it and ask if I can meet her when she finishes work tomorrow." There's zero chance of this going well. But Mickey's thrilled, bouncing around on his toes like a puppy. Before I've finished telling him what he can't do he shoves the bike at me. "Wait here, dude," he says and bolts off into the park. Shit!

  I chuck the bike away and sit down, leaning my back against the park railings. There doesn't seem much point in waiting. Suki might have a thing for losers, but I've run out on her without paying and now I've stood her up. No one's going to put up with that, right? And Mickey's just about the worst ambassador to plead my case. I start trying to figure out ways to explain this to her at some future date.

  He's going to come back and tell me she doesn't want to know, either that or he's freaked her out and she's on her cell phone calling the cops.

  I hear him come shuffling back, but I don't look up.

  "Dude," he says. "I'm sorry." It's a whine, as if we're twelve and he just broke my bike. It all feels surreal. My head spins. Thoughts drift in and out, memories of things that did and didn't happen. I didn't know anyone like Mickey when I was twelve. It's toss up whether I was more of a loser freak then or now. But no one was dead because of me back then, so I guess that answers that one, right?

  "Dude," Mickey says again, and it sounds sort of urgent.

  Chapter Six

  I know she's there even before I look up.

  Mickey's standing in front of me so at first she's hidden. "I'm sorry, dude," he says and sort of shuffles sideways.

  Suki moves at the same time. The expression on her face is a fist to my gut. She stands off a few paces and doesn't look like she wants to risk coming any closer. It's too late to wonder what Mickey told her.

  I keep looking and blink to bring her into better focus. It's important I say something, but it's hard to think straight.

  She seems different and I realise she's not wearing her work clothes. Instead she's wearing a long black skirt, it covers her down to the ankles but the material is soft. It clings and outlines her sweet
curves. She's wearing a soft cotton shirt, a swirl of blue and silver, it's not buttoned up so high as her work shirt, and I can see another silver charm; it hangs lower nestling between the first swell of her breasts. I jerk my gaze back up to her face. I see she's wearing a little makeup and wonder just how bad I've blown it.

  "What happened?" she asks, not like she wants to know but because she's too nice to walk away without a word. However much she wants to.

  After a moment, I haul myself upright and just stand there, trying to think of an answer. The options are limited; telling her a ghost got me into a fight isn't one of them. If there's a way to make this better I can't think of it.

  Then Mickey shuffles a bit and says, "It happens to guys like us, all it takes is being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  I'm not too keen on being guys like us, but Suki is staring at Mickey, not understanding what he means but looking a little less as if she's going to bolt or pull out a can of pepper spray. I'm thinking Mickey might just save my ass.

  Mickey sees she doesn't get it and shrugs like it's obvious, "Sometimes a gang of guys will beat on us, not 'cos we've done anything. They just do it," he struggles for a moment. "For sport," he finishes. It's true. It happens plenty. That's how we met. A couple of guys were having a go at Mick and I helped him out. He was in a bad way back then and I used to look out for him a bit. Of course, he doesn't actually know what happened today. He's giving me the benefit of the doubt. I could kiss him.

  "Oh God, I'm so sorry," Suki looks at me as she says it.

  She's so upset about jumping to conclusions that I feel bad, but it's not as if I'm lying or keeping something bad from her. Well not really.

  She fishes in her bag, muttering about wipes, but all she comes up with is a tissue. She looks at my face and sort of shakes her head. "You need to see a doctor," she says.

  "I told him that, but he's scared of hospitals," Mickey says, helpfully. "You won't get him to go."

  Suki looks at Mickey as she says, "What do you usually do when you get hurt?"

  Mickey just shrugs; we're getting onto dangerous ground here.

  When she sees he's not going to come up with anything, Suki takes a deep breath. She hardly hesitates. "He'll have to come back with me. We've got stuff at home to fix him up."

  There's something about the way she says it, like she's done this before. I haven't said a word yet and no one seems to expect me to. But it feels wrong. Like I'm taking advantage of her and like an idiot I say, "No, I'll be alright. Don't worry."

  They both turn to look at me. Mickey shakes his head as if he can't believe what he's hearing, or that anyone could be so stupid. He has a point.

  Suki shakes her head too but in a different way. Somehow I've become her responsibility. And this girl just can't help herself. It scares me a bit. She has no idea about me, or the ghosts. She turns to Mickey. "I'll take him back with me, it's not far but," she looks at me.

  Mickey catches on quick. "You take the bike. I've got him."

  So we set off in a weird little convoy. Suki pushing the bike, which I hope isn't stolen, and me leaning on Mickey and trying not to moan out loud or look too pathetic.

  The park's nearly empty now. The river runs along the far side so we cut across the grass and follow the towpath. I'm not thinking too clearly, the ghost hangover hits me. It's one of the weirdest yet and I'm left with the feeling that things did not go right for the ghost. That there's something else I should know. I can't make sense of it, my vision is blurred, everything hurts, and the fact that Mickey's suddenly mister sensible freaks me out. It's getting dark and we keep walking for ages until Mickey's sort of dragging me again.

  We're out of the park now and the path runs under trees, along the back of gardens and allotments. We pass a few boats and come to a place where there are a lot of them all lined along the banks. Some of the boats have pots with flowers and herbs on the roof and growbags with tomatoes. There are little wind machines, standpipes with hoses and rows and rows of bikes. It's like a little village.

