«Oi, Gary, wake up, you lazy sod! Bloody hell, look at youstill snoring like a walrus at a Tory party conference. Get up before you sleep your whole life away!»
Gary blinked at his ghostly mother-in-law floating cross-legged at the foot of his bed. «Ethel, for pitys sake, its Sunday! Let a man lie in!»
«Youll lie in when youre dead. Up you getchop chop!»
Gary groaned. «Might as well sleep for eternity then.»
Ethel scoffed. «Not on my watch. Go wash that miserable face, shave, and make yourself presentable. Theres still time.»
«Time for what?»
«Time to not look like a tramp who lost a fight with a hedge.»
Grumbling, Gary shuffled to the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath. One wrong word, and Ethels spectral slipper would find his ear. Bloody womaneven dead, she was a tyrant.
«Gary, love, did I ever mention I can read minds?» Ethel called sweetly, levitating after him. «No? Well, now you know. Hurry upbrush properly, and for heavens sake, shave. You look like a lost hobo.»
Arguing was pointless. Shed been impossible in lifewhy would death change that?
Ethel wasnt just any mother-in-law. She was a ghost.
A proper, floating, slipper-throwing spectre whod turned up in his flat two months after her funeral.
«I hear your thoughts, you know,» she mused, drifting lazily. «Honestly, how did my Samantha put up with you? Youre a Neanderthal.»
Gary waved her off and reached for the razor.
Samantha had left him a year agokids grown, midlife crisis in full swing. Shed called him a «patriarchal relic,» packed a tote bag, and flounced out, slamming the door so hard the neighbours complained.
Hed rung her later, baffled. Shed shrieked something about «toxic masculinity» and «self-actualisation» before blocking his number. Clearly, some poncey life coach had got to her.
Now she was off «finding herself» while Gary ate takeaway in his pants, wondering why shed left.
(Her roast potatoes were divine, though.)
A sudden thought struck him mid-shave. Toothpaste dribbling down his chin, he bolted to the hallway.
«Ethel! Ethel!»
«What now, you daft sod?»
«Teach me to make your beef Wellington.»
She gasped. «Over my dead body!»
«Bit late for that,» he muttered.
«Fine! But only because Samanthas was rubbish.»
«Liar! Hers was better!»
Ethels form flickered dangerously. «She used *shop-bought* pastry!»
They bickered all morning, Gary scribbling notes like a madman. By lunch, he stood triumphantly over a golden, flaky masterpiece.
«Blimey, Mum this is genius.»
«Mum?!» Ethels ghostly cheeks flushed.
«Sorryforce of habit.»
«You rotten little» Her voice wobbled. «Ghosts cant cry! Why am I crying?»
«Dunno. But cheers for the recipe.»
She wailed and vanished into the cupboard, leaving Gary to tidy upunder her spectral supervision, of course.
***
Meanwhile, Samantha tossed and turned. Shed dreamt of Ethelyoung, glowing, calling her name.
She reached for her laptop, hoping her guru, *ZenMaster Xander*, would soothe her existential dread. But his livestream wouldnt load.
Frustrated, she video-called him.
A bloodshot eye filled the screen. «Who the hell rings at 7 AM?!» a raspy voice snarled.
Slam! Samantha shut the laptop, shaken. That wasnt the serene sage shed paid £200 an hour.
Suddenly, she missed Garys terrible jokes.
***
Back at the flat, Gary and Ethel were deep in chess.
«Checkmate, you old phantom!» Gary crowed.
The door creaked open. Samantha gaped at the floating chess pieces.
«Youve lost the plot,» she whispered.
Gary beamed. «Sam! Fancy some Wellington? Ethels recipe.»
Samantha paled. «Ethels *dead*.»
«Not *technically*.»
After a tearful Q&A (only Ethel knew about the hamster incident of 93), Samantha finally believed.
Then*poof*Ethel faded, her energy spent.
Gary jolted awake, Samantha beside him.
«Did we just»
«Dream the same mad dream?»
A fist pounded the door. «Up, you layabouts! Were going to the cottage!»
Ethel*living, breathing Ethel*stood there, arms crossed.
«Enough nonsense. Sam, stop filling your head with that guru twaddle. Gary, youre learning to cook properly. And both of you*no more ghosts*.»
As they piled into the car, Gary frowned.
«Ethel whyd I never call you Mum before?»
She smirked. «Dunno, love. But youre stuck with me now. «Course I am,» she said, tossing him the car keys. «And dont think I didnt hear you badmouthing my shepherds pie last Christmas. Were having it tonightproper portion, none of that Im-on-a-diet nonsense.»
Gary exchanged a glance with Samantha, who was already laughing, tears in her eyes.
The radio crackled to life with Ethels favourite ABBA song, and for the first time in years, the back seat didnt feel empty.
