**Diary Entry A Ghostly Intervention**
«Vic, Vic… wake up, you lazy sod! Bloody hell, you’ll sleep your whole life away if I let you. Look at himstill snoring! Victor, get up, or you’ll miss your chance!»
«Adelaide Margaret, for pitys sake, let me sleep!»
«Sleep? Youll sleep when youre dead!»
«Or *on* my deathbed, more like.»
«Not if I have anything to say about it. Up you getnow!»
Victor groaned, dragging himself to the mirror, bleary-eyed and grouchy.
«Well?»
«Not even dressed and youre already nagging. Go wash up, shave, make yourself presentable. Theres time yet. Get on with it.»
«What time? Whats so bloody urgent?»
«*This* kind of time.»
Grumbling, Vic shuffled to the bathroom, muttering curses under his breaththough not too loudly, unless he fancied a slipper to the back of the head. Bloody woman, still bossing him about from beyond the grave.
«Vic, did I ever mention I can read minds sometimes? No? Well, now you know.» Adelaide Margaret had perched on the edge of his bed, cross-legged like some meditating monk. «Side effect of the afterlife. Now, go scrub properlyand shave! You look like a tramp.»
No point arguing. Even as a ghost, she was relentless.
His ex-mother-in-law wasnt your average spectre. No, shed turned up in his flat one day*after* the funeral.
«I hear what youre thinking, you know,» she said, drifting through the air. «How my Lillian ever put up with you, Ill never know. Youre a dinosaur, you are.»
Victor waved her off and stalked to the bathroom.
He and Lillian had divorced a year ago. Kids grown, lives moved on. Then shed had some epiphany, called him a «patriarchal relic,» packed her bags, and slammed the door on eighteen years.
Hed rung her later, baffled. Shed spat words like «misogynist» and «oppressor» like they were swear words. How was he supposed to *stop* being a «patriarchal relic» when he *literally* built houses for a living? Bloody ridiculous.
Turns out shed been listening to some life coachsome bloke named *Cosmo Wonderblood* or some such nonsensewhod convinced her shed been «enslaved.» Never mind that her roast dinners were legendary.
Just thinking about her gravy made his mouth water
Wait.
Half-shaved, Victor bolted into the hall.
«Adelaide Margaret! Adelaide Margaret!»
«Whats all the shouting?»
«Teach me to make your beef stew. *Please*.»
«Oh, *now* he asks! My secret recipe, handed to the likes of *you*?»
«Whats it to you? Planning a spectral dinner party?»
«Cheeky sod.»
«Lillians is better anyway.»
«*Better*? I taught her everything she knows!»
«Funny, that. Pupil outshone the teacher.»
«*What*? Tell me, thenwhat meat does she use?»
«Lamb, obviously.»
«Idiot! *Beef*, you daft git. And not in *that* pot*that* one!»
Two hours later, Vic had a notebook full of scribbles and a pot of the richest stew hed ever tasted.
«Christ, Mum… youre a genius.»
«What?»
«This stew. Its… bloody hell.»
«And Lillians?»
«Pfft. Doesnt hold a candle. Waitare you *crying*? Can ghosts cry?»
«Dunno,» she sniffed. «Youre a right git, Vic.»
«*Me*? Whatd I do now?»
«Called me *Mum*, didnt you? Now Im blubbering like a fool. I was supposed to sort your life out!»
«Hows that, then?»
«Well… I was meant to send you out with the bins at half-sixclean-shaven, mindjust as *Margaret*, that frumpy spinster from number twelve, came out. Youd bump into her, and… well…»
«And?»
Her ghostly eyes darted. «Youd… *fancy* her. And then I could… move on. Condition of my haunting.»
«Youve known this *all year*?»
«Course.»
«Why didnt you do it, then?»
«*You* mucked it up with your bloody stew questions!»
«*My* fault?»
«Damn right! Now Im stuck here until I make you *happy*.»
«Happy? With some strange woman? I *am* happy! Ive got your stew recipe now. And youwho nags me into not being a slob. Ive got *you*, Mum.»
«Oh, *piss off*!» she wailed, vanishing into the wardrobe, where muffled sobs echoed.
Victor chuckled and got to tidying.
«Not like *that*! Use the *blue* cloth, you muppet!»
***
Lillian hadnt slept well. Dreams of her motheryoung, beautifulreaching for her.
Shed tried watching *Cosmo Wonderblood*, but the video wouldnt load. Then she rang him.
The man whod «freed» her was *always* available.
Except at 7 AM.
«*Who the hell calls at this hour?*» A red-faced brute snarled through the screen.
Lillian snapped the laptop shut.
That… wasnt Cosmo.
Restless, she drove to Victors. No reason. Just… needed to.
***
Victor and Adelaide Margaret were playing chess, laughing.
«Lost the plot,» Lillian muttered, watching her ex-husband talk to *no one*.
«Lil! Your move, Mumcheckmate!»
The chess pieces *moved themselves*.
«Looking well, Lil. Though Mum says youve lost weight. Fancy some stew? Her recipe.»
«Vic… are you»
«Me? Right as rain. Oh, Mum says shell teach me her roast next.»
«Vic… *Mums dead*.»
«Aye. And shes been haunting me a year.»
Lillian paled. «Ask me something only shed know.»
«What was your prams colour? How old were you when your first tooth came in? Whos Auntie Marge?»
Every answer was right.
Thenjust for a secondLillian *saw her*.
«Shes fading, Lil. But she wanted you happy. *Us* happy. Waitwhere are you?»
***
Victor bolted upright, gasping. Lillian jerked awake beside him.
«You… dreamed it too?» he whispered.
«The ghost. The life coach… *Cosmo*»
A fist hammered the door.
«Up, you layabouts! Lillian, enough of this nonsenselife coaches, my arse. Were going to the cottage. Vic, youre learning proper cooking. Just in case.»
***
Later, Victor paused. «Mum… whyd I never call you that in thirty years?»
Adelaide Margaret smirked. «Dunno. But youre stuck with me now, *son*.»
**Lesson learned:** Familys a menacealive, dead, or haunting your bins. But at least the stews good.
