The rest of it – that’s because you’re a visitor. You’re here on a kind of guest pass, which only affords certain privileges. You get more freedom if you choose to stay for good.’
‘So you can touch? You can open doors and move things around? You can interact with people?’
‘Hold your horses. I didn’t say that. I said I could feel some things, such as the rain. It’s more of a reminder, an echo, than a proper sensation. I don’t actually get wet or cold or anything like that, although I do find the rain a bit unpleasant. It sort of … itches. But I’m still a spirit with no physical presence. I can’t occupy the same space as a living person any more than you can. Don’t kid yourself. It’s not like everything goes back to normal if you decide to stay. You’re still dead; all you get is a taste of what you used to have.’
‘But what about that transporting thing that you do?’
Arthur laughed. ‘Impressive, isn’t it? That’s one perk you do get as a permanent spirit – and it does help with staying out of folk’s way – but that’s pretty much it.’
‘What about communicating with people? You know how desperate I am to contact Ella.’
‘That’s a bit of a grey area. Officially, none of us are supposed to be able to communicate with the living, regardless of the permanency or otherwise of our status. However, that’s not to say it can’t happen. A lot depends on the living person involved: whether they’re tuned into that kind of thing or not and how strong a bond there is between them and the deceased.’
I recounted the two occasions on which Ella had appeared to sense me. ‘Does that mean there’s a chance of something more?’
‘Maybe. It’s definitely something to work with. The fact that she’s so young is likely to help. Children tend to be far more receptive than adults. Their minds aren’t cluttered with the kind of junk that blinkers most folk.’
‘So what next?’
‘If you’re a hundred per cent sure that you want to contact Ella; that it’s the right thing to do—’
I held up one hand to stop him. ‘Hang on a second. What does that mean? Why wouldn’t it be? She’s my only daughter. I disappeared without saying goodbye. First her mother and then me. She thinks I broke my promise never to leave her.’
‘Yes, I know that. But don’t forget that she’s just said goodbye to you. If this works – and there’s no guarantee it will – hearing from you now, from beyond the grave, will at the very least be confusing for her. You’ve had time to get used to what you are; she hasn’t. How often have you told her there are no such things as ghosts?’
He paused for a moment, his eyes widening as they stared deep inside me. ‘See what I mean? You’ll be messing with the normal grieving process and putting her through a whole new rollercoaster of emotions. I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m simply warning you that if you go ahead with this, you need to do so with your eyes open. Be sure it’s the best thing for Ella.’
At that moment I heard a rattling from the back of the church, which startled me. ‘Looks like we’ve got company,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s probably the vicar. We don’t need him distracting us. Here, take my hand.’
I did as he asked and found myself inside a large wooden shed-like building. I looked around and saw a pile of cricket stumps and balls, a stack of hurdles, a rusty netball post and other sports equipment. There were no windows, but the gloomy day outside peeked in through two water-streaked skylights. Rain was beating down on the roof.
‘Grab a seat,’ Arthur said, gesturing to a pile of mildew-flecked cricket pads as he plonked himself down on a ragged deckchair.
‘Where are we?’
‘Don’t you recognize it?’
Puzzled, I looked around again and the penny dropped. ‘Of course. The cricket pavilion.’
That had been the somewhat misleading title attributed to the storage shed on the sports field at my old primary school. ‘Do they still call it that?’
Arthur smiled. ‘They do, although it’s lucky to still be standing, if you ask me. The new caretaker doesn’t creosote it anywhere near often enough. It smells so damp these days.’
‘You can smell?’
‘Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mention that, did I? That comes back too if you stay. Again, it’s not the same as it was, but it’s better than nothing. It’s a bit like having a heavy cold the whole time.’
‘And taste? Do you get that back?’
Arthur laughed. ‘I wish. No, that’s gone for good, along with eating or drinking anything. The smell is the closest I get to food these days. Sometimes it kills me, getting a whiff of hot buttered toast or freshly brewed coffee. Bacon’s the worst, mind. I still get cravings after all these years. I used to love my food. Not that it did me any good. It was clogging up my arteries that caused the heart attack that killed me. That and the fags, although I don’t miss them at all – horrible things.’
‘Do you think you still get to eat and drink on the other side?’ I asked. ‘You know, if you pass over.’
‘I’ve often wondered that myself,’ Arthur replied. ‘I like to think you do; that you can eat whatever you like, whenever you like, as often as you like, with no negative consequences.’ He licked his lips. ‘Now that would be bliss.’
‘So why did you stay?’
He fell silent for a moment before replying: ‘I had my reasons. But don’t you think for a second that I chose not to go because of what it’s like over there. By all accounts it’s the most perfect place imaginable. I stayed here because I had to. It’s not something I’d recommend.’
‘It’s not all that bad, is it? You seem to be doing okay.’
He snorted. ‘Do you really want to pass the rest of your days watching the world go by around you? Haven’t you felt the loneliness yet?’
He stared at me, awaiting an answer. ‘Yes, I do feel it sometimes,’ I replied eventually.
‘It only gets worse,’ he said. ‘That horrible feeling of being invisible gradually eats away at you. It’s like you’ve lost your identity, your purpose, your self-worth. Many spirits over the years have let it get on top of them and lost their minds. Those are the ones that give us lot a bad name, carrying out the hauntings and so on. Maybe I’ll end up that way one day. I’ve come close before now.’
‘But don’t you keep each other company? Don’t you have any spirit friends?’
Arthur shook his head sadly. ‘Nice idea, lad, but it doesn’t work like that. Those of us that choose to stay all have our reasons for doing so. You could probably call them our obsessions. We each have our little corners of the world and we rarely stray from them. Being a spirit here is a solitary life.’
‘So what are you saying, Arthur? Is your advice to abandon my six-year-old daughter and take the elevator upstairs without looking back? That’s what you’d do, is it? This is bullshit. I thought you were here to help.’
‘Calm down, lad.
