No Going Back (5 page)

Q
UESTIONS

A
long the corridor a door creaked. I heard the pad of slippers on the carpet that ran along the centre of the landing. Dad leaped off the stool and made a dash for the corner of the room.

“Laura!” Mum opened the door and stepped inside. “Are you all right? I thought I heard voices. Why is your light on? Can't you sleep?”

She sniffed the air.

“What's that smell? It reminds me of…”

She shook her head.

“No, it can't be.”

“What smell, Mum?”

She frowned.

“I just got a whiff of something. It smelled like your father's favourite aftershave.”

She shivered.

“Silly me. I'm imagining things.”

She stared at the pile of clothes in the middle of the floor. I expected her to say something but she looked distracted as she bent down and picked them up, draping everything back onto the chair. Then she spotted the goose.

“Oh dear, what's happened here?” I glanced at Dad, who appeared to be frantically trying to fade and not making a particularly good job of it from what I could see.

“I-I got up to go to the toilet and knocked it off.”

“Who were you talking to?”

I paused, wondering whether to tell her the truth but Dad was making panic-stricken gestures and mouthing, “No, no, no,” over and over again.

“No one,” I said, thinking that I sounded totally unconvincing. “I was probably saying things in my sleep.”

“You've never done that before,” Mum replied, bending down. “It must be all the stress.”

Tentatively she picked up the broken goose.

“Oh dear. You
have
made a mess of this. I think it's beyond repair.”

As she turned and walked towards the corner
to drop the pieces in the bin, Dad flattened himself against the wall with a look of alarm on his face. Surely she would see him and for some peculiar reason he didn't want her to.

“MUM! STOP!”

She turned back towards me and a little whoosh of relief filled the room as Dad wiped a hand theatrically across his forehead.

“Can you put the goose here?” I patted my bedside table. “Liberty gave it to me so it's special. I don't just want to chuck it. I'll look at it in the morning.”

She dropped the broken china onto a tissue and placed it next to me.

“Brr!” she said, shivering and pulling her dressing gown around her. “This room is so cold tonight. I can't think why. It's quite warm outside. Do you want a hot-water bottle?”

I lay back down, suddenly desperate to get rid of her, desperate to get Dad to myself before he disappeared into thin air.

“No, I'm good, thanks.”

She stroked my cheek.

“You do look pale. I hope you're not coming down
with something.”

She leaned over to kiss me.

“It's going to be all right, Laura, us living here, isn't it?”

I looked up into her soft, hazel eyes.

“Yes, Mum. I'm sure it's going to be fine.”

“I don't want you to feel that you're missing out on loads of excitement.”

I looked over her shoulder, towards Dad.

“Don't worry, Mum,” I said, faking a yawn and half closing my eyes. “I'm sure there'll be loads of exciting things happening. Just not quite what I'm used to.”

“Phew!” Dad murmured when she had gone. “That was a close call.”

I sat up in bed. He moved away from the corner, and shook himself as if to relieve some tension.

“She couldn't see you, could she?” I whispered.

“No, thank goodness. I wasn't sure if she'd be able to or not.”

“It's a pity. She'd have loved it. I'm sure she would.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“So why couldn't she see you and I can?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe it's to do with heightened sensitivity and expectations. As you said, you've been looking for me for a long time. You wanted to see me.”

“Do you think that you could make her see you?”

“Possibly, if I really wanted her to and she was open to it.”

“Why don't we try it? Why don't I point you out to her next time?”

“No!”

His tone was quite sharp. He began to pace up and down the room.

“No.” His voice was softer now but he was frowning. “You mustn't tell your mother about me, Laura. It must be our secret. Do you understand?”

He came to an abrupt standstill, staring at me, waiting for my answer. I wondered if our future depended upon what I said next. If I said no, would he disappear? I felt empty and weak at the thought of it, the way you feel when you've been ill and haven't eaten for a couple of days. So, although I didn't understand, I nodded, pretended that I did. “If that's
what you want.”

“It is. And I can't tell you anything about my life on The Other Side. So you mustn't ask.”

Suddenly uncertainty, maybe even distrust, hovered around his eyes.

“I just want you to stay,” I whispered. “Please. I won't tell Mum about you. I won't ask any awkward questions. I promise.”

He visibly relaxed and smiled. “That's my princess.”

I beamed at his praise and the hollow space inside of me was filled with happiness. He chucked my clothes on the floor again and arranged himself on the big, squashy chair. It was strange to watch, like seeing particles of dust dancing in sunlight or a swarm of bees swirling and whirling. “I'm going to make myself nice and comfy,” he said, “and I can watch over you all night long. Your mum used to do that when you were little and running a temperature. She'd camp at the side of your bed. Well, it's my turn now.”

