Tamsyn Murray-Afterlife 01 My So-Called Afterlife (10 page)

When I woke up the next morning, Jeremy had hidden the remote.

‘I’ll find it,’ I called over the noise of the shower. ‘I’ll use my special supernatural senses.’

‘Have you got any supernatural senses?’ he asked a few minutes later when he came into the living room, dabbing his head with a towel.

‘Might have.’ I tossed my long hair over my shoulder airily. ‘Who knows what I’m capable of? I may have hidden depths.’

‘See if you can put some of them to good use and work out a way to persuade Elvira you don’t exist.’

I searched the room through narrowed eyes. ‘I think
better when I’m watching TV.’

Jeremy snorted, unconvinced. ‘Why don’t you head over to the Dearly D? Hep might come up with an idea.’

If I knew Hep, she’d have all kinds of suggestions about how to get rid of the film crew. I wasn’t sure if acting out another bloodbath in my toilets was a good idea, though.

‘I could just text her,’ I pointed out, peering under the sofa.

‘Lucy . . .’ he warned.

‘Fine.’ I snatched the remote from behind a cushion and bobbed my head vigorously. ‘I’ll go and find her. As soon as I’ve caught up on season five of this show.’

‘What I don’t understand is why Elvira’s got it in for you.’ Hep and I were at the deserted park near to the Dearly D, seeing who could push their swing the highest. ‘Was she haunted as a child?’

It had been bothering me too, ever since our run-in at the theatre. For someone who claimed to be psychic, she didn’t have much of an affinity with ghosts. ‘I think she wants to be famous. Jeremy told me she used to be an actress. Maybe she thinks capturing me on camera will help her career.’

Hep’s swing soared skywards. ‘We could find out where she lives and make her life a living hell? I’ve always wanted to put my fist through a TV.’

Sometimes I forgot Hep’s state of extreme anger. Tempting though the idea might have been, it was probably
bad karma. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the next plane, but I did plan to get there eventually. In my imagination, it was an amazing place, with wall-to-wall television, gigantic bean-bags and as much Ben and Jerry’s as I could eat. I wasn’t about to risk my place there by terrorising the living, even if she deserved it.

A gang of hoodies was approaching the play area, swearing and shouting and generally being objectionable. I shifted uncomfortably, glad we were invisible.

‘What we need is some kind of distraction,’ I said, allowing my swing to slow down and stepping back. ‘Something to take the heat off me.’

‘Or someone who’ll enjoy the attention.’ Hep watched as one of the boys started kicking the swing and another two tried to wrench the roundabout out of the ground. ‘I think I know just the person.’

‘Who?’ I asked warily.

Hep waited until the boy nearest to us was squarely in line with the swing, then let rip with an almighty kick at the rubber seat. It connected firmly with the back of his head. He flew forwards, scattering the rest of the posse and causing a whole cluster of swearing to fill the air. They scrambled to their feet, staring wildly around for a moment, then ran for it. Hep grunted in satisfaction, her internal thermometer temporarily lowered. ‘Someone who loves being the centre of attention and is every bit as devious as Elvira.’

My eyes met Hep’s. ‘Kimberly.’ The more I thought
about it, the more I smiled. ‘Poor Elvira. She’s got no idea what she’s let herself in for.’

I could hardly blame Kimberly for being suspicious when we caught up with her at the entrance of the Dearly D that evening. Wouldn’t you be, if your arch-enemies suggested you volunteer to throw your afterlife into turmoil for the sake of fifteen minutes of fame?

‘So let me get this straight,’ she said, looking from Hep, to Ryan, to me. ‘You want me to turn myself into some kind of freak show to take the heat off you?’

I shook my head mournfully at the others. ‘I told you she wouldn’t be up for it. Not everyone can cope with the pressure of being a national television star.’

‘You’ll just have to put up with it, Lucy,’ Hep sighed. ‘I know it’s a pain having Finlay West hanging on your every move, but there’s nothing you can do. Or maybe someone else will be interested. Who’s next on our list?’

It was all part of our carefully laid plan. Finlay West was the gorgeous presenter of
The Ghost’s the Host
. I hadn’t seen him hanging round the day before, but if they did get permission to film, it could only be a matter of time before he turned up. Hep was convinced Kimberly wouldn’t pass up the chance to be the centre of Finlay’s attention. I could practically hear the cogs whirring as she thought it over.

