I lightly hopped over the fence to Edith’s garden and extended a hand to Nick; he waved it away, masculinity declining my help and examined the concrete posts and wooden planks for the best manoeuvre over. He took a little run up, planted his hands on top of the slats to spring him over and the fence toppled forward with him; leaving a heap of limbs and timber on the other side. Perfect fence vaulting takes years of practice. Nick got up brushing his shirt down for dirt despite the fact nothing could ever stain it; I suppose he did have to wear them forever now, a guy’s got to look good.
I stifled a laugh and Nick looked embarrassed, his pride looked wounded “why can’t we just use the front door?” Starting to rearrange the wood back into its concrete crib I mulled over the training he would need in being unseen. “If someone saw the door opening and closing for no reason don’t you think that would look a little odd? You have to live under the radar now” “you mean I have to die under the radar…” I forgot how tedious two way conversations could be.
I approached the back door and rapped my knuckled across the fragile glass, beckoning Nick to follow . Walking in, calling across the dusty kitchen to Edith, I was a little worried of how she would react to Nick attendance. This had been our sanctuary over the years, our little club house and now I had initiated a new member without consulting my partner in crime. But I wanted Nick to be part of our secret tea drinking society, and this house was part of me! I love the shabbiness, I loved the brittle, chocolate leaves that had snuck in to unwind out of the blustery weather and I even loved the way the house smelled! It wasn’t the astringent dust that molested your nostrils like in the loft; it smelt like a museum or a library, places of knowledge and respect mislaid in time.
The elderly woman bobbed into the kitchen, hunched over like a mole and bustled straight over to the kettle; she didn’t even notice Nick loitering behind me and busied herself preparing mugs “Morning dear, tea for two coming up” Nick voice sounded like an interloper in the house despite its velvet timbre “Actually, it’s tea for three today…” it was always just us two and the sudden arrival of testosterone felt foreign. Edith span around to see Nick offering an uncomfortable wave and the mugs fell to the floor in a waterfall of porcelain. The bone china collided with terracotta floor tiles in a delicate chime, shards fleeing to the outskirts of the kitchen for refuge. Edith stood there altogether gob smacked “…well bugger me!”
After a minute of silence and awkward exchanged glances, the old lady grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the living room. “I’ll get the tea” Nick called after us, and I gestured to him that this should only take a minute. Edith was significantly shorter than me now her spine had curved into an arc of maturity, and I had to stoop down to her grasp “did you…?” talking in imperative hushed tones she drew a finger under her throat “…kill him?” I gently removed her knobbed hand from my arm and straightened up “No I didn’t! We haven’t figured out how he died yet” Edith let out a cackle and rubbed her hands together “you’re a ‘we’ already! HA, HA! Bloody marvellous! You didn’t tell me your boyfriend was this one- he’s a dish!”
Edith stole a quick peek into to the kitchen, just to remind herself of his visual majesty “Are you pleased? You bloody should be!” “What, pleased that he’s dead? Of course not! I never wanted him dead… But It’s nice that we can talk and stuff” She pulled me down to her level again so she could look me in the eye “sure talking is all you’re doing?” Never was subtle this one “I’m quite sure, you know the rules” Edith let me return to my usual altitude “you’re a bloody idiot girl!” she said peering around the corner again “rules are made to be broken!”
Edith sloped back into the kitchen to greedily observe the newest member of the deceased alliance. I stood in the doorway and leaned against the splintering frame, crackled paint flaking and fluttering to the floor. If I could break one of the invented rules of death, it would be that one; being able to touch and feel would be… unbelievable; When you’re alive you just don’t realise how much you take for granted.
Nick was getting some new mugs out, reaching on his tip toes, to get the ones on top of the cupboard (Edith is an evil little genius), the small of his back and decadent arrow of his stomach muscles and pelvis were exposed. He had two embossed dimples just above the tail of his belt, like an artist’s stamp on a masterpiece. Tempted with the fantasy of Edith’s suggestion a vivid thought blossomed into my mind, it wasn’t anything especially lurid- after all a starving man doesn’t dream of caviar, he dreams of bread. I imagined running my fingertips over those perfect dimples; Sensing the magnitude of pores collected into a smooth canvas, supplely yielding to the embrace of flesh and muscle beneath. His body would stir in yearning appreciation of my touch, muscles rippling under my blushing palms.