“But I'm not tired. There are so many things I want to ask you.”

“It's late, Laura, and you always did need your sleep or you were very ratty in the morning.”

“That was then and this is now,” I protested.

But a yawn suddenly expanded inside of me. I tried to stop it by taking a sip of water. So many questions were jostling for attention inside my head. My brain felt like one of those candyfloss machines you see at the fair but this time the sugary strands were my thoughts whizzing around and around, increasing in volume until I thought my head would burst from the pressure. The yawn couldn't be resisted either. I put my hand to my mouth to try to hide it. He leaned forwards in the chair.

“I'll still be here in the morning, Laura. We've got plenty of time to catch up.” He placed a hand to his chest. “I promise.”

I lay down and closed my eyes.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Was that you at Liberty's house, pushing me through the front door? Were you that funny gust of wind?”

“You couldn't seem to make your mind up so
I thought I'd decide for you.”

“And when I left the cemetery, before we came to Marshington, I felt that someone was following me. Was that you too?”

“Uh huh!” he sighed.

“Have you been with me ever since that day?”

“Most of the time.”

“That's nice.”

“Good. Go to sleep now.”

“One more question.”

“What?”

I wondered if I detected a hint of irritation in that response. Perhaps he expected me to do exactly as I was told, as if I were still four years old. “How long
are
you staying for?”

He didn't answer for a moment. I shifted onto one elbow so I could see him better. He looked straight at me.

“For as long as you need me, Laura. That's how long I'll stay.”

“I'll need you for ever,” I whispered.

He just smiled. I wanted to get up, to touch him, to see what he felt like, if he felt of anything
at all, but I was afraid that if I did he might disappear so I settled down again in my bed, closed my eyes and tried to take in everything that had happened. It was the stuff of dreams. In a matter of minutes I had changed. I felt different. My daddy had come back to be here, with me, and if that could happen, anything seemed possible.

D
ISCOVERY

M
y eyes flipped open. Daylight flooded through the curtains. I looked at the chair. It was empty. I couldn't believe it. He had broken his promise! He had gone.

“Dad? Are you there?”

No reply, no misty shape standing on my carpet. So he had lied. Surely you'd be penalised for that in the afterlife? Weren't you meant to be free of all those human vices like telling porky pies? Wasn't your soul meant to be pure or was that all a myth and in fact you were just like you were in your land-locked days? Except Dad hadn't been a liar, had he?

I flopped back against my pillow, a tightness in my throat. Perhaps I'd imagined it all. The events of the previous night spooled through my brain like a YouTube video and suddenly to think that he had
been here, talking to me, seemed utterly ridiculous. But he
had
seemed so real and the disappointment that I felt searing through every cell in my body was definitely for real. I didn't even try to stop myself from crying.

“Don't be so stupid,” I said to myself, reaching for a tissue, my hand brushing the broken goose, which lay in pieces on my bedside table where Mum had left it. That goose looked at me with its beady eyes.

So
, it seemed to be saying,
not so sure now, are you? But if it didn't all happen as you originally thought, how did I get broken?

“You fell off the shelf,” I said out loud to the goose. “It's a funny house, sloping walls, sloping floors. You were too near the edge and you slipped. End of.”

The goose stared back, disbelievingly.

“Oh for goodness' sake,” I muttered. “I've been here for less than a day and I really am going completely mad.”

By the time I'd washed, dressed and not even bothered to double-check in the mirror for those spots that sprout in the night like evil little toadstools, I'd convinced myself that it was all a dream. A stupid,
energy-sapping, emotion-churning dream and I hated it. I never, ever wanted to have a dream like that again, to be left feeling so cheated, so completely flattened. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed quarter past eleven as I trudged down the stairs, ready to endure one of Gran's withering looks. She was sitting at the kitchen table, cheeks sucked in, lips pursed. She lifted her wrist and threw a meaningful look at Grandad's old watch.

“Don't start,” I muttered under my breath. “I'm really not in the mood.”

Then I stopped. My mouth fell open. Oh my God! It hadn't been a dream. He hadn't abandoned me. Dad was there, sitting at the table right next to Gran, and while she looked disapprovingly at me, he ladled four spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. He mouthed, “Good morning,” and with his free hand gave me a little wave.

“What are you gawping at?” Gran snapped.

She had no idea what was going on. Like Mum she obviously couldn't see him.

“Nothing,” I said. “It's just such a beautiful day, isn't it? I'm so happy.”

“I suppose it is if you can get out and about,” Gran retorted, picking up her mug with a slightly shaky hand. “And happiness doesn't last long, in my opinion.”

