Jessica's Ghost (12 page)

When Mrs Boyle got back from Southampton, a little before eleven, she dropped Francis and Andi off in Alma Road. Francis was climbing out of the back seat, still saying thank you, when Jessica appeared behind him.

‘Francis! You have to help!’

‘Jessica?’ He spun round. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘It’s Lorna. Lorna Gilchrist. She’s the other one.’

‘The other what?’ Andi was climbing out of the car to join him. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Lorna’s on the top floor of the car park at the hospital. She’s going to jump.’ Jessica already had the feeling it was taking too long to explain all this. ‘You have to come up there. Now. She can’t hear me!’

‘You want us to …’

‘The hospital car park. Top floor. Now!’ shouted Jessica, and she was gone.

‘Is everything all right?’ Mrs Boyle had wound down her window and was looking anxiously up at Francis.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I wonder … could you drive us to the hospital?’

‘The hospital? Why? Are you feeling ill?’

‘It’s not me,’ said Francis, ‘but something bad is going to happen at the car park, and it’s very important we get there as quickly as possible. Can you drive us?’

If it had been anyone else, Mrs Boyle would have wanted the answers to a great many questions before she drove anywhere, but this was Francis making the request, and all she did was turn on the ignition and put the car into gear.

‘Don’t forget your seat belts,’ she said, as she pulled out into the road.

It took a little under two minutes to drive the mile and a half to the hospital. As they drove up the hill, Roland, peering out of the windscreen from the passenger seat,
was the first to see the small figure silhouetted against the dark sky at the top of the car park.

‘There she is,’ he pointed. ‘Up there.’

Mrs Boyle swung the car up a ramp to the entrance and halted in front of the barrier. She was about to suggest that it might be quicker for Francis to walk from there, but he and Andi were already out of the car and running through the entrance.

A pair of arms shot out and grabbed each of them by the collar. The security man had emerged from his post and his beefy hands were firmly clasped around the top of their shirts.

‘And where,’ he said, ‘do you two think you’re …’

He never finished the sentence. Nor did he see the blows that landed somewhere below his belt. All he knew was that he could no longer breathe or walk. His grip on the two children loosened and he toppled to the ground.

‘I’ll deal with him,’ said Andi, already kneeling beside the body. ‘You go and look after Lorna.’

Francis went racing towards the stairs. Roland came over from the car and, under Andi’s instructions, helped
lift the security man into a sitting position, with his back resting against a concrete post.

‘What … what happened?’ he gasped, when he was finally able to breathe.

‘It looked to me like you tripped over the kerb there,’ said Mrs Boyle, standing over him. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be all right when you’ve had a bit of a rest.’ She took her phone from her pocket and looked at Andi. ‘I hope no one minds, but I’m going to call the police.’

Francis emerged from the staircase on to the top floor of the car park and saw Lorna standing on the parapet away to his right. She was poised with her toes over the edge and lifting her arms like a diver getting ready to jump. Directly in front of her, their bodies almost blended together, floated Jessica’s ghost.

‘Lorna?’ he called. ‘Lorna, what are you doing?’

Lorna gave no sign that she had heard him, but she stopped moving.

‘Please …’ said Francis. ‘Please … Come down from there.’

There was still no response, though Lorna did at least remain still.

‘You want me to run and grab her?’ A breathless Andi had appeared behind Francis.

‘You’d better not come too close,’ Jessica called. ‘Just stay where you are, and keep talking.’

It was all very well to say keep talking, Francis thought, but what about? What on earth was he supposed to say?

‘You don’t have to do this.’ He began moving slowly towards the parapet as he spoke, but still keeping his distance from Lorna. ‘Really, you don’t. Whatever’s wrong, I’m sure we can do something about it, if you’ll just come down from there. There’s people we can go to. People we can tell …’

The words petered out. He remembered how he had felt in the weeks before Jessica had appeared. How unhappy he had been and how certain that nobody could do anything to help at all.

‘Look, I know how you feel,’ he said. ‘Really I do. And I’m sorry. I wish I’d known before. I wish any of us had
known. If we’d known we could have … we could have … Look, please … please come down … please …’

It was no good. He simply had no idea what to say to the girl in front of him. Maybe Andi was right. Maybe their best chance was to run as fast as they could and try and grab her before she jumped.

He took a step forward and a hand descended on his shoulder. He looked round to see a tall woman with short black hair standing just behind him.

‘Not too close,’ said Aunt Jo, softly. ‘Not yet.’ She called across to Lorna. ‘Hello, Lorna? My name is Joanna Barfield. I’ve come to ask if there’s anything I can do to help. I know it probably seems like there’s nothing anybody can do, but it might be worth hanging on for a moment just to listen. In case there
is
something. Believe it or not I’ve spoken to quite a few people who feel like you do and … would you like to hear what I said to them?’