That glowing morsel of a daydream made my heart pound in my chest, and I expelled an intoxicated breath in an attempt to calm the white noise that was filling my rib cage “You alright?” Nick was standing in front of me with a fist full of mugs “you look a bit… breathless” the dangers of having a man like him around. Note to self, thoughts like that are not suitable for my elderly neighbour’s kitchen when the star of the show is standing in front of me. My voice was small and winded “I’m fine” he nodded and gave me a reassuring smile before passing through to the living room. Edith was standing hand on hip and her best motherly gaze “what?!” I asked, feigning innocence and she leisurely strolled over “What do you mean, ‘what’? I may be dead my dear, but I’m still a woman”
In the living room Nick set down the mugs and pulled up another chair, I liked the way the trio of decrepit seats looked together. Obviously I wasn’t pleased that Nick was dead, but I had an underlying stream of excitement running through me; Selfish I know but I couldn’t change what’s happened. I was wracked with guilt that somehow by dreaming of us having a life together I had tipped the hands of fate and caused his death. It might sound insane, but you’re sitting there reading a ghosts point of view; anything is possible. It could be my fault.
“Well then,” Edith said strolling over to Nick “now you’re dead let’s get a look at you,” he stood in front of her like a school boy having his uniform inspected “turn” and he span around obediently. The brazen old flirt cocked her head to one side and admired his rear for a moment “you can sit down now,” I told him before flashing a warning glance to Edith and uttering “she’s done” through gritted teeth.
We all sat down and took our mugs; these ones adorned with scenes of a fox hunt rather that the swallows that still lay shattered on the kitchen floor. I must sweep that up before I go; broken china or glass posing no risk of injury does often delay the clean-up time. “So Nick… it is Nick isn’t it?” Edith asked, swirling her tea round in the mug “No doubt short for Nicholas? … Yes? …So Nicholas, do you remember how you died yet?” Nick shook his head and blew on his tea, taking a few tentative sips, old habits die hard; he could have eaten burning coals and he wouldn’t have noticed the heat. “It’s okay dear,” Edith continued turning her attention to me “you’ll help your boyfriend out won’t you?” Oh god, she needs to be stopped; I could see the cogs turning in her head and she’d practically chosen my wedding dress and picked the Hymns. I gave a strained fake laugh to Nick and with my eyes wide and jaw clenched to stress the point “he’s not my boyfriend Edith!”
We stayed there for another hour of not so subtle hints and embarrassing nudges before leaving. Edith was determined to humiliate me in the way mum and dad get baby photos out for the perusal a potential suitor, just to remind you of the parental power they still had and the havoc they could cause in your life. She wasn’t aiming to shame me but still succeeded all expectations with glorious stories of how she found me dead, how I never brought men home when I was alive and how once she found me drunk and asleep in the front garden. Falling down the stairs and snapping my neck seemed like child’s play now, I’d take that all again to have made her stop.
“Well, I think that went extremely well” Nick said as he closed the back door behind us “for you maybe…” I grumbled jumping the fence. I span around to watch Nick next Olympic hurdle of the barrier into our garden, but he was standing with an outstretched hand ready for my help. Looks like he was learning, it softened the sting of embarrassment seeing his blue eyes looking to me for assistance. “The trick is to weight on the concrete” I took his hand and supported the jump down, but he landed closer than anticipated and leant into me, momentarily losing his balance. I tried to step back but didn’t move my feet quick enough and also lost stability dragging him down with me as I grappled to stay upright. I landed flat on my back and Nick followed locking his arms into a protective press up halting a directly above me. Blue eyes striking mine, breath whipping with adrenaline “are you okay?! Are you hurt?” scanning me for injuries “…I’m dead Nick”
When we got back inside I collapsed onto the sofa, time to relax “what’s the extra stuff you needed to show me?” “oh… erm… TV must be quiet so neighbours don’t hear and no lights or people will think you’re home” the art of being invisible was boredom and darkness “the electricity will be cut soon after your found though as no one will be living here so make the most of it” Nick looked a little alarmed “so we have to sit in the dark… in silence” welcome to my world “Silence? We can make as much noise as we like” that sounded awful, I hope he didn’t take that the way it sounded. I shot a swift look his way… poker face… yep he took that the wrong way “what did you have in mind?” he asked utterly deadpan “I… didn’t mean… it like that…” my brain just doesn’t want to work around this man; it’s booby-trapping me for awkward situations. “You could at least buy me a drink first, what kind of man do you think I am?” “but… I… you… we…” mental tumbleweed “I’m joking!” he said ending my brains logic strike “relax a little,” he slumped onto the sofa next to me, actually next to me; not just perching on the other end “let’s make the most of the TV before lights out”
As per our usual routine we turned on a quiz show, and it was an eerie echo of how things used to be. Nick waving his arms at the television “what are you doing?!” I was just as passionate about the contestant’s lack of knowledge “This man is an idiot, TAKE THE MONEY!” “The answer is obviously the ‘C: Freddie Mercury’! … Don’t go for ‘A’… Don’t do it…ARGH!” I threw the remote to him, “change the channel or you’re going to have an aneurism” “I could die again and still do better than this bloke” flicking through the channels he paused on a reality show that followed the police and fire departments around New York city “ooh leave this on!” I said waving my hand at the screen, Nick looked surprised “you like this show?!” I climbed over to get the remote out of his hand “yes, and as you’ve had the remote for the last five years; I think it’s my turn!”
