Authors: Sharon Sant
She glances up
and down the lane again before she speaks. ‘Are you real, though?’
I shrug. ‘I
don’t even know myself, if I’m honest. This dying business doesn’t seem
to come with a manual.’
Her eyes widen.
‘So you know you’re dead? And it definitely is you?’
‘Yeah, I think
so,’ I say. How can I even know what I am anymore? Sometimes I wonder
myself if I’m actually still alive and just going loopy.
She reaches a
shaking hand out to me and moves it slowly through my chest then she steps back
and catches her breath, staring at me, her blue eyes round with something that
doesn’t look like fear now.
‘Have you seen
dead people before?’ I ask.
She shakes her
head. ‘Not like this.’
‘What does that
mean?’
‘Sometimes I
see, like, the leftovers of people. I know there’s someone there but it’s more of
a feeling, a space in reality that they’re filling. They never talk to
me. But you look real; you’re just standing there in front of me.’
I think about
this for a moment. ‘Are you a medium?’
‘No. I
don’t think so.’
I frown. ‘So you
can’t tell me what’s happening to me?’
She shakes her
head again in disbelief. ‘How would I know that?’
‘I just
wondered… as you can see me and hear me and nobody else can.’
‘Are you sad
about it?’ she asks.
‘Not that so
much… I’m confused. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m not sure if
there’s something you have to do to go where all the other dead people
are.’ I feel a bit stupid now but I say it anyway. ‘I was hoping you
would be able to tell me. I thought you might be a medium.’
She doesn’t
laugh at me, like I thought she would. ‘Sorry, but I’m not. There’s a
woman in the village
who
is.’
‘Raven?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I know about
her. I went to see her first, just after I died, but she can’t see me or
hear me. I think she’s a fake.’
‘I thought about
going to her to talk to my mum.’
She takes me by
surprise for a moment. ‘Oh, I forgot your mum was dead.’
She shrugs. ‘It
was last year. I’m used to it now.’
I don’t know
what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
‘Do
you
see other dead people?’ she asks. ‘Your dad is dead, isn’t he? Now that you’re
dead have you seen him?’
She remembers
that my dad is dead, even though I forgot about her mum. ‘I haven’t seen any
other dead people at all.
There’s
just me,’ I tell
her.
‘But there’s
loads of dead people, thousands, millions.
How come?’
‘I don’t know,’
I say, looking down at her boots. They’re still muddy from last night and
the soles are peeling away from the fronts. I look up again. ‘What do you
think?’
‘I don’t know
what to think.’ She gives me a small smile. It makes her face look completely
different, like a light goes on inside her.
‘So, can I talk
to you now without you freaking out?’
‘I thought you
were going to get off my case if I spoke to you this once.’
‘I know, but can
I talk to you again? There are loads of things I want to ask you.’
‘You were pretty
horrible in the hall,’ she says, her face serious again.
‘Sorry, I was
just fed up. I didn’t mean to make you pass out like that.’
Her face twists
more into an accusing frown. ‘You were pretty horrible to me when you were
alive too.’
‘Yeah,’ I step
from foot to foot awkwardly, ‘but everyone is.’ Straightaway, I wish I hadn’t
said it. Her frown deepens. ‘I know that doesn’t make it alright,’ I add
quickly. She considers for a moment and the darkness in her face clears.
‘Nobody else can
see you only me?’
I nod.
She looks at me
thoughtfully. ‘I suppose that must be boring.’
‘If I wasn’t
already dead I’d die of boredom.’
She gives me
another small smile.
‘What do you
think?’
‘You can’t come to
school with me,’ she warns.
‘But that means
I can come and talk to you again?’
‘Why do you want
to talk to me? I’m Bethany Willis.’ Her voice sounds harder now. She’s
right, of course. I can just imagine what Matt would say. But right now,
Bethany Willis is all I’ve got.
I shrug. ‘Who
else am I gonna talk to?’
She thinks about
this for a moment, like she might argue, then nods.
‘Not at
school though, and definitely not at home.
I’ll meet you later.’
‘Where?’
‘I’ll think of
somewhere.’
‘But I won’t
know where to wait.
How about the swings?’
She pauses for a
moment. ‘No, people will be hanging around there and they might see me. I
don’t want to give them any more reasons to hate me.’
I think about
what she’s said. I suppose apparently talking to
herself
on the swings might do just that.
‘The churchyard?’
She nods.
