«Oi, Tom, Tom… why’re you still asleep? You hear me? Up you get, or you’ll sleep your whole life away. Just look at him, will you? Still snoring… Thomas, get up, or you’ll sleep through your own fate, I’m telling you.»
«Margaret, for heaven’s sake, let me sleep!»
«Sleep? You’ll sleep enough when you’re retired.»
«Yeah, rightor in the afterlife.»
«Not a chance. Up you get, come on… well?»
Thomas blinked at himself in the mirror, red-eyed and groggy.
«Well?»
«Not even dressed. Go on, wash up, shave, make yourself presentable. Plenty of time yet. Move it.»
«What time, Margaret?»
«None of your cheek.»
Thomas shuffled off to the bathroom, muttering under his breaththough not too loud, or hed risk a slipper to the back of the head. Bloody woman, still bossing him about even nowhe thought bitterly.
«Tom, did I ever tell you? Sometimes I can hear what you’re thinking, eh? No? Just so you know.» Margaret had settled cross-legged on his bed, hovering slightly. «Side effect, you see. Now go on, wash up, brush your teeth properly, and dont forget to shave. You look like a proper vagrant.»
Arguing was pointless. Even in life, shed been impossible.
Margaret wasnt just any mother-in-lawshe was his *former* mother-in-law. And not quite ordinary, either. She was a ghost.
Right.
No, he hadnt lost his mind, nor drunk himself into delirium. One day, Margaret had just… appeared in his flat.
After shed been buried.
«I hear you, you know,» she said, floating closer. «Nearly always. How did my Lucy put up with you? Youre a proper dinosaur, you are.»
Thomas waved her off and trudged to the bathroom.
He and Lucy had divorced a year ago. The kids were grown, off living their own lives. Lucy had snapped one day, called him a tyrant, said he stifled her growth as a person, stuffed her things in a bag, and slammed the door on her way out.
Thomas had stood there, baffled.
Hed called her. Shed said she wanted nothing to do with a «backwards-minded misogynist» like himwords hed never been called before.
And how, Lucy asked, could he *stop* being backwards-minded? When his literal job was building housesand sheds, and extensions, and the like. Odd woman, that Lucy. And foul-mouthed now, too.
Turns out shed been listening to some life coachwhat even were those?and decided her life with Thomas had been pure misery. That hed yoked her like a horse to a plough, forced her to cook stews and fry sausages.
Though, God, the way Lucy made her sausages…
Thomas nearly choked on his own drool. Then, mid-shave, an idea struck him. Half his face still lathered, he bolted into the hall.
«Margaret… Margaret!»
«What? Whatre you shouting for?»
«Margaret, teach me to make your stew. Please?»
«Oh, sure, just like that! Hand over my secret recipe?»
«Whatll you need it for, eh? Cooking for demons?»
«Pah. Rude.»
«Fair enough… Lucys is better than yours.»
«Ha! As if. *I* taught her, you know.»
«And yet,» Thomas called from the bathroom, not bothering with the door, «she outdid you.»
Margaret bristled, flickering like a faulty bulb before settling on a chair. (Shed been hopeless at first, tumbling about like a circus act, but shed gotten the hang of iteven learned to grip things. Like slippers.)
«I taught Lucy, you daft sod.»
«Im not arguing. Just saying the student surpassed the teacher.»
«What?! Go on, thenwhat meat does Lucy use in her stew?»
«Pork, obviously.»
«Absolute rubbish. Its beef.»
«Oh, right. Next youll say its got to be *that* pot, not *this* one.»
«Youre off your head. *That* one!»
So, between bickering and scribbling notes, Thomas cooked the stew.
He sat at the kitchen table, clean-shaven, eating the most glorious stew hed ever tasted.
«Mum… youre a genius.»
«What?»
«Your stew. Its… perfect.»
«What about Lucys?»
«Pfft. Doesnt hold a candle. Waitare you *crying*? Can ghosts cry?»
«Dunno,» Margaret sniffed. «Youre rotten, Tom.»
«Now hang onwhatve I done *this* time?»
«Nothin. Just… called me Mum. Now Im blubbering. Tom, I was supposed to sort your fate out.»
«Hows that?»
«I… meant to send you out with the bins. Clean, shaved, at half-six. And from next door, Geraldineforty-seven, never married, just moved inshed be leaving too. Youd bump into her, quite literally, and…»
«Right… and then?»
«Nothin, Tom.» Her eyes dartedone up, one sideways.
