**Diary Entry**
Bloody hell, another morning.
«Vic, Vic wake up, will you? Look at yousleeping your life away!»
I groaned, pulling the duvet over my head. «Martha, for heavens sake, its my day off.»
«Youll sleep your life away, mark my words. Up you get!»
«Or what? Sleep forever in the grave?»
«Not if I have anything to do with it. Now, wash up, shave, and make yourself decent. Chop-chop!»
I dragged myself to the bathroom, muttering under my breath. One wrong word, and shed chuck a slipper at me. Dead or not, she still had impeccable aim.
«Vic, did I ever tell you I can hear what youre thinking?» Marthas voice floated through the door. «Perks of being a ghost, I suppose. Now scrub properlyyou look like a vagrant.»
Arguing was pointless. My ex-mother-in-law had been stubborn in life, and death hadnt softened her.
Yes, ghost. No, I hadnt lost my mind. One day, she just appeared. Three months after the funeral.
«I hear your thoughts, you know,» she mused, drifting through the wall like smoke. «Honestly, how did my Emily put up with you? Youre a relic, Vic. A proper dinosaur.»
I waved her off and splashed cold water on my face.
Emily and I divorced last year. The kids were grown, living their own lives. One day, she packed a suitcase, called me a «Neanderthal,» and stormed out. Said I stifled her «personal growth.» Whatever that meant.
Id rung her later, baffled. Shed spat words like «misogynist» and «tyrant» before hanging up. Me? A tyrant? All I did was build houses for a living. Bloody coaches filling her head with nonsense.
And yet God, I missed her roast dinners.
Halfway through shaving, an idea struck. I bolted to the hallway. «Martha! Martha, teach me to make a proper roast!»
«Over my deadoh, wait.» She huffed. «Why should I?»
«Whatll you do with the recipe in the afterlife? Haunt a pub kitchen?»
«Cheeky sod. Emilys roast was better than mine anyway.»
«Exactly. So teach me.»
«She learned from *me*!» Martha bristled, floating indignantly. It took her weeks to handle objectsnow she could chuck a slipper with Olympic precision.
«Pfft. Student surpassed the teacher.»
«What?!» Her form flickered. «Tell me, geniuswhat cut does Emily use for her roast?»
«Beef, obviously.»
«Lamb, you daft git! And never in *that* pan*this* one!»
Two hours later, I sat at the kitchen table, clean-shaven, scribbling notes like a schoolboy. The roast was sublime.
«Mum youre a genius.»
«What?»
«Your recipe. Emilys doesnt come close.»
«Really?» Her voice wobbled. «Blimey. Ghosts arent supposed to cry.»
«Didnt stop you.»
«You rotten little» She vanished into the cupboard, wailing.
I smirked and started tidying.
«Not like that! Use the blue cloth, Vichonestly!»
***
Emily tossed all night, dreaming of her motheryoung, vibrant, reaching for her.
She reached for her life coachs latest video, but the Wi-Fi was rubbish. She dialled instead.
«Who the hell calls at seven on a Sunday?!» a groggy voice snarled.
She slammed the laptop shut. That wasnt Terrance.
An odd urge pulled her to Vics flat. She didnt know why.
***
I was mid-laugh over chess when Emily walked in.
«Vic who are you talking to?»
«Mum says youve lost weight. Fancy some roast?»
Emily paled. «Vic your mums *dead*.»
«Tell that to her.» The chess pieces slid on their own.
She asked questions only Martha could answerchildhood secrets, family quirks. Each reply hit like a hammer.
Then, just for a second, Martha flickered into view.
«Shes fading, Em,» I whispered. «She just wanted you happy. *Us* happy.»
Marthas voice echoed faintly before vanishing. «Look after him, love.»
I jolted awake. Emily gasped beside me.
«Vic did you just dream about»
«your mum haunting us? Yeah.»
A fist pounded the door. «Up, you layabouts! Were going to the countryside. Vic, youre learning to roast properly. Emily, no more daft coaches!»
Emily blinked. «Mum? Youre alive?»
Martha snorted. «Ghost? Dont be ridiculous. Now move it!»
As we scrambled, I caught Marthas eye.
«Vic whyd you never call me ‘Mum’ in thirty years?»
«Dunno.» I grinned. «Force of habit *Mum*. The car rumbled to life, Martha humming an old tune from the back seat. Emily twisted around, staring at her mothers familiar face, alive and scolding and wonderful. The roads unwound before us, golden in the morning light. For the first time in years, the silence between us wasnt heavyit was warm, like a blanket fresh from the dryer. And when Martha reached forward to ruffle my hair, I didnt flinch. I just smiled, and kept driving.
