Oh Great, Now I Can See Dead People

by Deborah Durbin

  ‘I don’t think you should. Have you not heard about implants exploding? Ahh! What was that?’ Benny shouts as he jumps up from the bench and spins round, looking from side to side.

  ‘What? Aghh! Was that you, Benny? Cos if it was, that’s not at all funny!’ Suki screams.

  What my lovely page three model and children’s entertainer can’t see and I can are two spirits: a large man dressed in a hospital gown and a small woman, aged about forty, in a long dress. The two of them are poking Benny and Suki in turns and tapping them on the head, while howling with laughter. All of a sudden, the large man pushes a chair across the room, and as if on cue Benny and Suki scream and Benny tries to jump into Suki’s arms. Next, the woman runs her finger along the many surgical instruments that are lined up along one wall, making them clang against each other, like an industrial wind chime.

  ‘Holy crap! What was that?’ Benny says – I bet he’s never said that on TV before.

  ‘Aghh!’ Suki screams, as a pair of surgical scissors fly across the room and hit the opposite wall. These were thrown by the portly man, who is now roaring with laughter.

  It’s very funny when you have the ability to see spirits that other people can’t. The crew are amazed at the live feed that is coming through. I can hear Ange and Amy in hysterics with laughter.

  Benny demands to be let out and the crew switch the camera view to the chambers where Kenneth and Wilmore are staked out.

  ‘What was that?’ Wilmore predictably shouts, as we view the pair of them in the chambers. The chamber area is where the most dangerous patients were kept and it’s appropriately spooky with lots of archways and dark corners. Kenneth and Wilmore are tiptoeing around the hallways as if they are cast members of a Scooby-Doo cartoon. I have to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing because behind them I can see three ghostly figures tiptoeing after them. The one at the front, a young man in his twenties, keeps flicking Wilmore’s ear.

  ‘I don’t like it in here,’ Kenneth says. ‘It’s too … aghh! What was that?’ he spins round and collides with Wilmore.

  ‘You blithering idiot,’ Wilmore rants, ‘will you get a grip?’

  ‘But it’s … oh shit!’ Kenneth wails as a spooky figure breathes on his face. It’s a young woman, about twenty, and her face is inches away from Kenneth’s. She laughs and twirls around.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Kenneth says. ‘Hold my hand, Wilmore.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Wilmore huffs, but obliges. Hum, you think this could be the start of a beautiful relationship?

  The men continue to tiptoe through the arches, hand in hand, as the three spirits continue to follow them.

  ‘Don’t forget to close the circle before you go,’ Ange reminds me.

  Good point. I make a mental note to send the spirits back when we finish and continue to watch the celebrities being appropriately spooked.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ‘Uh-oh!’ Ange and Amy say in unison.

  What the …?

  By the time I get home it’s one o’clock in the morning and as I pull up outside my cottage I stare at it in astonishment. There, painted in huge red letters, starting from my front window and extending across the front door to the second window, is the word BITCH! My front windows have been completely painted over in red gloss paint and the path that leads to the house has been daubed in more red paint.

  Gem, who is on her hands and knees with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, is desperately trying to scrub the writing off. My mum, Colin, Mr Brent, Mrs Jackson and Mrs Samuels – the one with one leg shorter than the other, although you would never tell – are there too, sponges in hand. My mum is barking orders to everyone.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I gasp as get out of the car and look at my once lovely cottage.

  ‘Sam!’ Gem gasps. ‘We didn’t think you were coming back tonight,’ she says with panic in her voice.

  My initial shock turns to rage.

  ‘Who did this?’

  My mum rushes over to me.

  ‘We don’t know, sweetheart. Gem fed the kittens and locked up at about nine and Mr Brent said he went out around ten to pull his drawbridge up and it was then that he noticed the paint on your house.’

  ‘But who would do such a thing?’ I stutter, taking in the full glory of the graffiti. I feel a wave of nausea.

  My mum squeezes my arm as the tears start to flow.

  ‘I know who it was,’ Amy whispers. ‘It was that girl, Beth. The one on Facebook.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Ange says, impressed by Amy’s deduction skills.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Amy says, sounding as surprised as Ange. ‘I just thought about it and that girl’s name came into my head.’