‘Wait for me around here after school. When I can get away, I’ll meet you
outside my house.’
‘You want me to
sit outside your house?’
‘How else am I
going to let you know I’m ready?’
‘Can’t I come to
school with you for a bit?’
‘No.’
‘I won’t talk to
you or anything.’
‘What’s the
point then?’
‘I’ve got
nothing else to do.’
She chews her
lip. ‘You can’t talk to me, no matter what.’
‘I won’t, I
promise. You won’t even know I’m there.’
‘Ok.’ She starts
to walk again and I trot at her side.
‘What are you
doing?’ she says from the corner of her mouth.
‘We’re both
going to the same place.’
‘Yeah, but you
can’t walk with me. What if someone sees?’
‘They’ll just see
you walking to school.’
She throws me a
sideways glance. ‘Don’t talk to me then.’
I pull my finger
across my lips in a zipping motion. That smile lights her face again,
just for a moment, then she looks straight ahead and carries on walking.
Three:
Bethany
Bethany
is lit by her torch, her face in weird upside-down shadow. Her jeans are
a bit too short and her coat doesn’t really look thick enough for the frost
that’s glistening over the grass of the churchyard. But I imagine the
huge scarf that’s wrapped around her neck and the bobble hat pulled tight over
her head is helping. We’re sitting on an old blanket that she brought to keep
the damp ground from chilling her. I tried my hardest to keep out of her way
but she still saw me a couple of times today at school. The first time
was in the corridor. She was going to the IT block. Matt shoved past her
as he headed to the sports hall and nearly knocked her over. I ran over as she
pushed herself back up from the wall and told her he was a dickhead but she
totally blanked me. The second time she had just been to the canteen for lunch.
I watched her through the glass canteen doors as she sat by herself to eat her
sandwiches. When she came out, she shot me a quick look and smiled a bit before
she rushed off to Maths. Oh, yeah… the
Cottle
charm still works, even after death.
‘So, what do you
think?’ I say. ‘Will you do it?’
She blows into
her hands and rubs them together before answering slowly. ‘I don’t think it’s a
very good idea.’
The church clock
chimes. Distracted, we count together in silence as it echoes across the
graveyard. It stops at seven.
‘Why not?’
‘Imagine it from
her point of view. Some random girl rocks up at her door and says she can
see you and talk to you. She’d totally freak.’
‘I thought about
that. You could tell her something that only
me and her
would know? She’d believe you then.’
‘If someone had
come to me like that when my mum died, I don’t think anything would have
persuaded me. I’d have either been scared or really angry with them.’
‘Would you? But
you said you could see dead people before…’
‘Yeah, but it
didn’t feel like they were actual people and they certainly weren’t having
chats with me in churchyards.’
‘Can’t you at
least try? I just want her to stop crying about me.’
‘David, the only
thing that is going to stop her crying about you is time. And even then,
deep in her heart, she’ll always be sad. I miss my mum every day. Your dad is
dead; you should know what that’s like.’
‘I do,’ I say,
but when I look at her, I’m not even sure that what we feel is the same.
She looks across
at the grassy slopes beyond the old wall, shrouded in velvet blackness, and
doesn’t answer. I wonder whether she’s wishing her mum was sitting here instead
of me.
‘But if you were
dead instead of your mum, and you were like me, wouldn’t you want her to know
that you’re ok?’ I insist.
She looks at me
now, her shadowed face wearing a frown. ‘But you’re not ok.’
‘Yeah, I know…
what I mean is I’m not sad or anything.’
‘But you
are
sad.’
I sigh. ‘I can’t
explain what I mean.’
‘You want her to
stop worrying about you, to think that you’re ok and that you’re not sad?
Nothing I say would change the way she feels, because she is going to worry that
it was somehow her fault, and she knows you’re about as not-ok as it gets
because you’re dead, and if I tell her that you’re wandering the village like
some tragic gothic spirit she’s probably going to figure out you’re not happy
either.’
‘I’m not tragic.’
‘Maybe you don’t
feel like it. But that’s how it looks from here.’
‘You should know
all about tragic,’ I snap.
I look away from
her hurt expression. I wish I hadn’t said that now.
She doesn’t
reply for a while and I don’t know how to take it back.
‘I’d better go
home,’ she says eventually, starting to get up.
‘It’s only
seven.’
‘Yeah, but Dad
will be missing me soon.’
‘Where did you
tell him you were going?’ I jump to my feet and she rolls up the blanket.