“Let me guess,” Nick said struggling to retain the governance of the remote “the men?” I feigned astonishment whilst finally getting the little black controller out of his grasp, I honestly did love the action and heroics (and the firemen) “that is sexist and… and chauvinistic… and only partially correct” I wished I could do what those people did! They saved lives and righted wrongs and solved crimes, I always wanted to save someone from a burning building or drop kick a terrorist or something; make a difference. While explaining my secret desire for heroics I saw a tiny smile spreading on Nicks face “We could always set a house on fire and save the tenants if you’d like?” I threw a cushion at him and it flew straight through his face leaving a surprised expression “eurgh… I didn’t like that”
At about four, I switched off the TV as it was getting dark and picked up a book. Nick decided he was going to tidy his room a little as he didn’t want it being a mess when his parents came by to sort out his things once he was found. He was banging and scraping around up there till gone ten when he came back down, and it was pitch black but as a ghost you have excellent eyesight, even in the dark. We spend so much time alone in it, it would be an insult to injury if we at least couldn’t see in the inky blackness “I could get used to the spidey-vision” he said studying his hands and marvelling at the depth of vision “not bad is it?” I replied putting the book down “being dead isn’t all that bad”.
Nick balanced on the arm of the sofa and fussed with his shirt sleeves “I’m not tired but I feel like I should go to bed, is that normal?” “Yep, you don’t need to sleep, but most of us do; breaks up the time”. He slipped down onto the seat of the sofa and performed his usual post bed bask of silence before commenting “I miss the cat”, so did I; he was an infectious little personality, the house felt rather two-dimensional without him. Nick got up and started towards the stairs but turned back to me “where do you usually sleep?” I don’t think answering ‘next to you so I could pretend you knew I existed’ would have sounded too mentally healthy, so a lie effortlessly rolled off my tongue “down here… or in the attic” he took a step closer “you can sleep upstairs too… if you want?” a swirl of butterflies ricocheted around my insides “there won’t be any funny business” he assured, tripping over his words “I can’t touch you… and I’m a gentleman… It’d be nice not to be alone” I looked like a deer in the headlights, completely stunned that he was actually asking me to sleep beside him rather than being unknown like a slumber stow-away. Getting up and trying to act calm and cavalier, I tried not to make eye contact and give my enthusiasm away “yeah… that’d be… cool… nice” that came out a bit too fractured and careless Nick looked shot down “it’s a stupid idea, too forward… sorry, good night” “No! I want to,” Coolness seemed to be out the window “It’d be nice… not to be alone too” a shy smile unfolded across his face and he gesturing upstairs with a nod of his head unsure of what to do next and went upstairs.
If I was alive right now, I would be checking my makeup, fiddling with my hair and straightening my clothes in a frantic veil of feminine anxiousness, before calmly heading upstairs. As I didn’t have the extravagance of everyday human fidgets in preparation, I just there stood for a minute trying to think of something to do before giving up and following him to the bedroom. He was already in bed, under the covers, and I got in too fully clothed; I didn’t even want to think about whether he was too.
The irony of getting the man of my dreams into bed, when it was not only improbable but impossible that anything could happen was a cruel joke.