Ryan thought for a few seconds. ‘Amanda Sawyer,’ he said, referring to Kimberly’s hated rival for the queen bee
crown. ‘I’m sure she’ll want to help out, and I think I just saw her go in.’

The three of us turned to leave.

‘Wait,’ Kimberly said. ‘Did I say I wouldn’t do it?’

We exchanged long looks.‘I don’t know, ’ I shook my head in doubt. ‘The more I think about it, the more I think Amanda would be perfect.’

The suggestion that an opportunity to show off might be slipping away was enough to convince Kimberly. ‘OK, I’m in. What do you want me to do?’

There are a few things I don’t mind about being dead. Sitting in the super-comfortable deluxe seats in the cinema for free is one, although it’s no fun when the world’s most enormous man unknowingly sits on you – oh, how we laughed about that one. Wandering about without a coat in the rain without fear of a soaking is another perk. On that wet afternoon, almost every other soul around me was huddled under an umbrella or turning up the collar of their jacket. I, on the other hand, could cheerfully splash through puddles without the fear of soggy feet or a dreaded frizz attack on my painstakingly straightened hair.

We were on our way back from St Mary’s churchyard in Islington, after a check in at the toilet first. Ryan had told me Kimberly had died of a fatal reaction to a bee sting on
a dare gone wrong in the very graveyard she was now buried in. It was a pleasant enough spot in the daytime, but I could imagine it got seriously creepy at night, exactly the kind of place a paranormal television show would go nuts for.

The idea behind Operation: Elvira was simple. Jeremy was going to go for a drink with Elvira and confide in her about a teenage ghost he was helping. He’d already quizzed her to see how much she knew about my murder and discovered she’d moved to London months after the crime. Since Elvira didn’t know much about me other than my suspected home, we hoped she’d swallow everything Jeremy told her. Then he’d lead her to the grave, Kimberly would find a way of proving her existence and Elvira would rush back to inform the producer of
The Ghost’s the Host
. Before we could say ‘cheesy TV presenter’, Finlay West would be oozing all over her like a melted Starburst. It was genius. If Elvira asked Jeremy about the toilet, he was under strict instructions to ‘confess’ he’d been meeting his boyfriend down there. It was the only part of the plan he didn’t like.

‘Can’t I just tell her the toilets are on my way home and handy for when I need to go? It’s actually the truth.’

I sighed as we joined the crowd waiting to cross Charing Cross Road. ‘It doesn’t explain why you spend anything up to a couple of hours down there.’ He looked unconvinced so I went on. ‘Put it this way. Do you think anyone is going to be asking more questions after you’ve dropped that little bombshell on them?’

He took my point. ‘For the record, I’m not gay.’

A woman in front turned underneath her umbrella and tutted sympathetically. ‘Denial isn’t the answer, love. You’ll feel much better once you come out.’

Jeremy compressed his mouth into a flat line and said nothing. Unable to help myself, I smirked all the way back to his flat.

After two days part-time exposure to my channel-hopping ways, interrupted only when I headed back to the toilet to recharge, Jeremy was keen to regain possession of the remote control. He arrived home after work to tell me Elvira had taken the bait. He hadn’t stuck to the plan, though. He’d improvised.

‘I offered to take her there tomorrow evening before work. She wanted to see if she could pick up Kimberly’s vibes.’

Remembering her reaction to me, I had a momentary pang of guilt for Kimberly. Then I recalled what she’d done to me and decided she and Elvira deserved each other.

‘You do realise you’re going to have to invent a boyfriend now so she doesn’t get suspicious? How about calling him Romeo?’

He shook his head. ‘Not necessary. She didn’t ask.’

I grinned. ‘That’s even worse, she was being polite. I think she’d already guessed.’

‘Can I remind you that this is only a cover story?’ Jeremy replied, sighing. ‘I might have a lot of gay friends, but I
am
actually straight.’

‘You don’t have to keep telling me, I’m not the one who needs convincing. Let’s hope Elvira doesn’t tell the whole world you bat for the other team.’

I defy anyone not to have been tempted to follow Jeremy and Elvira when they went to Kimberly’s grave. Not wanting to cause Jeremy to accidentally speak to me, I hung back. My faith in Kimberly to go through with the deal wasn’t exactly unshakeable, either. Knowing Jeremy wouldn’t be able to see her, I wanted to see what she got up to in front of Elvira.