  I’m speechless. Why would she do something like that?

  ‘Because Jack announced your engagement on live TV maybe?’ Ange says. ‘Don’t worry, Sam. Leave it to us. We’ll sort her out.’

  Gem waddles over to me and holds out her arms.

  ‘Oh, Sam, I am so sorry. I only just locked up a few hours ago. I didn’t see anyone out here and I checked the house before I left,’ Gem is distraught. I just keep looking at the paint – jeez, she’s even painted my bloody bay bush by the front door!

  ‘Gem, it’s OK. I know who did it. It’s not your fau… Gem?’

  Gem suddenly goes very pale. There’s a great big whooshing sound and we both look down at the red path, which is now covered in a pool of water.

  ‘Oh no! I think my waters have broken!’ Gem stutters.

  Oh heck!

  ‘Mum!’ I shout as I hold Gem around the waist.

  My mum rushes over and seems to automatically know what has happened.

  ‘Colin! Call an ambulance, quick! Mr Brent, stop that and run up to the airing cupboard and get some towels, quick as you can, my love. Mrs Samuels, look in my handbag, there’s an SOS flashlight in there. Stand in the middle of the road and flash it with the SOS signal. You remember, dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot. We did it at the WI meeting last year with that lovely man, Brian, from the Red Cross, do you remember? Keep going until the ambulance arrives. Colin, you have phoned for the ambulance, haven’t you?’ she barks.

  ‘Why do you have an SOS flashlight in your bag, Mum? We’re not on a snow-topped mountain, you know,’ I ask as we slowly escort Gem back into the house.

  ‘You never know when you might need one, girls. Always keep a flashlight, a paperclip and a tampon in your handbag, ’ my mother advises, as she bends her knees, grunts and takes all Gem’s weight on her shoulder and carries her to the sofa.

  ‘Now come on, this baby isn’t going to wait all day. Have you been practising your breathing, dear?’ she asks Gem as she throws all my scatter cushions to the floor and prepares my living room for a labour ward.

  Gem nods and winces with pain – if this is what childbirth is like, you can forget any idea of becoming a grandmother any time soon, Mum.

  ‘Mr Brent, we’ll need more towels than that, dear,’ my mum tuts. ‘If this is anything like when I had you, Sammy, it’ll be a blood bath in here any time soon.’

  Gem looks terrified. Way to go, Mum.

  ‘Right, let’s have a little looksy, shall we?’ My mum puts her reading glasses on and dives beneath Gem’s long maternity skirt.

  ‘Ah ha, uh-huh,’ my mum mutters to herself.

  ‘What is she doing down there?’ I whisper to Mrs Jackson, who looks as though she’s going to faint. Oh, spoke too soon, there she goes.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ my mother mutters. ‘Mr Brent, come and move Mrs Jackson out of the way, will you? She’s had one of her funny turns again. She can’t stay down there. She’ll be right in the way of the paramedics. That’s it, levitate her legs – at least someone here remembers what Brian the Red Cross man told us,’ Mum whispers under her breath. ‘That’s it; drag her by the legs out into the kitchen, Mr Brent. Oops, watch her head now. That’s it; lie her on the floor with he
r legs in the air. Sammy, see if you can get her legs to reach the kitchen counter. She might be a bit short, but do your best; it will get the blood flowing to her brain again. Oh, and grab me a new packet of those Marigolds I bought you, love; they’re under the sink.’

  A rush of nausea comes over me.

  ‘Aghhh!’

  ‘It’s OK, Gemma, I’m coming, dear. It’s going to hurt a lot more than that before it’s over, dear.’ My mum sings as she happily snaps a pair of Marigolds onto her hands.

  ‘Right, let’s have another look.’

  My mother dives under Gem’s skirt again and I look around the lounge to see if I can find something to protect Gem’s modesty. I’m sure she doesn’t want all the neighbours seeing her lady parts this evening.

  ‘Colin, can you get me the sheet that’s in the tumble dryer,’ I shout, ‘and check on Mrs Jackson while you’re there.’