I pressed my lips together and watched as she drank some coffee.

“Ugh!” Gran almost spat a mouthful of hot liquid over the blue checked tablecloth.

Dad got up from his chair and stood next to the window, shivering with laughter.

“What have you done to this coffee?” she demanded as Mum emerged from the pantry. “It tastes like syrup.”

“I haven't done anything. It's the same as normal.”

“It's not.”

Dad was doubled up now. He was shaking so much I'm surprised the tablecloth didn't blow off the table, taking the crockery and fruit bowl with it. I was trying my best not to laugh too.

“Perhaps you forgot how much sugar you'd put in,” Mum said gently. “It's easily done.”

“It's my hip that's not healing, not my brain,” Gran snapped. “I know exactly how much sugar
I added.” She glared at me. “I don't know what you're smiling at, young lady. Is this your doing?”

“Mother, really! Laura's only just walked into the room. That's a bit uncalled for.”

I didn't hold my breath for an apology but Gran did look slightly shamefaced as she pushed the mug away.

“You know I like a cup and saucer, Liz. Even without all that sugar it wouldn't taste the same in a mug.”

Mum whisked the mug away and surreptitiously raised her eyebrows at me.

“You're looking better,” she said to me. “What do you fancy for breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” Gran chuntered. “She might as well wait for lunch.”

Dad had started doing a mean impression of Gran in full rant. I grabbed a packet of cereal from the pantry and frowned at him. How was I meant to pour my cornflakes into the bowl without spilling them, let alone eat in a civilised manner, with him doing a stand-up comedy routine in the background? Mum put another coffee in front
of Gran, this time in a delicate bone china cup and saucer. I leaned over and deliberately moved the sugar bowl towards me so Dad couldn't reach it. His bottom lip did an overly dramatic pout. I returned his expression with a headmistressy one of my own. As I ate and he paced the kitchen, running his fingers over various objects, I couldn't eat my cereal quickly enough. I wanted to get us both out of there so that I could have him all to myself.

“She hasn't changed,” Dad said as we walked down the village street. “She's still the same grumpy old biddy.”

“I've already sussed that you two didn't get on,” I replied.

“That's a bit of an understatement,” he chuckled, “not that I didn't try.”

Involuntarily I twisted my lips. “Really? That's not what
she
says.”

He stopped, put his hand to his heart area. “Of course I tried, Laura. How can you possibly think otherwise?”

He fell into step beside me again and I felt a warmth creep through me, despite the fact we were
walking on the shady side of the street. This was what it was like, walking with your dad, talking with your dad. Such simple things, something loads of people took for granted every day, but for me it was something I'd always dreamed of, something I'd believed would never happen. I'd often watched my friends and their fathers strolling down the street, chatting, laughing, teasing, leaning in towards each other, totally absorbed and at ease in each other's company. Even when they looked embarrassed or rolled their eyes because of something their dads had done or said I'd wanted to know what it felt like. Now I knew just what it was like having your dad right next to you and it was one of the best feelings I'd ever had. I wanted to bottle it and put it on my dressing table in one of those pretty enamel-topped scent bottles that Gran collected.

“The trouble was,” Dad continued, “your grandmother never thought that I was good enough.”

“Doesn't every mother think that about their daughter's husband or boyfriend?” I asked. “She
probably wasn't that keen on Uncle Pete either, to begin with.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you're right but I wouldn't be like that with you.”

“I bet you would.”

“No, I wouldn't. Have you got a boyfriend?”

I tilted my head, looked up at him. “Don't you know? I thought you knew everything about me.”

For a moment he seemed lost for words. “You're too young for boyfriends anyway,” he said. “You want to concentrate on your school work so you can get a good job. That's the way forward in your world, Laura – education.”

Now he was beginning to sound like a politician.

“It's a shame your gran didn't make me more welcome,” he said, a touch wistfully as he gazed at the stone houses with their slate roofs and hollyhock-filled front gardens. “I actually liked coming here but
she
always managed to spoil it.”

“At least you were only here for a few days at a time,” I said. “I'm trying to put on a brave face for Mum's sake but to be honest it's going to be a nightmare actually living with Gran. I
would
like
Mum to find a house for just the two of us as soon as possible.”

“I'll see what I can do,” he said with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm sure I can help things along. That's what I'm here for, to help.”

I stopped, leaned against a low stone wall and looked at him. He looked just the same as he did in the last photo taken of us together at the fair. He was tall, slim, good-looking and didn't look old enough to be the dad of a fourteen year old.

“I still can't believe that you're really here,” I said. “But I am glad, very glad.”

