«Oi, Victor, Victor…wake up, will ya? Blimey, you could sleep through the end of the world, you could. Look at ‘im, would ya? Still snoring…Victor, get up, youll miss your chance at happiness, Im telling ya!»
«Margaret Elizabeth, just let me sleep, for heavens sake.»
«Sleep? Youll have plenty of time for that when youre retired.»
«Yeah, rightor in the afterlife.»
«You wont sleep then either. Up you get, come on!»
Victor, groggy and red-eyed, glared at himself in the mirror.
«Well?»
«Not even dressed yet? Go wash up, shave, make yourself presentable. Theres still time. Get on with it.»
«What time, Margaret Elizabeth?»
«The right time.»
Victor shuffled to the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath. One wrong word, and hed be dodging a slipper to the head. Bloody womaneven now, shes still bossing him about.
«Victor, did I ever tell you I can sometimes hear your thoughts? No? Well, now you know.» His mother-in-law sat cross-legged on his bed like some smug yogi. «Side effect, innit? Now go wash up, brush your teethproperlyand dont forget to shave. You look like a tramp.»
Victor knew better than to argue. Even when she was alive, shed never lost a debate.
Now? She was a ghost.
Yep.
No, he wasnt losing his mind. No, he hadnt drunk himself into delirium. One day, Margaret Elizabeth just…appeared.
After theyd buried her.
«I can hear you, you know,» she said, floating eerily toward him. «Most of the time. How did my Emily ever put up with you? Youre a proper dinosaur, you are.»
Victor waved her off and trudged to the bathroom.
He and Emily had divorced a year ago. The kids were grown, living their own lives. Emily had snapped, called him a «tyrant,» said he stifled her growth as a person, packed a bag, and slammed the door on her way out.
Victor stood there, baffled.
Hed called her. Shed said she wanted nothing to do with a «backwards misogynist» like himwords hed never been called before, not even in the roughest pub brawl.
And how, pray tell, was he supposed to stop being «backwards»? He built houses for a living, for crying out loud. Sheds, too. Strange woman, that Emily. Always picking fights, always swearing.
Turns out shed been listening to some life coachsome bloke named Neville Wonderfield. Who even was that? Suddenly, shed decided her life with Victor had been pure misery. Said hed «yoked her like a ploughhorse,» forced her to make roasts and fry bacon.
Though, credit where its dueEmilys bacon was divine.
Victor nearly choked on his own drool at the thought, then froze mid-shave. A wild idea struck him. Razor still in hand, he bolted into the hallway.
«Margaret Elizabeth! Margaret Elizabeth!»
«Whats all the shouting for?»
«Teach me how to make your Sunday roast. Please.»
«Oh, now he wants my secrets!»
«Whatre you gonna do with em in the afterlife, eh? Cook for the angels?»
«Cheeky sod.»
«Fair enough. Emilys roast is better than yours, anyway.»
«What?! I taught her everything she knows!»
«Yeah, well, the students outdone the teacher,» Victor called from the bathroom, abandoning all decency. It was Saturday, and hed been dragged out of bed at seven. Ghosts didnt respect weekends.
Margaret Elizabeth sputtered, flickering like a faulty bulb before finally settling onto a chair. Early on, shed tumbled through walls like a drunk acrobat, but shed learnedcould even pick things up now. Like slippers. For throwing.
«Listen here, you daft git. What meat does Emily use in her roast?»
«Beef, obviously.»
«Wrong! Its lamb!»
«Oh, and I spose its gotta be in that old cast-iron pot, not the new one?»
«Dont be thickyes, that one!»
By noon, Victor had a roast in the oven and a notebook full of scribbled instructions. Clean-shaven and smug, he took his first bite.
«Bloody hell…Mum. Youre a genius.»
«What?»
«This roast. Its…unbelievable.»
«What about Emilys?»
«Pfft. Doesnt hold a candle. Waitare you crying? Can ghosts even cry?»
«Dunno,» she sniffed. «Youre a right git, you are.»
«Oh, here we go. Whatve I done now?»
