Tamsyn Murray-Afterlife 01 My So-Called Afterlife (8 page)

We played in silence for a minute. I was catching up. ‘Won’t your parents wonder where all the mess came from?’

‘Nah. They’re used to much worse things.’ A sad smile crept over her face. ‘Not long after I died, I emptied every box of cereal over the living-room carpet. Have you ever tried to get Sugar Puffs out of a faux-fur rug?’

Sometimes I didn’t understand her. ‘Why would you do that?’

She shrugged. ‘I was angry and wanted them to know about it. They never understood why I committed suicide.’

I couldn’t help feeling confused. ‘And you thought you could communicate that best using cereal?’

‘I was angry,’ she repeated. ‘I didn’t say I was rational.’

‘Did it help them get why you killed yourself?’

She flicked too hard. The ball bounced off the rim of the bin and stuck to the lead singer’s nose. ‘No. They couldn’t work me out when I was alive. Why would they understand me any better now I’m dead?’

The force of her next throw made the bin rattle against the wall. Maybe I should have let the conversation go, but I could feel the strength of her feelings and hearing about some of Ryan’s experiences had made me want to help. ‘Did you write a suicide note?’

She stopped throwing and looked at me, eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I tried. I lost count of how many times I started to write something that would explain why I was tearing their lives apart. I couldn’t do it. Nothing I could say would help them understand the torture I went through every day at school. It even followed me home. Towards the end, I couldn’t even escape online. My parents had no idea what it was like. How could they? Death was the only way out.’

I swallowed hard. It was difficult to imagine a life so unbearable that dying was a blessed relief. ‘My school had an assembly. Did yours?’

She sniffed. ‘Oh yeah. And all the bullies said they were sorry. Like I cared how they felt. They were only part of the problem.’

I began to understand. ‘Do you think your parents will ever get why you did it?’

The light fitting above our heads began to sway gently as Hep vented her unhappiness. ‘I want them to,’ she whispered. ‘But they’ll never make the leap. It’s easier to ignore me than make things right.’

We sat in miserable silence.

‘I’m sorry,’ I croaked after a few minutes. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.’ She sighed heavily and waved a hand towards the bin. ‘It’s your go. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the score.’

I took careful aim, concentrating on forcing my emotions into a single, sharp burst. ‘Hey, it was worth a try.’ The shot spun out of control and landed a long way from the target. ‘I’m not going to beat you in a fair fight. What’s a little cheating between mates?’

Two days later, the weirdest thing happened. OK, so you could argue that my existence was filled with strange happenings. But this was peculiar even by my standards.

It was late evening. I’d been wandering around Covent Garden with Ryan, trying to pluck up courage to take his hand. My nerve had failed a couple of times, but I was determined to have done it by the time we got back to Carnaby Street. If it went well, I decided tonight was the
night I went in for the kiss.

Just as I was about to make a grab for his fingers, Ryan raised his arm to point along the street. ‘Isn’t that Jeremy?’

Great. I couldn’t exactly blame him, but Jeremy wasn’t being a massive help in my relationship with Ryan. If he was heading to my toilets, he’d be seriously cramping my style. ‘So it is. He must have just finished at the theatre.’

Ryan smiled. ‘Let’s go and say hi.’

What could I do? The two men in my life were spending half their lives hanging around public toilets for my benefit. It would be rude of me to ignore one in favour of the other. With a silent sigh, I trailed after Ryan. Almost immediately, I came to an abrupt halt. I’d recognise that shade of hair anywhere. The woman who’d walked in front of me was Elvira. The question was, why was she following Jeremy home from work?

‘Ryan, slow down,’ I muttered, remembering only too well what had happened the last time I’d shouted around Elvira. ‘Wait!’

Ryan stopped and turned back to me. ‘What’s up?’

‘Shh!’ I had no way of knowing whether Elvira could hear all ghosts or only me. ‘That’s the woman I told you about from the theatre. The one with the cat, remember?’

He did. ‘I recognise her. She came to the Dearly D once and tried to persuade the psychics to let a TV crew film there. What’s she doing here?’

‘Following Jeremy.’ I shook my head, unease crawling through me. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this. We’d better
warn him before he does anything stupid.’