‘I
didn’t.’
‘Doesn’t he
freak out if he doesn’t know where you’ve gone?’
‘Not
especially. But he’ll want some tea.’
‘You have to
make his
tea
?’
She turns to me
and shrugs. ‘Who else is going to do it?’
I don’t know
what to say to that. My mum wouldn’t even let me boil the kettle. ‘Did
your mum always do it before?’
‘Yeah, she
looked after us really well.’
I think about
what she’s just said. I can never remember a time when she didn’t look
scruffy and weird. It’s not like I really noticed her that much, but she
was always there, one of those kids on the outside looking in. I try to recall
what I know about her. I can’t remember ever seeing her with a group of
mates, though I think she talks to some girls occasionally. For a while, I
didn’t even know her name until one of the teachers told us that Bethany
Willis’s mum died falling down the stairs. She was off school for a
couple of weeks and then when she came back, Ingrid pointed out who she was.
People were nice to her for a while, when she first came back to school after
it happened, but things soon got back to normal. She’s sort of like a shadow at
school, invisible, nobody really notices her at all.
‘Maybe you want
to show me your mum’s grave, now that we’re here?’ I ask. It’s been so long
since I had someone to talk to that I don’t want her to go just yet.
‘It’s ok,’ she
says, ‘I come all the time.’
‘But I’ve never
seen it. You could show me and maybe I could visit at night for you.’
‘Why would you
do that?’
‘I haven’t got
anything else to do.’
She shakes her
head. ‘I’ll come back when it’s light and bring flowers.’
‘You want to see
where my dad is buried, then?’
‘Not now.’
‘Or me,’ I say,
‘you haven’t seen where I am yet.’
She looks pretty
uncomfortable with this. ‘I’ve already seen where you’re buried. I’d really
better get back before Dad misses me,’ she says.
‘Ok.’ I can see
that she’s not going to budge. And maybe I should just let her
go,
if she gets in trouble being out with me then she might
not come and meet me again. ‘You want me to walk back with you?’ I ask,
suddenly feeling stupid. It’s not like I’m going to beat anyone up if
they attack her.
‘I suppose that
would be ok.’ She stuffs the blanket in her rucksack.
We start to walk
back across the churchyard, the torch weaving a tube of light over the
ground. I can hear her boots as a muffled crunch on the icy grass.
She climbs over the gate and I walk through it. She looks back and throws
me a sad smile.
‘Why do you
think you’re still here?’ she asks me as we walk down to the road. There are a few
streetlights now and she clicks the torch off, stowing it in her bag.
‘I don’t
know. Maybe everyone dies like this… a bit at a time?’
‘A bit at a time?
Do you feel like you’re still dying,
then?’
‘I
dunno
. I just feel like…’ I close my eyes for a moment
trying to frame my words. ‘Like things are slipping away from me, like I’m
disappearing gradually from view.’
‘Maybe you only
feel like that because people can’t see you.’
‘You see me.’
‘I don’t really
count, though, do I?’
I want to argue
with what she’s just said, but I can’t. She’s right. But maybe I was never any
better. ‘I can’t even leave the tiniest mark on the world though.’ I
stamp my foot on the ground to show her. No mark on the ice, no sound
from my trainer. She looks at me like Miss Jacobs looked at her that day
in the nurse station. The first time anyone has ever given me that look
since I died. ‘Come to think of it,’ I add, ‘I didn’t even do that when I was
alive.’
She smiles. ‘I’m
sure that’s not true. What about your mum and step dad? They miss you.’
‘Roger hates
me.’
‘Oh. Are you
sure about that?’
‘What does that
even mean? Of course I’m sure. Did your dad move someone else in after your mum
died?’
‘No –’
‘Then you don’t
know what it’s like.’
‘Your dad’s been
dead a while, though.’
‘She had other
boyfriends before Roger.
When he hadn’t been dead a while.’
I look down at my feet as I walk. ‘It won’t be long before she replaces me too,
just like that.’
Bethany
goes quiet. ‘But maybe she’s the sort of person who gets lonely,’ she says
finally.
I look up. ‘She
had me. And even if she was lonely, she didn’t need to marry Roger.’
‘Maybe she loves
him.’
‘He’s nothing
like my dad. My dad was cool.’
‘He doesn’t have
to be the same for her to like him. Maybe she changed.’
‘I don’t
know. All I know is that she’s way too good for him.’
