Page 10 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

Quiet tears coursed down the sides of my face onto the new quilt. I hadn’t wanted my marriage to end this way. It ought to have finished with a proper adult discussion in which I held my dignity, not when I walked in on my husband screwing a former colleague of his when I was supposed to be at work.

Damn him to hell.

Sleep came. When I woke, the afternoon sun was kissing the horizon, leaving most of the bedroom in shadow. I lay there for a while, unwilling to move. What would my future hold now?

It would change. I would change.

But was I ready for that?

I had friends who had separated from their partners, but I’d been so busy with work and home responsibilities that I’d neglected my friendships apart from my good friend Rachel from my days at university. She was divorced. We often shared our family dramas over a glass or two of wine. Like we would tonight.

I should have done more of that. Met up with friends for an evening out. I needed to do things for myself now. Not only for others.

Especially when one of those others was Terry, the lazy cheater. I wouldn’t do anything for him ever again.

My thoughts returned to my mum. She’d had one marriage and had outlived my dad. If she were alive, she’d say, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ about my husband. She’d never liked Terry and called him ‘a minor bureaucrat’ to annoy him.

Her ghost. I sat upright. As if summoned by my thoughts of her, a sudden chilliness made me shiver. Was she here again? Something was different. That sudden drop in temperature.

‘Mum?’ I whispered.

Nothing.

I got to my feet, shuffled into a pair of slip-ons, and went downstairs. I switched on all the lights and made sure I’d locked the door. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked it earlier when I’d shown Terry out, but I had.

Nothing was out of place. It was the normal level of messy in my house, where I was the only one to do any housework, and I’d been too damn tired to do any.

I tiptoed into the kitchen. ‘Mum?’ I whispered again and waited for a response.

She wasn’t there. My brows drew together in disappointment.

I turned to go back into the living room and almost jumped out of my skin. A strangled scream emerged from my throat. She’d been right behind me. What’s more, this time she wasn’t a fuzzy humanoid shape—her form was almost solid.

‘Don’t sneak up on me.’ I panted, out of breath with the shock.

‘Sorrrrrrryyyyy, Heeeaaathhhaa.’

I stared at her. ‘I understood that. Your speech is coming through.’

She shook her head. Maybe ghosts did that a lot. Or perhaps it was only her. She pointed at me.

‘You mean I’m understanding you better now? Yes, I am.’

Her bright, dead eyes bored into me, demanding me to try again.

‘I’m getting better at seeing you?’ I guessed.

She clapped her hands. Again, there was no sound, though they did appear to collide.

‘Can I touch you, Mum?’

She didn’t respond. I reached out for her top anyway. It was one of her favourite cotton ones. Instead of cotton over cold flesh, my fingers poked icy air. Startled, I stepped back.

‘You seem real, but my hand went right through you.’

‘I... am... real. Just... dead.’ Her voice resonated as if it came from far away, but it was definitely hers and had a better definition than before. ‘I have a chance to depart, Heather, but first I must give you a message. I’ve been trying to tell you since I died, but you couldn’t see me until recently.’

Her voice was clear now. It was almost like she were a television or radio that hadn’t been tuned to the frequency, and now she had it spot on. Was that why I hadn’t been able to see her before?

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