Read Online Dead Romantic by Ruth Saberton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Saberton
Tags: Humor, Fiction, Chick lit, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Humour, Genre Fiction, Bestseller, supernatural, London, Romantic Comedy, Research, Friendship, Women's Fiction, Christmas, Novel, Egypt, love, Parents, musician, Holidays, Ghost, Romantic, millionaire, Pharaoh, haunted, cat, Celebrity, best seller, professor, spirit guide, rock star, medium, bestselling, physic, spooky, ghost story, Egyptology, top 100, top ten, Celebs, Ruth Saberton, Mummy, Mummified, Ghostly, Tutankhamun, feline, Pyrimad, Ghoul, spiritguide, Tomb, egyptian, Pyrimads, Paranornormal
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ofThorne before.I was in Egypt when they were taking Britpop by storm, and now that I have heard of them Alex is dead and the band is finished. Maybe I do need to see a head-trauma specialist.
My hands, resting on the computer keys, are chilly and stiff. The tip of my nose feels cold too and my breath is making clouds. The heating must have gone off or something. Maybe the electric’s up the creek again? The TV seems to be on the blink too: ITV2 has vanished in a snowstorm of static. I burrow deeper under the duvet and stare at the computer screen, where a guy stands on stage, arms raised in salute as he grins at the camera. That’s him. No doubt about it. Alex Thorne. The guy who saved my life.
Or rather, the guy I imagined saved my life, since Alex Thorne is nothing more than a figment of an imagination I never even knew I had.
Oh God. I am going mad; that’s the only explanation. How can I conjure up someone I’ve never even heard of unless… unless…
“No way,” I whisper. “It’s impossible.”
“No it isn’t. It’s perfectly possible.”
Alex Thorne, dead rock star and invention of my troubled mind, is sitting in the armchair by the window, grinning at me. One leather-trousered leg is crossed over his knee, and hair as dark as molasses falls across his pale face. The cat leaps up from my lap, hissing and spitting at Alex before tearing from the room.
“I never really was a cat person,” says Alex.
“You’re just a figment of my imagination.” I say slowly. “I bumped my head and this is a side effect. It says so on Wikipedia.”
“Total bollocks,” he says airily. “Besides, everyone knows wikis are a crap source of information. Someone as brainy as you really ought to know better.”
I search frantically for a logical explanation. “This is my memory playing tricks on me because of the injury. There’s no way I can see you because… because…”
I trail off miserably. There is no logical answer. For the first time in my life I’m well and truly at a loss. Thank goodness Susie isn’t here.
“Go on, you can say it. You can’t see me because I’m dead? It’s OK. I’m over being upset about that now. I won’t say it isn’t annoying because it bloody well is, but I’m kind of used to being a ghost.” Alex’s eyes crinkle and a dimple dances in his cheek. “We have all kinds of fun.”
“But ghosts don’t exist!”
“Obviously they do, Cleo, otherwise you and I wouldn’t be chatting now,” says Alex reasonably. “Pinch yourself if you think you’re dreaming.”
Obediently I pinch myself very hard on the arm. “Ouch!”
“I’m still here,” says Alex while I rub my arm. “Please don’t self-harm any more on my account. Can’t you just accept it?”
“No, I can’t!” I snap. “It’s impossible. When you’re dead, you’re dead. Life’s just a chemical reaction.”
He looks amazed. “Surely you don’t really believe that? Life’s far more than chemical reactions.” He leans forward and fixes me with a bright emerald stare. “Why couldn’t I have attached myself to some nice dippy hippy like your flatmate?”
“Yes, why me?” I ask, pulling my duvet up to my chin because the room’s icy cold now. “Hypothetically speaking, of course, since I know this is just a hallucination.”
Alex rubs his forehead with the heels of his hands and sighs. “If I told you, you’d never believe me.”
“Try me,” I say.
“Maybe you’re a psychic? That’d explain it.”