‘Maybe that’s
why you’re still here. Perhaps you need to be ok with Roger before you can move
on? Like unfinished business or something.’
I shake my
head. ‘I don’t think so. He hated me, I hated him. I don’t see what
difference it makes to anything.’
‘But maybe it
matters to you, even if you don’t realise it.’
‘I couldn’t care
less about him.’
She thinks for a
moment. ‘If everyone dies like this, how come you’re not with loads of other
people who are dying along with you?’
‘I don’t
know. Maybe we all have our own little dimension, so we can do it in
private or something.’
‘That sounds a
bit weird.
A bit like torture, if anything.’
‘Perhaps it’s a
test.’
‘But not
everyone passes tests.’ She hitches her rucksack up. ‘If that were true, what
would happen to the people who failed?’
‘I have no
idea. Maybe I’ve already failed it.’ The notion makes me feel
light-headed suddenly. ‘What if I’ve already failed and I have to hang around
like this forever?’
‘Forever is a
long time,’ she says.
‘I know.’
‘Try not to
think about it like that,’ she says. ‘We’ll figure it out.’
‘I don’t know
how,’ I say. ‘Who can we ask?’
‘Maybe someone
else will be able to see you, not just me?’ she says. ‘I can’t believe there
would only be me in the whole world. And maybe that someone will know what’s
going on. We just have to find them.’ She looks across at me. ‘Maybe we need
Raven after all.’
‘That medium?
I told you she can’t see me.’
‘But she might
know what’s going on.’
I shake my head.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Who else then?’
‘I don’t know.
It’s not like we have a lot of people to choose from in this place.’ I wave my
hand at the lights of the houses beyond the lane.
‘Then we’ll have
to look somewhere else.’
‘I can’t pop
from place to place, you know, like on films, and I don’t know if I can sit in
a car or on a bus without falling through the floor.’
‘So that rules
out backpacking across the world.’
I laugh. I
haven’t laughed in ages. ‘I suppose it does.’
‘I’ll find
someone,’ she says, ‘and I’ll get them to come here to you.’
‘You’d do that
for me?’ I stop and look at her now as if she’s brand new.
‘Why not?’ she says, stopping with me.
‘Well…’ I begin
slowly, ‘I suppose I wasn’t very nice to you before.’
She shrugs.
‘Like you said, no one is very nice to me. I’m used to it.’
‘Doesn’t it
bother you? Surely it makes you want to smash their faces in.’
‘I thought about
smacking yours in a few times,’ she says.
This makes me laugh
too, for some reason. Like,
really
laugh.
‘It’s not
funny,’ she says. She starts to walk again. I can’t see her face properly
in the gloom but I think she might be pouting.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Your mate’s
worse though.’
‘Matt?’
‘Yeah.
I hate him.’
‘But he’s never
done anything to you.’
‘He doesn’t have
to. The way he looks at me is enough, like I’m something he just spat
out.’
‘He looks at
everyone like that.’
‘He pushes and
shoves and takes and thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. He’s like that
to everyone, but he’s worse with me.’
‘Why are you
telling me all this now?’
‘You’re
dead. It’s not like you’re going to tell him, is it?’
‘Even so… why
tell me at all? What can I do about it now?’
‘Nothing.’
She shrugs. ‘It’s nice to tell someone, that’s
all. Sometimes I want to scream from holding all this hurt and anger
inside. But I’m scared too, that it will be just another reason to give me a
hard time if I tell anyone. Things are bad enough, without that.’
‘I suppose… Why
don’t you try being a bit less… weird? People might not be so mean to you
then.’
She stops and
turns to me, her face in shadow but her voice raised in an indignant squeak.
‘It’s not my fault we have no money, it’s not my fault my mum fell down the
stairs, it’s not my fault my dad… I want to be like everyone else,’ she sighs,’
‘but I’m not and there is nothing I can do about it. And that doesn’t give them
the right to treat me like dirt.’
I’ve never seen Bethany
lose it before. At school she’s so quiet; she never raises her hand in
class, never gives an opinion on anything.
‘I’ve never
really thought about it before,’ I say. ‘There are the kids that people like
and the ones that they don’t. I just figured you were one of the ones they
don’t.’
‘I can’t wait to
leave school,’ she says. ‘And get away from this small-minded dump of a
village.’
‘It’s not that
bad,’ I say. She shoots me this look like she’s going to be sick on me.
‘Ok, maybe it’s a bit boring.’