I needn’t have worried. Jeremy had kept the details sketchy when he’d spilled the beans, and it quickly became obvious Elvira wasn’t getting any sense of Kimberly. Although she swore she could feel a presence, Elvira described her as being lonely and crying for her mummy. It was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get. Kimberly cottoned on fast, too. Once she’d spotted me, there was no holding her back.

‘If this woman is psychic, I’m Queen Victoria.’

It wasn’t fair, since Elvira had proved she could hear me, but I was hardly about to start defending her. I shrugged and decided to add a little atmosphere. ‘Oooooooh . . .’ I warbled in a suitably miserable tone.

Elvira’s head snapped round. Encouraged, I figured I might as well practise my acting skills. ‘Help meeeeeee.’

Jeremy did his valiant best to ignore me. ‘You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Elvira?’ he said in a reasonably convincing anxious voice. ‘I don’t want Kimberly to be
disturbed. She’s very sensitive.’

I bit my lip to prevent a snort of laughter escaping. Kimberly, sensitive? It was like describing cross-country as good, clean fun.

Elvira had her eyes closed and was swaying back and forth, presumably in an attempt to channel the spirit world. ‘Hmm? Oh no, I won’t tell a soul.’

‘You’re all tragic, you know that?’ Kimberly shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

‘The vicar’s really nice,’ Jeremy continued, throwing me a warning glance. ‘I don’t think he’d like hordes of ghost-hunters all over the place.’

We didn’t meet the vicar, but it was probably true. If he had any sense, he’d charge the production company a small fortune for the privilege of filming and put the money and publicity to good use repairing the church.

Elvira’s beady eyes were fixed on Kimberly’s white marble headstone. ‘Trust me, Jeremy. All your secrets are safe with me.’

Twenty-four hours later, all hell seemed to have broken loose at St Mary’s. The woman with the clipboard I’d seen outside my toilet was back and arguing with the vicar. Camera crews were poised at the edge of the churchyard and Kimberly was psyching herself up to give the performance of her afterlife. Hep had come along to watch the fun.

‘I think I’m going to come across as sad but plucky, with a hint of naughtiness,’ I heard Kimberly boasting to her. ‘I
hope the people from my old school see it.’

Hep was moodier than ever. She seemed so deep in misery these days I was beginning to get seriously worried about her. Every time I tried to get her to talk about her unhappiness she went silent. It was something I planned to discuss with Ryan at the first opportunity. Maybe he knew a psychic psychotherapist or something.

In the meantime, the vicar had figured out he had an opportunity to pull in some money for the church roof fund. Clipboard Woman rolled into action, summoning in the crew and setting up cameras in every imaginable place.

‘You will be respectful of the dead, won’t you?’ the vicar bleated in an anxious tone as a cameraman clambered on to a crumbling stone tomb.

‘Of course we will,’ the woman replied, her voice dripping with false sincerity. ‘That’s the whole point of the show, to let the departed get their message across.’

Ha
, I thought with a cynical sniff. Actually, the point of the show seemed to be to exploit innocent ghosts who were just minding their own business. It just so happened that in this case it was a two-way street and the ghosts had some exploitation of their own planned.

At first, Kimberly didn’t have much to do. After the cameras were set up, Finlay West arrived, along with the show’s on-screen paranormal expert and a couple of Z-list celebrities who were trying to bump-start their dying showbiz careers. The crew took a couple of atmospheric shots around the churchyard before zooming in on
Kimberly’s grave. Someone had done their homework because Finlay knew all about Kimberly, describing her as ‘a beauty princess denied her chance to become a queen’. Hep and I almost spewed simultaneously at that point but, as you’d expect, Kimberly lapped it up.

Then they got down to the serious part of sensing the supernatural vibes. We watched with interest, safe in the knowledge that Kimberly hadn’t done a thing yet and was sitting on the grass beside us, watching. An aging ex-boy band member swore he’d felt a ghostly breath blowing in his ear and the so-called psychic announced Kimberly’s ghost was deeply disturbed. That bit was true, at least. She hadn’t stopped ranting about the low quality of celeb they’d dug up.

‘An ancient pop star and a couple of women who tell you how to clean your house? Is that really the best they could do?’ She got up and walked across to the psychic. ‘Boo!’

Coincidentally, the psychic did seem to react. His face crumpled into a sad expression. ‘I can hear crying. She’s telling me she didn’t want to die so young.’