Lorna did not answer, but Aunt Jo did not seem to mind. She simply carried on talking. Afterwards, neither Francis nor Andi could remember much of what she actually said, but Francis always claimed she had one of the
calmest, quietest voices he had ever heard. The words flowed out of her mouth like gently running water.

Occasionally, she would ask a question and, at first, there were no replies, but then she said something about having a niece who had felt the same way and Lorna turned, briefly, to face her. After that, some questions got an occasional nod or shake of the head, and still Aunt Jo went on talking and asking questions but now Lorna started replying to some of them. At first, it was only a yes or a no, but then it was an occasional sentence and still Aunt Jo’s voice went on, gentle as falling snow, persistent as the rain.

Part of Francis was aware that, behind him, others had made their way on to the roof of the car park. He had heard sirens – the result of Roland’s mother calling the police – and there was the rustle of clothes and the sound of whispering, but neither he nor Andi had dared to turn round. Their eyes were glued to Lorna’s feet, poised on the edge of the parapet.

And Aunt Jo was still talking. Her soft reassuring tones never paused for a moment and now she was moving
closer and it was Lorna doing most of the speaking. In a voice full of rage, and anger, and despair, she was talking about the stories that Angela and Denise had told, those wicked, wicked stories, those terrible lies – and Aunt Jo was leading Francis across to where she stood and then Francis was helping her down from the parapet and Aunt Jo was holding the sobbing girl in her arms and telling her it was all right. It was all right. It was all going to be all right …

A policewoman appeared with a blanket, which she wrapped around Lorna’s shoulders, and she and Aunt Jo led Lorna back across the car park to where a woman Francis recognised as Lorna’s mother was waiting.

There was a quarter of an hour or so after that when no one seemed to take much notice of either Francis or Andi. The top floor of the car park was full of an extraordinary number of people. There were policemen, paramedics, nurses and at least half a dozen security men, including the one from downstairs, walking with a slight limp. Two of the paramedics were putting Lorna on to a gurney – a process complicated by the fact that she refused to let go of Aunt Jo – while her mother was shouting angrily at any policeman who would listen that something ought to be done.

Francis and Andi walked over to where Jessica was sitting on the parapet.

‘You got here just in time,’ said Jessica. ‘Another few seconds and she’d have done it.’

‘It was your aunt that stopped her.’ Francis picked up the stuffed dog and gently rearranged its paws. ‘She was amazing. If she hadn’t turned up, I think …’ He paused. ‘Which reminds me, how
did
she turn up? Who told her to come here?’

‘I think I did,’ said Jessica.

‘I thought she couldn’t see you?’

‘She couldn’t.’ Jessica gave a shrug. ‘Don’t ask me to explain. I don’t understand it either.’

‘I told you!’ Roland was striding over to join them. ‘I said there’d be another one.’ He grinned at Jessica. ‘That’s why you were here, so you could …’ He stopped. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I am now,’ said Jessica. ‘Why?’

‘You … um … you …’ Roland was not sure how to say it, but Jessica did look rather strange. Her skin had acquired an odd, slightly luminous glow. You could see it in her hands and her face. It was a white light with a faint tinge of gold and, as he stared, the light became stronger.

‘You look as if you’re on fire,’ said Andi.

They watched in silence as the light from Jessica’s body grew brighter and brighter. Soon, it was strong enough to actually shine through her clothes.

‘Jessica?’ Francis sounded thoroughly alarmed. ‘What’s happening?’

But Jessica did not answer. She was staring across at the hospital, at one of the windows on the third floor, and Francis had to repeat his question twice before she slowly turned to face him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I think I have to go now.’

‘Go? Go where?’ The light from Jessica’s body was now bright enough to make his eyes water, and it was a moment before he understood what she meant. ‘Oh … oh, you mean …
go
!’

Jessica nodded.

‘Do you have to?’ said Francis. ‘I mean, can’t you stay a little longer?’

‘No. No, I can’t.’ By now Jessica’s body was a beacon that, for them, lit up every corner of the car park. ‘But don’t worry. It’s all right.’

She took a step towards Francis, reached out, and put her arms round him. To his astonishment, she felt quite solid. In a funny way, Francis said afterwards, she felt more solid than he did himself. As if she were the one with the real body, and he were merely the ghost.

‘If you only knew,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘If any of us had only known …’

She held him for a moment, then let him go. She smiled at the others, and began floating through the air towards the hospital. Outside the little window of the room on the third floor, they saw her turn for one last time, give a little wave … and she was gone.

Francis, Andi and Roland were still standing there when Aunt Jo came over to join them. She looked at Francis. ‘I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘You’re the boy who was standing outside my house, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Francis.

‘Can I ask how you came to be here tonight?’

Francis didn’t know what to say.

‘I only ask,’ said Aunt Jo, ‘because the lady over there,’ she pointed to Roland’s mother, talking to a policeman, ‘tells me you suddenly announced that you knew something bad was going to happen at the hospital. And much the same thing happened to me.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yes. I was sitting at my desk at home, and I had this feeling that I should get in the car and drive here. It was almost like someone was telling me to come. Is that what happened to you?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Francis.