I laugh so hard at this that my head hurts even more. “Hardly. I don’t believe in ghosts, remember?”
Alex shrugs. “And? That wouldn’t matter if you were naturally psychic. Even if you didn’t believe in us, you’d still have the ability to see ghosts.”
I think about Mrs Collins in the hospital and that poor pacing doctor. How had I seen them? Me, a psychic like that lunatic Lilac Delaney? Surely not?
Alex’s jade eyes narrow and he leans forward. “You have seen
My hands, resting on the computer keys, are chilly and stiff. The tip of my nose feels cold too and my breath is making clouds. The heating must have gone off or something. Maybe the electric’s up the creek again? The TV seems to be on the blink too: ITV2 has vanished in a snowstorm of static. I burrow deeper under the duvet and stare at the computer screen, where a guy stands on stage, arms raised in salute as he grins at the camera. That’s him. No doubt about it. Alex Thorne. The guy who saved my life.
Or rather, the guy I imagined saved my life, since Alex Thorne is nothing more than a figment of an imagination I never even knew I had.
Oh God. I am going mad; that’s the only explanation. How can I conjure up someone I’ve never even heard of unless… unless…
“No way,” I whisper. “It’s impossible.”
“No it isn’t. It’s perfectly possible.”
Alex Thorne, dead rock star and invention of my troubled mind, is sitting in the armchair by the window, grinning at me. One leather-trousered leg is crossed over his knee, and hair as dark as molasses falls across his pale face. The cat leaps up from my lap, hissing and spitting at Alex before tearing from the room.
“I never really was a cat person,” says Alex.
“You’re just a figment of my imagination.” I say slowly. “I bumped my head and this is a side effect. It says so on Wikipedia.”
“Total bollocks,” he says airily. “Besides, everyone knows wikis are a crap source of information. Someone as brainy as you really ought to know better.”
I search frantically for a logical explanation. “This is my memory playing tricks on me because of the injury. There’s no way I can see you because… because…”
I trail off miserably. There is no logical answer. For the first time in my life I’m well and truly at a loss. Thank goodness Susie isn’t here.
“Go on, you can say it. You can’t see me because I’m dead? It’s OK. I’m over being upset about that now. I won’t say it isn’t annoying because it bloody well is, but I’m kind of used to being a ghost.” Alex’s eyes crinkle and a dimple dances in his cheek. “We have all kinds of fun.”
“But ghosts don’t exist!”
“Obviously they do, Cleo, otherwise you and I wouldn’t be chatting now,” says Alex reasonably. “Pinch yourself if you think you’re dreaming.”
Obediently I pinch myself very hard on the arm. “Ouch!”
“I’m still here,” says Alex while I rub my arm. “Please don’t self-harm any more on my account. Can’t you just accept it?”
“No, I can’t!” I snap. “It’s impossible. When you’re dead, you’re dead. Life’s just a chemical reaction.”
He looks amazed. “Surely you don’t really believe that? Life’s far more than chemical reactions.” He leans forward and fixes me with a bright emerald stare. “Why couldn’t I have attached myself to some nice dippy hippy like your flatmate?”
“Yes, why me?” I ask, pulling my duvet up to my chin because the room’s icy cold now. “Hypothetically speaking, of course, since I know this is just a hallucination.”
Alex rubs his forehead with the heels of his hands and sighs. “If I told you, you’d never believe me.”
“Try me,” I say.
“Maybe you’re a psychic? That’d explain it.”
I laugh so hard at this that my head hurts even more. “Hardly. I don’t believe in ghosts, remember?”
Alex shrugs. “And? That wouldn’t matter if you were naturally psychic. Even if you didn’t believe in us, you’d still have the ability to see ghosts.”
I think about Mrs Collins in the hospital and that poor pacing doctor. How had I seen them? Me, a psychic like that lunatic Lilac Delaney? Surely not?
Alex’s jade eyes narrow and he leans forward. “You have seen
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