«Nothing. Just…called me Mum. Now Im blubbering. Victor, I was supposed to sort your life out.»
«Hows that?»
«Well…I was meant to send you out with the bins at half six, all clean and tidy. Then youd bump into Doris from number 42forty-seven, never married, just moved in. Sparksd fly, and…»
«…And?»
Her eyes darted like marbles. «Then Id…well, I could move on. That was the deal.»
«So youve known this whole time?»
«Course I have.»
«Why didnt you do it, then?»
«Because you,» she jabbed a spectral finger at him, «got all weepy over my roast! Now Im stuck here until youre happy.»
«Happy? You think Id be happy with some random Doris? I am happy. Im alive. Ive got the best roast recipe in the world. And Ive got youthe only ghost who nags me into showering. What more dyou want?»
«Go to hell,» she shrieked, vanishing into the wardrobe. Muffled sobs echoed from inside.
Victor sighed and grabbed a duster.
«Not like thatuse the yellow cloth, you muppet!»
***
Emily hadnt slept well. Kept dreaming of her mumyoung, radiant, reaching out to her.
She tried to watch Neville Wonderfields latest video, but it wouldnt load. So she video-called him instead. The man was a saint, available 24/7.
No answer.
«Hello?» A gravelly voice snarled. The screen lit up with a red, puffy face. «Who the devils calling at seven in the bloody morning? You off your rocker?»
Emily slammed the laptop shut. That…wasnt Neville.
She sat there, then grabbed her keys. She didnt know why, but she needed to see Victor.
***
Victor and Margaret Elizabeth were bent over a chessboard, cackling.
«Hes lost it,» Emily thought, watching her ex-husband playand arguewith thin air.
«Oi, Em! Your move, Mumcheckmate!»
Emily blinked. The chess pieces moved on their own.
«Lookin well, Em. Mum says youve lost weight. Not eatin? Fancy some roast?»
«Vic…are you okay?»
«Me? Never better. Mums teaching me her Yorkshire pudding next.»
«Vic…your mums been gone a year.»
«Yeah. Shes been livin with me since.»
«Vic…Vic, love, whats happening?»
«Im grand. Come on, try the roast.»
Emily, deciding not to argue with a madman, took a bite.
«…You made this?»
«Yep. Mums recipe.»
«Vic…you dont believe me, do you? That shes here?»
«Ask her something only you two would know.»
«Fine. Mum…what secret did I tell you in Year 4?»
«That you fancied…Wait, you fancied me back then?»
Emily collapsed into a chair.
«What colour was my pram? How old was I when my first tooth came in? Whos Auntie Marge?»
Every answer was spot-on.
«This isnt real…Vic, is she really here?»
«Yeah. Sort of. Mumshow yourself.»
For a split second, Emily saw her. Then flashesa smile, a wave.
«Shes fading, Em. Loves you, though. Wants you happy. Wants…us happy? Whats that mean, Mum? Waitwherere you?»
«Vic!» Emily jolted awake, gasping. Victor sat bolt upright beside her.
«Em?»
«Vic?» She yanked the duvet up. «I dont…how did I…Was that?»
«A dream,» Victor murmured.
«You too? Mum…as a ghost?»
«Yeah. And you left me for some life coach nutter»
«Vic!»
«Em!»
A fist pounded the door.
«Enough layabouting! Up, you lazy sods!»
«Mum?»
«Margaret Elizabeth? Youre…alive?»
«In your dreams. Emily, stop filling your head with that coach rubbish. Had the strangest dreamspent a year haunting this idiot. Were going to the cottage. Gonna sweat the nonsense out of you.»
She jabbed a finger at Victor. «And youlearn to make proper gravy. Just in case.»
***
«Vic…whyd you never call me Mum in thirty years with Emily?»
«Dunno…Mum. «Maybe I needed a ghost to teach me how to listen,» Victor said, handing her a cup of tea. «And maybe you needed a ghost to bring us back.» The kettle whistled in the background, just like it used to, and for the first time in years, the house felt full again.