‘It’s a strange world.’ Aunt Jo shook her head. ‘I don’t even pretend to understand it.’ They stood there for a moment, staring out over the town. ‘I don’t know if you know, but my niece committed suicide.’

‘Yes,’ said Francis, ‘I had heard.’

‘I wish she’d had a friend like you turn up when she …’ Aunt Jo paused for a moment. ‘Her name was Jessica. She was a lovely girl. I think, if you’d known her, you two would have got on rather well.’

‘Yes,’ said Francis, ‘I know we would.’

At school the following Monday, Francis found he had become something of a celebrity. The story had made the six o’clock news on Sunday evening, and on Monday morning the
Daily Mail
ran it on its front page, along with a picture showing Lorna silhouetted against the night sky, while Francis reached out a hand to help her down.

The pictures had been taken by a hospital porter on his mobile and, because he had been standing on the concrete paving at the base of the car park when he took the video, Francis and Lorna were the only people in the picture. Neither Andi nor Jessica’s aunt Jo were visible, and it somehow gave the impression that Francis had
conducted the rescue entirely on his own. He kept telling people this wasn’t true, but nobody seemed to take any notice.

When he arrived at school that morning, his form tutor shook his hand when he came into the classroom and told him how proud she was, before sending him off to see Mrs Parsons. On his way there, several other people stopped him in the corridor to congratulate him, and when he got to the office, the women who worked there stood up and gave him a round of applause. Karen, the receptionist, even insisted on giving him a hug before showing him in to see the Head.

Mrs Parsons was a little more restrained, but she smiled as she asked him to sit down and offered him a cup of tea.

‘It looks like you had a rather eventful weekend,’ she said, gesturing to a copy of the
Daily Mail
on her desk. ‘I’ve read about what happened, of course, but I’d be very interested to hear your account, if you wouldn’t mind going over it again?’

Francis said he didn’t mind at all, and he told Mrs
Parsons the same story he had given the reporter from the
Mail
. It was completely truthful, except that it said nothing about Jessica or the way she had warned him. He simply said he had been coming back from Southampton with Andi and Roland, when they had seen Lorna on the roof of the hospital car park.

‘You recognised her?’ Mrs Parsons asked. ‘Even from that distance. In the dark?’

Francis said quite truthfully that, yes, he had known at once who it was. He went on to describe how he had run up the stairs, seen Lorna about to dive off the edge of the parapet and called out for her to stop. Again, he said nothing about finding Jessica there. It was something he had discussed with the others, and they had all agreed that it was best. He told Mrs Parsons how he had started talking to Lorna, but then run out of things to say, and how a woman – a Mrs Barfield – had appeared, and eventually persuaded Lorna back from the edge. ‘I know it looks different in the picture,’ he said, ‘but really she was the one who did everything.’

When he had finished, Mrs Parsons took off her glasses,
twirled them for a moment between her finger and thumb, and stared thoughtfully out of the window.

‘I knew there was something,’ she said, eventually. She sounded, Francis thought, rather tired. ‘I knew there was something going on in that class, but I always thought the people at risk were you and Andi. Not Lorna.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘I never saw it. I never saw it at all.’

The newspaper report had given all the details of why Lorna had wanted to kill herself, and described it as a case of attempted bullycide. Lorna had tried to end her life, they said, because two girls at her school had been inventing stories about her. They did not give the girls’ names, but the days that followed were not an easy time for Angela and Denise.

They tried very hard to pretend they had done nothing wrong. They came into school that Monday with every appearance of being as worried and concerned about poor Lorna as everyone else. They could be heard wondering who the two girls in the paper could possibly be. Who, they asked, could have done such a dreadful thing?

The girls were good liars. They were interviewed at length by Mrs Parsons on three separate occasions, but stuck determinedly to their story that they had only ever passed on gossip that had been told them by someone else. Nobody was really fooled but, for a while, it looked as if they might get away with it. Then on Wednesday, they didn’t come in to school.

It turned out the girls had been swapping their ideas for stories about Lorna in a series of messages that the police had found on their computers. They were excluded from school the same day and Mrs Parsons announced in assembly that the exclusion would be permanent. It would not be fair, she said, to ask Lorna to return to school while Angela and Denise were still there, so they would have to continue their education somewhere else.

Lorna was in hospital for a week, at home for a month and, in the end, did not come back to John Felton at all. Mrs Parsons did her best to reassure her that things would be different if she did, but Lorna steadfastly refused. She went instead to a private school, where the Head Teacher, who had read about her case, had offered her a scholarship.
It was, oddly enough, the same private school at which Andi had been so unhappy – but Lorna loved it from the first day she arrived. She was a popular and successful pupil there, eventually becoming Head Girl and winning a place to study Natural Sciences at Cambridge.