can’t he contact him? Or is Pete resisting? Can spirits resist?’
Gordon takes off his glasses, placing them on his lap, and strokes his face with both hands. ‘Listen to yourself, Grace. You’re not making any sense. There’s no such thing as ghosts. How much did the charlatan fleece you?’
She remains silent. Lying to him
was
the answer.
Too late now.
‘Well, however much it was,’ he says, shaking his head, ‘you might as well have just torn the money up and flushed it down the drain. I can hardly believe my own ears. Why would he be haunting you now? After all this time?’
‘I knew you’d react like this.’
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation, Grace. But you need to see a proper doctor, not some bloody witch doctor.’
She wishes she could take the words back, even though at the same time she’s glad to know now, finally, how far apart they’ve grown. Or perhaps have always been.
‘You want your head examining, you really do,’ he says.
The muted weatherman gesticulates on the television screen beside her. Suddenly frightened, she says, ‘It’s not like before, I promise.’
At that moment, to add to her shame, she starts to cry. Gordon stands up and for a second she thinks he is going to comfort her. Instead he walks towards the bathroom door, and she rages within, and cries even more.
He says, ‘I’m sure there must be some medication they can give you for that.’
It’s my heart that’s sick, not my head,
she wants to say.
By the time he returns she has pulled herself together enough to try again.
‘It’s your understanding I need right now, Gordon, not your judgement.’
‘I’m not judging you,’ he says, returning to his seat.
‘Yes, you are; I can see it in your face: you think I’m losing my mind again, but I’m not – honestly I’m not. It’s nothing like before. It just shook me up a bit, you know, seeing someone who reminded me of Pete. That’s all. It unnerved me, but I’m all right now, really I am.’
She keeps her voice moderate and light, not wanting to appear any more insane than she fears she already must, wondering what on earth had possessed her to tell him – and why the hell had she used the word ‘ghost’? She looks at him and twists her mouth in a smile she doesn’t feel. He doesn’t return it.
‘I fail to understand why you’d waste your time giving that bastard a second’s thought after what he did to you,’ he says.
‘Forget I said anything,’ she says, riven by something approaching knowledge. She clicks the sound back on the television and resumes her position at the kitchen counter.
DAY FOUR
‘HOW ARE YOU feeling this morning?’ Gordon says when she opens her eyes.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You were whimpering in your sleep again. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? I’m really worried about you.’
‘Please, Gordon, will you stop going on about doctors?’ she says, standing up and pulling on her bathrobe. ‘I think I know my own mind!’
‘Are you quite sure about that? You think seeing the ghost of your dead husband is normal?’
She goes to the bathroom and bolts the door, running the shower to drown out the sobs that begin to rasp out of her. Morning light filters through the patterned glass, muting everything. There’s a sudden volley of banging on the door, followed by Gordon shouting for her to come out.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snaps, ransacking the cabinet for some Valium she knows is in there somewhere, suddenly reminded of the day, a year ago, when she’d asked the doctor for something to help her cope. Andthey had, for a while. She counts them. Eighteen 10mg tablets. Enough? She takes one and replaces the box, closes the cabinet door; stares at her bloodless reflection, looks deep into the black of her pupils, trying to find someone she can recognise. She wipes her tears, blows her nose, and lets the diazepam do its subtle work as she showers. Succumbs to the dull fug of
Gordon takes off his glasses, placing them on his lap, and strokes his face with both hands. ‘Listen to yourself, Grace. You’re not making any sense. There’s no such thing as ghosts. How much did the charlatan fleece you?’
She remains silent. Lying to him
was
the answer.
Too late now.
‘Well, however much it was,’ he says, shaking his head, ‘you might as well have just torn the money up and flushed it down the drain. I can hardly believe my own ears. Why would he be haunting you now? After all this time?’
‘I knew you’d react like this.’
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation, Grace. But you need to see a proper doctor, not some bloody witch doctor.’
She wishes she could take the words back, even though at the same time she’s glad to know now, finally, how far apart they’ve grown. Or perhaps have always been.
‘You want your head examining, you really do,’ he says.
The muted weatherman gesticulates on the television screen beside her. Suddenly frightened, she says, ‘It’s not like before, I promise.’
At that moment, to add to her shame, she starts to cry. Gordon stands up and for a second she thinks he is going to comfort her. Instead he walks towards the bathroom door, and she rages within, and cries even more.
He says, ‘I’m sure there must be some medication they can give you for that.’
It’s my heart that’s sick, not my head,
she wants to say.
By the time he returns she has pulled herself together enough to try again.
‘It’s your understanding I need right now, Gordon, not your judgement.’
‘I’m not judging you,’ he says, returning to his seat.
‘Yes, you are; I can see it in your face: you think I’m losing my mind again, but I’m not – honestly I’m not. It’s nothing like before. It just shook me up a bit, you know, seeing someone who reminded me of Pete. That’s all. It unnerved me, but I’m all right now, really I am.’
She keeps her voice moderate and light, not wanting to appear any more insane than she fears she already must, wondering what on earth had possessed her to tell him – and why the hell had she used the word ‘ghost’? She looks at him and twists her mouth in a smile she doesn’t feel. He doesn’t return it.
‘I fail to understand why you’d waste your time giving that bastard a second’s thought after what he did to you,’ he says.
‘Forget I said anything,’ she says, riven by something approaching knowledge. She clicks the sound back on the television and resumes her position at the kitchen counter.
DAY FOUR
‘HOW ARE YOU feeling this morning?’ Gordon says when she opens her eyes.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You were whimpering in your sleep again. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? I’m really worried about you.’
‘Please, Gordon, will you stop going on about doctors?’ she says, standing up and pulling on her bathrobe. ‘I think I know my own mind!’
‘Are you quite sure about that? You think seeing the ghost of your dead husband is normal?’
She goes to the bathroom and bolts the door, running the shower to drown out the sobs that begin to rasp out of her. Morning light filters through the patterned glass, muting everything. There’s a sudden volley of banging on the door, followed by Gordon shouting for her to come out.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snaps, ransacking the cabinet for some Valium she knows is in there somewhere, suddenly reminded of the day, a year ago, when she’d asked the doctor for something to help her cope. Andthey had, for a while. She counts them. Eighteen 10mg tablets. Enough? She takes one and replaces the box, closes the cabinet door; stares at her bloodless reflection, looks deep into the black of her pupils, trying to find someone she can recognise. She wipes her tears, blows her nose, and lets the diazepam do its subtle work as she showers. Succumbs to the dull fug of
Similar Books