I wanted to put my arms around him, to feel what it was like to have a hug from him, but I held back and he didn't make the first move. Suddenly there was a touch of awkwardness between us.

“I'm glad that I'm here too,” he said softly. “We're going to have a lot of fun together.”

He smiled and the tension dissolved.

“I can feel it in my bones.”

“You don't have any bones,” I said with a laugh.

“So I don't! Well, I can feel it in my aura then.”

His edges shimmered with white mist but amongst it there were other colours, if you looked closely: patches of pale purple, specks of yellow, tadpole squiggles of green. As I watched, the mistiness expanded and reached towards me. I took a step backwards.

“Hey! What's happening?” I asked, fear stabbing at my stomach.

“It's fine, Laura,” he said. “Don't worry. It's like a virtual hug.”

“Oh!” I replied and stayed where I was, let the mist reach me. I'd expected it to be cold and damp but it was warm and soft as it touched my bare arms and legs and swirled up towards my face.

“This is nice,” I said, “but I'd rather have a real hug.”

“This is almost as good as a real hug,” Dad said.

Almost. It's one of those words which reeks of disappointment but the mist did feel soft and comforting. I closed my eyes and imagined a million tiny airborne kisses swirling around me. If I tilted my head to one side I could almost believe that Dad's cheek was resting against mine. “It's not quite the
same though, is it?” I said, opening my eyes.

Suddenly he looked really sad, as if he was about to cry. He shook his head.

“No. I'm sorry. It's not. I daren't give you a real hug. I don't know what will happen, whether it's safe.” I reached out instinctively and almost touched him. He jumped away.

“It doesn't matter,” I said, letting my arms slump to my sides. But of course it did matter and tears filled the corners of my eyes. Suddenly the virtual hug was too much, the mist was too dense, too claustrophobic, and yet at the same time it wasn't enough. My head was full of confusion and then a sort of tidal wave of dizziness seemed to sweep across my brain. I staggered, felt my knees begin to buckle and caught hold of the gatepost leading into the churchyard in the nick of time.

“Laura, are you all right?” Dad asked.

He was so close to me now I could have just put out my hand and touched him.

“I'm sorry. I upset you.”

I lifted my head slowly, dug my fingers into the stonework, feeling loose, gravelly chippings and
a little mound of moss beneath my skin. Over the top of the wall an auburn-haired boy was straightening up, shears in one hand, clipped grass scattered over his trainers. “Are you okay?” he called.

“Yes, fine,” I called with a slightly disembodied voice. “Just tripped, that's all.”

I felt like such a fool. He walked towards me.

“You sure you're okay?”

I nodded, sensed Dad getting edgy by my side. The boy didn't appear to be able to see him. His eyes were totally fixed on me and I felt myself blush. It must have been absolutely blaring out of my face, my neck, my chest, even spreading up into the roots of my hair.

“It's easily done,” the boy said. “These pavements are full of potholes. I've almost gone flying myself once or twice.” He had freckles and a smile that was so open it was disconcerting. Suddenly I was completely tongue-tied and I had no idea why. Boys didn't usually have this effect on me. “Are you new here?”

“Yes,” I replied.

It was all I could manage.

Something began tugging at my elbow. It was
as if I had a lasso around my arm, pulling me backwards. I didn't have to look around to know it was Dad.

“I've got to go,” I said. “Sorry.”

“What's your name?” the boy asked.

“Laura.”

“Hi, Laura.” His smile broadened and a dimple appeared at the bottom of his right cheek. It looked really cute. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

Was it a question or a statement? I wasn't sure. All the time I was backing away, being reeled in like some disobedient animal.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Maybe.”

I meant to sound cool but it just came out as unfriendly.

“Aargh!” I groaned when we were out of sight. “I sounded like an idiot and he was really nice.”

“Do you think so?” Dad asked, with a frown rippling his forehead. “I'm not sure I like the look of him.”

“Is that why you dragged me away?” I asked, shaking my arm and trying to free myself from the thread which I could now see was wound around
my wrist like one of those toddler straps or a dog lead.

“You shouldn't go talking to strangers,” he replied. “In fact, the more I think about it, the more suspect he seems.”

“No he doesn't. He looks perfectly normal. He might even be at the school I'm going to in September. Besides, he was working in the churchyard so surely he can't be that bad?”

Dad frowned. “Hmm,” he responded. “When I was young, teenage boys didn't hang around graveyards, clipping grass. He's bound to be up to no good. The minute we've gone he'll probably be ripping the lead off the porch roof or breaking in at the back of the church and stealing the silver. It's a good thing I'm here to protect you from people like that, Laura.”