  Colin hurries in with the sheet and reports that Mrs Jackson has come round and is currently having a cup of sweet tea on the kitchen floor. I peg the sheet to the standard lamp and the doorframe on the opposite side of the room. It’s then that I see Simon standing beside Gem. His image is almost like a real human and his face looks anxious. I smile at him.

  ‘Aghh!’ Gem screams.

  I feel for him. He desperately wants to hold her hand and tell her it’s going to be OK, but he can’t.

  ‘OK, my love, I don’t think this little one is going to wait for the ambulance, so when the next contraction comes I want you to push as hard as you can. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?’ my mum says softly but firmly to Gem. Gem looks terrified at the prospect but nods.

  ‘She’ll be OK, Simon,’ I whisper, but I can’t look. The thought of something so large coming out of something so small makes me feel quite queasy. I look the other way, mumbling really stupid things such as, ‘You’re doing great, Gem,’ and ‘That’s it, breathe, good girl!’

  ‘Here we go,’ I hear my mum say with excitement in her voice.

  ‘Aghh!’ Gem cries again.

  ‘Come on now, I can see the head, just a bit more, Gemma.’

  Oh God, I think I might be dragged out by my legs myself in a minute.

  ‘It hurts too much. Aghhh!’

  ‘Of course it does, dear. You’re trying to get a melon through a polo hole,’ my mum trills. ‘Now one more big p…’

  ‘Aghh! Fucking hell!’ Gem shouts.

  ‘That’s it dear, have a good old swear. Here we go. One more …’

  ‘Wahhhhh!’ a tiny voice interrupts my mum.

  ‘Here we are! A little boy! Gemma, you have a beautiful little boy, dear!’

  The last thing I see before I fall to the floor is Simon, with tears rolling down his face, smiling.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Today is a day where I can just chill out and catch up on my list of jobs-that-must-be-done-before-I-get-married. I recovered from my bump on the head, courtesy of the coffee table meeting my head when I fainted, when the paramedics arrived to tend to Gemma, her new baby, me and Mrs Jackson. Anyone looking out of their window would think we were all heading off to a party, given the number of people being pushed into the ambulance.

  Gemma’s little boy is absolutely gorgeous. She’s decided to name him James Simon Green. She and Simon had already decided that if it was a boy he was going to be called James, but Gem wanted to hold on to Simon’s name, so little James will always remember his hero father, Simon. And I know that Si is as pleased as punch about his little boy – as I passed the maternity ward, I watched as Si stood by Gem’s bed, watching her and baby James sleeping.

  So, armed with my list of things to do, I start phoning around everyone checking that Valerie has finished making my dress, Jack’s suit is ready to pick up, the flowers have been ordered and that all the guests are coming, including my brother Paul, who has still not booked his flight from Australia.

  Missy and Spencer have abandoned their offspring in favour of hunting for mice, so I am now responsible for finding homes for the litter of kittens. I really want to keep them all, Dorothy in particular, but I know I can’t, so next on the list is to advertise them on Facebook and see if anyone will give them a good home.

  As I log in, I notice that on Jack’s fan page, Busty Beth has had a change of heart. Her ‘I LV Jack’ comments have turned to hatred comments, which have in turn been rewarded with a ban from the social networking site. Ha! That will teach her and thankfully my lovely team of neighbourhood watchers managed to get most of the paint off, before Gem went into labour and before too much damage was done.

  To my surprise the majority of fans on Jack’s website are made up that he is getting married and many have sent their congratulations or said how lucky I am to be marrying the Jack Lewis, from Otherwise. And I am lucky, I know I am. I just wish I had more time to arrange our wedding. I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.

  Just as I’m about to check my list for the umpteenth time, I see Ange standing in front of me.

  ‘Hey Ange, you OK?’ I ask absentmindedly, adding up the number of tables we will need at the wedding reception, which is kindly being provided by our old local, The Pig and Whistle, in Bristol. This was Jack and my favourite haunt when I went to college there, and when Steve and Bev, the landlord and his wife, found out we were getting married, they insisted holding the reception at their pub, all paid for by them. I just hope the venue is going to be big enough. We could have held the reception at the Abbey, but we both decided the atmosphere was a bit serious for us; great for taking our vows, but not really the sort of place where you want all your mates doing a drunken conga and besides, The Pig and Whistle has fond memories for us both. It was where Jack got his first paying gig and where I would sit with a pint waiting for him for when he finished.