  Walking hurts like hell. There's nothing I want more than somewhere soft to lay down and to have Suki look after me, but with every step it feels more wrong. I don't want to be just some loser she rescues. I drag Mickey to a halt. We've fallen behind and Suki doesn't notice. I'm about to tell him I need to get out of this when a voice calls out, "Suki, is that you?"

  It's a guy's voice, sharp as glass, and jealously slams me in the gut. I'm not going anywhere.

  The towpath has been mostly deserted but there's a dark figure up ahead. I limp fast to catch up.

  This sudden spurt makes Mickey think the last half mile of moaning was an act and he starts grumbling at me. "Why have you been making me just about carry you, T, that's not cool, dude?" He starts to let me go and I grab on to him, knowing I'm going to end up on the floor if he does.

  Suki's reached the guy. He's tall and she is standing close and looking up at him. I can hear them talking but the words are too low for me to make out until he gives a dramatic sigh and raises his voice.

  "Not another rescue project, Suki." He sounds posh and pissed off. Boyfriend?

  "It's got nothing to do with you, Simon," she raises her voice too and I guess it's for our benefit.

  "True," he says and looks over at us. There's not much room as we come up alongside them on the narrow path, but he doesn't move an inch.

  Mickey fidgets. Suki gets the message. She hands him the bike. "Thanks for helping," she says.

  Mickey raises his hand and I give him a feeble high five and mutter, "Thanks, dude."

  While we're doing this the guy takes Suki by the arm and leads her off a bit.

  I let them go, but there's something about the way the guy's holding her arm, all possessive. He's a couple of inches taller than me, maybe six-three. He's lanky and wearing a weird suit, sort of like the Beatles in the sixties, drainpipe trousers a short little jacket with a narrow collar and pointy shoes. His hair is short and slick and he has narrow, thick-rimmed glasses. Everything about him is slick and pointy. He looks like a hairdresser or an art dealer or something.

  It's hard to work them out. They don't seem a good match in any way. But the way he's holding her arm is sort of intense. My legs feel wobbly, best to sit down before I fall down. There's a bench a little way off and I start to limp towards it.

  "Tommy, wait."

  I've barely gone a couple of paces when Suki comes over.

  "Tommy, please, you can't leave."

  "OK." I told her my name was Tom but she seems to have picked up Tommy from Mickey. That's it, no going back; I'm Tommy the fuck up. Tom is gone forever. "Just need to sit down."

  "Of course," she says. "Let's get you inside and fixed up."

  She helps me onto the boat while Simon stands and watches. We step onto a small deck cluttered with pots and gas cylinders. The door is down two steps. It's low and narrow. It feels cosy; there are lamps burning and the smell of herbs. Just inside the door there's a tiny kitchen. Windows run along both sides of the salon. On one wall a long sofa covered in throws and cushions. In the corner there's a stove. On the other wall a table completely covered with boxes of beads, bits of material and shiny stuff.

  Suki helps me to the sofa and gets some cushions to make me comfortable. It's good to sit down. My head spins and I'm sort of out of it for a moment.

  Simon comes down the steps but Suki heads him off. She goes out with him and I'm sure now he's an ex, something about the way they are together. When she comes back she's all business. She gets a first aid kit, Dettol and boiled water and starts fixing me up. It's obvious she's done this before. She doesn't hurt me too much and I try to be a man about it. She's clearly not fooled. Finished she stands back and looks at me.

  "That's a bit better. You're sure you won't go to the hospital?"

  "No." I shake my head to make sure she gets how definite it is that we're not going to a hospital.

  "OK, I'll find you some clothes and you can take
a shower, that should help." She disappears down the back of the boat.

  My eyes slide shut as the handful of painkillers goes to work.

  I must fall asleep or pass out, because the next thing it's dark and there's this girl staring at me. She's so thin her clothes hang straight down without hardly touching her. She's wearing a black skirt embroidered with flowers and a black shirt, her hair is black too and spiky short. She is really pale with blue eyes and full scarlet lips the only thing about her that could be called curvy.

  She stands and stares at me. It spooks me out, and it takes a while for me to get my head together. She's still staring.

  "Hi, I'm Tommy." I wonder if I should offer to shake her hand or something.

  Still watching me, she calls out, "Where'd you find this one, Suke?"

  Suki appears holding a man's shirt. "Hi, Jess," she snakes an arm round the girl's waist. "This is Tommy." No other explanation needed. Clearly I'm not a big event, nothing special. She does this all the time. The two of them stare at me.

  "Hi, Jess," I wave a hand at her and even that hurts. She doesn't answer, just keeps staring. It's like she's deciding whether she should get hold of the frying pan and put me out of my misery. A mercy kill.

  The silence is getting a bit heavy. Suki hands me the shirt. "I left some other stuff in the bathroom. Can you manage a shower?" she asks.

  "Yeah, thanks." She gives me a hand up and I make it to the bathroom, glad to escape while they sort it out. The bathroom is tiny. Manoeuvring, getting undressed and into the shower takes some effort, but the hot water is great and when my muscles loosen up the pain is a bit better. But I can't stay there all night, and I'm starting to think things through a bit more clearly. It doesn't look so good. Suki has a thing for losers. A thing for helping strangers out, so that makes me a rescue project. A bird in a shoebox. That's not what I wanted. And the memory of today's ghost haunts me.