Elvira had obviously seen him head down into the toilets. She was peering down the stairs, craning her neck to see better and getting a few odd looks from the people passing by. We crept past her and headed down to meet Jeremy.

He smiled when he saw me. ‘Hi. Been out?’

Ordinarily, this would have earned him a sarcastic remark for stating the obvious. I was way too worried for that. In silence, I put one finger to my lips. ‘Elvira is waiting for you outside,’ I whispered. ‘I think she’s tailing you. Has she said anything about me lately?’

Jeremy shook his head. Ryan climbed halfway up the stairs to see if she was still there.

‘She’s gone,’ he said as he came back down.

Jeremy looked mystified. ‘What on earth would she be doing here?’

It was obvious, at least to me. ‘She suspects you of hanging about with ghosts and wants to find out more.’

Worried, Jeremy said, ‘In that case, I’d better keep away for a while. If she sees me in here too often she’ll know something is up.’

I tried to hide a triumphant little grin. I was so grateful to Jeremy and liked having him around some of the time, but he was becoming a major gooseberry. A few days without him was exactly what I needed to get down to some serious lip action with Ryan.

Unless you’re dead or psychically gifted, you probably have no idea that Leicester Square is haunted by a flasher. I didn’t know either, until I copped an unwanted eyeful as I walked past the enormous Odeon cinema. Grinning like a maniac, he ripped open his grimy beige overcoat in front of me, before speeding away across the square and repeating the process in front of someone else. My mouth dropped open in disgust.

‘What’s the matter?’ Noticing I’d stopped, Jeremy turned to look at me.

I shuddered. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’ I jogged to catch up with him. ‘Where are we going again?’

‘St James’s Park. I’ve arranged to meet someone there who might be able to help us.’

The knock-on effect of Jeremy keeping away from the toilets was that all our arrangements had developed a touch of James Bond. Don’t take that to mean that we started crashing expensive cars or using ingenious little gadgets all the time. It only meant we were more careful about everything. Jeremy now wore a flashing hands-free earpiece whenever we were out and about, allowing him to look as though he was completely normal when he talked to me. At least, as normal as anyone ever looked babbling away to no one. I couldn’t help thinking Jeremy was taking the secrecy thing a bit too far, though. Before I knew it, he’d be talking in code and calling me Moneypenny.

‘Is it too much to ask who we’re meeting?’ I asked. If he told me I’d find out when we got there, I decided I might scream.

‘Her name is Sarah. There are some striking similarities with your story. I think she might have been stabbed by the same man as you, but she got away.’

My eyes widened as the words sank in. I was stunned he’d arranged the meeting without asking me. ‘And she agreed to meet you?’

He gave me a grim nod. ‘She took some convincing. I don’t think she’ll be on her own.’

Part of me wanted to thump him. I’d made it clear I wasn’t keen to find my killer, and he’d ignored me totally. But I also understood he was trying to help, and now that he’d found someone else the man had hurt, I could hardly refuse to get involved. My anger ebbed away. How much
had he told this Sarah, anyway? Probably not everything.How would you even begin to start a conversation like that?
Hi, I’m someone you’ve never met and I talk to the ghost of a girl murdered by the same man who attacked you.
I didn’t think so.

It was a fabulous day and St James’s Park was looking good. I missed being alive most when the sun was shining; I’d have given up soap opera updates from Jeremy for a month to be able to feel the sun on my skin one more time.

‘How are you going to know what she looks like?’

We were strolling along a gravel pathway through the flowerbeds. The scent of the roses reminded me of the memorial garden at school. There would be a plaque there bearing my name by now. I grimaced. Dogs probably weed on it.

He waved the newspaper he was carrying at me. ‘I told her I’d be sitting on the bench beside the lake, reading yesterday’s
Times
.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. The newspaper bit was your idea.’

His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. ‘Might have been.’

‘What makes you think she’s going to show up?’

He shrugged. ‘She said she would. If she changes her mind then we’ll have to go back to the drawing board.’

It was ten to twelve when we reached the lake, and Jeremy had arranged to meet Sarah at midday. I’d never admit it to Jeremy, but I was hoping this Sarah wouldn’t show up. I sat fiddling with my mended necklace, another plug wedged firmly in my jeans pocket. It ruined the look
of my outfit, but since the Kimberly incident I was taking no chances.