  ‘Sam?’ Ange says quietly. She looks unusually sombre and serious, which is not like Ange at all.

  I take my reading glasses off and look at her.

  ‘You OK, Ange?’

  ‘Um, Amy needs to talk to you,’ she says. She looks uncomfortable and starts fidgeting.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She doesn’t want you to be mad at her, so she’s sent me in first, you know, to gauge your mood, so to speak,’ Ange says.

  ‘What do you mean, gauge my mood? I’m not moody!’

  ‘Err, yes, you can be.’

  ‘Hang on, what do you mean she doesn’t want me to be mad at her? What’s she done now?’ I sigh.

  ‘She’s … she’s decided to stay here … in … well, what you lot would call heaven,’ Ange stutters.

  ‘You what? What do you mean, stay here in heaven?’ I look at Ange who looks petrified.

  ‘She …’

  Suddenly Amy is standing next to Ange.

  ‘I’m not going back, Sam,’ Amy says.

  I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. It’s Amy, as real as she ever was. She’s dressed in the latest designer gear: white, wide leg Chanel trousers, a bottle-green Christian Dior top, and the most amazing pair of Louboutin shoes you have ever seen. I know this not because I’m a fashionista who knows her Prada from her Primark, but because the trousers have the double C symbol on the gold belt, her shirt has a silver metal Dior tag attached to it and her shoes have the signature Louboutin red soles – see, I do take notice of what’s going on in Heat magazine. In short, Amy looks amazing. Her long blonde hair flows down her back in glorious cascades, like she’s just stepped out of a L’Oreal advert.

  ‘Amy? Oh my God, Amy!’

  Amy smiles at me and puts her hands on her hips.

  ‘Looking good, huh?’ she does a little twirl on her four-inch heels. She makes me and Ange look like the ugly sisters.

  ‘But … I don’t understand,’ I stutter. I can’t get my head around this. It’s Amy standing in front of me and she looks just as I remember her, only thinner. I go to put my arms around her but it just feels like thin air. It’s like a mirage; I can see her, but she isn’t really there. Not phys
ically, anyway.

  Amy looks serious for a moment.

  ‘I had to make a choice, Sam. I was told I could either stay on earth or stay here.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘If I stayed on earth, they told me that even if I came out of the coma, I would be in a vegetative state. I’ve suffered too much brain damage. I would have no … what did they call it, Ange?’

  ‘Cognitive functions,’ Ange says.

  ‘I’d have no cog - thingies. Whatever they’re called. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I wouldn’t be able to walk or talk. At best I would be able to blink. That’s it. I’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t even be able to pee on my own; I’d have to wear incontinence pads, you know…pee and poo myself all day long,’ Amy whispers, just in case anyone else can hear her. ‘I can’t live a life like that, Sam.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I interrupt, ‘who are they? Exactly who has been telling you this, Amy?’ This can’t be right, surely. I mean, who knows what is going to happen to anyone? Who knows, with medical technology improving by the minute, what miracles might happen?

  Amy and Ange look at each other with a knowing look in their eyes.

  ‘The people up here, Sam. Our time on earth is decided long before we live our life. It’s no accident when we die, you know. For some of us, like Ange, it’s just our time.’ Amy and Ange sit down next to me, one on either side. ‘For others like me we get given a choice – go back to earth or stay here. When they showed me what my life would be like if I went back to earth I … well I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t live like that.’

  I have to say Amy is being remarkably calm about all this. I on the other hand am not.

  ‘You don’t know that, Amy!’ I snap. ‘You don’t know for sure that the doctors won’t make you better. We can bring you back home. Jack and I will look after you. We’ll get you the best medical care money can buy and we will get you better again.’ I know I sound desperate. Amy just smiles at me.

  ‘It wouldn’t make any difference, Sam. No amount of money will make me better again. You think I wouldn’t jump at the chance to come back here, all mended and back to my normal self? It won’t happen, hun. It just won’t happen. If I decide to go back, I face a life of never being able to talk to anyone. Never ever having my independence again. Never …’