«Spit it out, Margaret.»
«Well… youd… *ahem*… and then I couldve… flown off. That was the deal.»
«What deal?»
«To make you happy.»
«So youve known all this, since you popped up a year ago?»
«Course.»
«Why didnt you do it, then?»
Her eyes twitched again. «Because youwith your bloody stew nonsenseruined it!»
«*Me?*»
«You! Now Im stuck here, heaven knows how long, till I… till I…»
«Till what?»
«Till I make you happy, thats what!»
«Happy? Seriously? Who decided Id be happy with some strange woman? Im happier than you think.»
«Hows that?»
«Im alive. Breathing. Ive got the recipe for the best stew on earth. And Ive got *you*keeping me fed, clean, from rotting away in my own gloom. Im not lonely. Ive got you… Mum.»
«Oh, bugger off,» Margaret shrieked, vanishing into the wardrobe, where muffled sobs and wails carried on.
Thomas decided to tidy up.
«Good grief, look how youre cleaning that mirror. Use *that* cloth, you daft thing…»
***
Lucy hadnt slept well. Shed dreamt of her motheryoung, beautiful, reaching out, calling her name.
Shed tried watching her life coach, Desmond Marvellous, but the video wouldnt load. So she rang him.
The divine man whod opened her eyes to lifeavailable 24/7.
Desmond didnt pick up.
«Hello?» A gravelly voice crackled through. A red-faced brute scowled from the screen. «Who the *hell* calls at seven in the morning? Lost your marbles?»
Lucy snapped the laptop shut. No, nothat *couldnt* be Desmond. Some foul imposter.
She sat there, then decidedfor no reason she could nameto go to Thomass flat.
***
Thomas and Margaret were playing chess, laughing loudly.
«Gone completely mad,» Lucy thought, watching her ex-husband chat and chuckle with… no one.
«Oi, Lucy! Your move, Mumaha! Check!»
Lucy swore the chess pieces moved on their own.
What fresh madness was this?
«You look well, Lucy. Though Mum says youve gone thin. Not eating? Fancy some stew? Mums special.»
«Tom… are you all right?»
«Me? Why wouldnt I be? Mums promised to teach me her sausage recipe next.»
«Tom… what mum? Shes… been gone a year.»
«Uh-huh. Shes lived with me since.»
«Tom… love, whats happened to you?»
«Never better, Luce. Come on, stews getting cold.»
Lucy decided humouring a madman was safest.
The stew *was* there. And the smellGod, just like Mums.
«Tom… you made this?»
«Yeah. Mum shared her secret. Oh, stop crying, Margaret. You… you dont believe shes here? Lucy, ask her something only you two would know.»
«Tom, Im calling someone»
«Wait. You think Ive lost it. Just ask.»
«Mum… what secret did I tell you in Year Three?»
«That you fancied… *what*? You fancied me *then*?»
Lucy sat down hard.
«What colour was my pram? When did my first tooth come in? Whos Auntie Mabel?»
Every answer was right.
«This cant be… Tom. My mum… shes *really* here?»
«Yeah. Just… not quite solid. Shes a ghost, Luce. Mumshow yourself.»
For a flickering second, Lucy saw her. Then again.
«Shes losing energy, Luce. But she loves you. Wants you happy. Wants *us* happy. Whats that mean, Margaret? Waitwherere you?»
«Mum!»
Thomas woke with a shout. Lucy jolted upright beside him.
«Lucy?»
«Tom?» She clutched the sheets. «I dont understand how this… Wait. Was that…?»
«A dream,» Thomas whispered.
«You dreamed it too? That Mum was a ghost… That I left you for some life coach…»
«Tom!»
«Lucy!»
A fist hammered the door.
«Honestly! Still in bed? Up, the pair of you!»
«Mum?»
«Margaretyoure *alive*?»
«In your dreams. Lucy, stop watching that nonsenselife coaches, my foot. Had the strangest dream, living with you two for a year as a ghost. Now get dressed. Were going to the cottage. Plenty of work. Knock some sense into you, Lucy. And you, Tomyoure learning to cook. Just in case…»
***
«Tom… in thirty years with Lucy, whyd you never call me Mum before?»
«Dunno… Mum. «Maybe I needed you to haunt me first to figure it out.»
Margaret sniffed, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron. «Took you long enough.»
Outside, the sun rose over the cottage roof, and for the first time in years, the kitchen filled with the smell of sausages, laughter, and something like forgiveness.