There was a family feeding the ducks not far from us. I watched as their chocolate-encrusted toddler tried to throw a handful of bread towards the water. A few bits of bread landed beside my foot. Without thinking, I kicked out at one of them, taking great satisfaction as it flew over the lake. I was getting really good at touching things.
Maybe I should challenge Hep to a game of footie
, I thought.

‘Lucy!’ Jeremy lowered the newspaper and hissed at me, but it was too late. The boy had seen the bread leap up into the air, apparently on its own. He stared at the ground where it had been, then looked at the empty space on the bench beside Jeremy, a deep frown creasing his tiny forehead. He toddled nearer and repeated the process.

His mother noticed. ‘Harry! Come here, please!’

Harry showed no sign of giving up his investigation. Instead, he picked up another piece of bread from the ground nearby and studied it suspiciously.

‘Your mum’s calling you,’ I mentioned, earning a black look from Jeremy.

Apparently realising there was nothing special about the bread, Harry dropped it on the floor and glanced around. His eyes came to rest directly on my face.

‘Bogies!’ he said, almost conversationally, and wandered away.

I’m sure I never behaved like that when I was three. Children’s television has a lot to answer for.

‘I think this might be her.’ Jeremy had clearly forgotten about the earpiece because he spoke from the side of his mouth. I sighed and thanked my lucky stars the fate of the entire world didn’t rest on his undercover abilities.

He was probably right. Walking apprehensively around the lake towards us was a young woman, older than me, but way too young to be looking as frail as she did. Beside her was an older man with white hair. The woman was darting anxious glances at the people around her, as though she didn’t trust any of them. Sympathy softened the last of my anger. Perhaps she’d been luckier than me at escaping her attacker, but that didn’t mean she’d got off lightly. She wore a long-sleeved jumper, even though it was a hot day. Did she have scars she needed to cover? Or were the worst ones in her head?

Her gaze came to rest on Jeremy and her pace quickened. Closing the paper, Jeremy stood up as she approached. ‘Sarah?’

She nodded. ‘This is my dad.’

Jeremy shook the man’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Thanks for coming.’ He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

Oh nice one,
I thought. If they all sat down it left no room for me. ‘I’ll just sit on the floor then, shall I?’ I said in a loud voice. ‘Don’t mind me.’

Jeremy ignored my grumbling. ‘Well, as I said on the phone, I’m investigating the murder of a teenage girl in London. Some aspects of the crime bear chilling similarities
to your attack and I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about it.’

‘You’re not a journalist?’ Sarah’s dad asked, his voice gruff.

Shaking his head, Jeremy said, ‘No. The girl who died was a friend. I want to know what happened to her.’

At first, Sarah was unwilling to say much. I could understand that. Talking about the attack meant thinking about it, and I avoided doing that whenever possible. It was only natural Sarah would do the same. Jeremy was patient, though, and gradually he eased the story out of her.

It had happened late one evening the previous November. Sarah had been on her way home from the pub where she worked as a barmaid and had cut across Hampstead Heath like she normally did. She hadn’t got far when a man approached her. He’d told her he’d seen a car hit a puppy on the road behind them. The injured dog had limped off into some bushes near the toilets; would she wait there while he went for help, in case it came out?

Sarah had agreed. While she waited, she sent a text to her sister at home saying she’d be a bit late. Minutes later, she was being dragged backwards into the toilets, a rough hand clamped over her mouth. Worried when she didn’t turn up, her dad had gone looking for her and had found her where she’d crawled, blood-soaked and barely alive, out on the heath. There had been no sign of her attacker. Afterwards, the only thing she’d been able to tell the police about the man was that he’d had a peculiar, raspy voice and
had a tattoo of a snake showing above the collar of his coat.

Gravely, Jeremy thanked Sarah and her father, promising he’d be in touch if he had any news. I stayed silent all the way home, stomach churning with relived misery. The facts were horribly familiar. My attacker had baited his trap with a fictional wounded puppy and tried to lure me into a toilet by saying he’d heard it yelping. He
had
sounded weird, like he’d had a sore throat. I’d forgotten that. I didn’t remember a tattoo on his neck, but the idea nagged at me. I pushed the thought away. It had been cold the night I died. Maybe he’d covered it with a scarf.