Three Ghosts Read online

  “Face it,” Carol said. “He’s with an Arthur substitute. You meant something to him. And he’s still making the same mistake by letting his work life overrule his love life. Only you can fix him.”

  Arthur stood. “Let’s just go. Leave them to work this out themselves.” He hit his shin on the coffee table as he stepped forward. One of the half-drunk glasses of gin tumbled over.

  Alexander and Edward rushed downstairs. Arthur huddled on the woollen carpet in pain, hands wrapped around his leg. He quickly moved out of the couple’s way as they inspected the spilt gin.

  Ed hurried outside while Alex dashed to the kitchen. He then checked the downstairs bathroom and laundry. They both returned.

  *

  Alexander shrugged. “Nothing?”

  Ed looked around. “Come out, whoever you are.”

  They both listened.

  “Ghosts?” Ed asked.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “It is an old house.”

  Edward strolled to the kitchen, ran the tap over a sponge, and returned to wipe up the spilt gin.

  “Do you want another?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Alex made a new drink. They sat back in the same chairs. Tim and Carol watched from the three-seater while Arthur manoeuvred himself on the opposite side of the table, still nursing his leg from the floor.

  “We could be drinking gin and tonic at the resort now.” Edward’s voice had a forced calm. “And if not that resort, somewhere else on the resort’s purse. They had a duty to put us up somewhere.”

  “Did they take a deposit?”

  Ed nodded. “Yes. They did. What do you think knocked the glass over?”

  Alex shrugged. “Our hostile vibes.” He chuckled. “If someone is here, then they can’t leave until we go to bed. And I don’t intend to go to bed for a while.”

  “Nothing’s been stolen. Or has it?”

  “Our passports are still here. I checked. Nothing else is worth taking. I’ll check the house again before we go to bed.”

  “You’re being nonchalant, Alexander. My glass was knocked over. Someone is here.”

  “Then, let’s annoy them by forcing them to stay hidden.”

  Edward took one look around from the comfort of his chair, then sat back. “Can I ask you something?” His tone lost its edge.

  “Okay.”

  “Have you got a deadline I don’t know about? Is that why we’re home?”

  “We took our laptops to the resort. If I did, I could have…”

  Edward wore a melancholy grin.

  “You can see through me, can’t you?” Alex took a sip of his gin. “I have a deadline and I have a mortgage.”

  “And you have a boyfriend.”

  “But the house isn’t going to pay for itself.”

  “But you’re not on contract. You’re staff. You still get paid to take leave.”

  “But then I’ll have to finish the project when I return.”

  “True.” Ed shot his hands in the air. “Believe it or not, that’s the difference between work and a holiday.”

  *

  “You do that too.” Tim stared at Arthur across the table. “You wave your hands about like you’re conducting an orchestra.”

  “That wasn’t an orchestra conducting hand motion,” Arthur replied. “It was an I sat on a butt plug by mistake motion.”

  “But you use your hands a lot,” Carol said. “Like you’re European.”

  “Like I’m gay.”

  “Alexander is gay too,” Tim noted. “And he’s not waving his hands around like a ballerina in search of a choreographer.”

  “Shh.” Arthur flitted his hand across his mouth. “It looks like Alex is going to say something.”

  *

  “I’m tired.” Alexander gulped the last of his drink and popped his glass in the kitchen sink. “I’m going to bed.”

  “What? With someone in this house.”

  “You check downstairs. I’ll check upstairs. If they escape from me, they’ll still have to come down the stairs. So, grab the rolling pin. Be armed. I’m tired. I’m off to bed.”

  Edward watched his partner saunter away like a stranger. He searched downstairs one last time, then poured another drink and sat.

  “This is not working,” he mumbled to himself. A tear made a trail down his cheek which he quickly wiped with the back of his hand. “Eight years and it’s just…” He shook his head and stayed silent.

  *

  Tim pointed to the staircase. Carol did the same.

  “What?” Arthur asked.

  “You know what,” Tim replied. “Your doppelgänger’s upset. Go and talk to Alex.”

  “He doesn’t look anything like me.”

  “But he acts like you,” said Carol. “And he has the same gestures as you. Alexander obviously missed you because he ended up with someone like you.”

  Carol and Tim pointed upstairs again.

  “Go and talk to your ex.” Carol’s voice was unusually stern. “He needs to know he’s making the same mistake with Ed as he did with you.”

  “Why don’t we just go outside and watch the shooting star?” Arthur shrugged.

  “It’s not due for a while,” Tim replied.

  “What if Ed sees me?”

  Carol and Tim watched Edward. Arthur did too. Ed tried to stay awake, but it was clear he was tired. A minute later, he finally surrendered to slumber. Tim pointed to the top of the stairwell.

  Arthur exhaled, then trudged towards the master bedroom. He took one last look at his friends who shooed him upstairs.

  *

  Arthur watched Alexander wrestle with his thoughts. His ex sat in bed, back propped against his pillow and sporting more worry lines than an author with writer’s block.

  He studied the bedroom. The bed may have been bigger than the one he and Alex used to share, but the quilt cover was familiar. Crisp white with colourful swirly circles in secondary hues. As if each was its own whirlpool of carefully mixed oil paints. Arthur remembered it. He chose it when he went shopping with Alex.

  Arthur glanced into the en suite. Alexander’s favourite facewash and moisturiser sat near the basin. Arthur had introduced his ex to that particular brand of face cream as he used it himself when he was alive. The facewash, however, was used long before Alex and Arthur met. When Arthur tried it, it made his face red and dry.

  “It’s not working,” Alexander mumbled.

  “Because you’re not giving it a chance.” Arthur didn’t mean to be heard, but his instant response made him forget to remain inaudible.

  Alex shook. He clutched the quilt cover and covered his chest. He stared at the opposite wall. Arthur knew that stare. Alex was building up courage to search the house again. Arthur clutched his fists in frustration, exhaled, then sat on the opposite corner of the bed. Alexander jolted, pushing his foot to the part of the mattress that just pushed in on itself, as if someone was sitting there. His toe stabbed Arthur.

  “Ouch. You still don’t cut your nails often enough. It’s why you used to buy new socks all the time instead of darning the pairs with holes. Those bloody toenails.”

  “Arthur?” Alex let go of the quilt cover. “Where are you?”

  Arthur let out an almighty groan. He could either show himself or run back downstairs and demand Tim and Carol leave with him.

  “Arthur, that is you. I know that moan. Are you…no? It can’t be.”

  “Here goes nothing.” Arthur allowed his form to be seen by the naked eye.

  Alex glared like a political prisoner with all rifles pointed at him.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It will counteract the years of expensive moisturiser you’ve rubbed into your face.”

  “But…!”

  “Shh. Ed’s asleep downstairs. I don’t need you both staring at me as if I’ve risen from the dead.”

  “But you have.”

  “Alexander, don’t you know a ghost when you see one? If I was
a zombie, do you think I’d calmly sit here?”

  “Why are you here?”

  Arthur was about to answer honestly. But how could he explain there were two other ghosts downstairs keeping an eye on Ed in a way that wouldn’t freak Alex even more?

  “I remember this quilt cover,” Arthur said. “It’s nice to see you still use it.”

  “The pattern grew on me. Now it’s an old favourite.”

  “Have you shopped for bed coverings with Ed?”

  Alex nodded. “Check the closet between the bedrooms. There are two other sheet sets he bought. He likes red. One in a rust colour and the other is as red as Superman’s shorts.”

  “What? He’s not into subtle colours?”

  Alexander pointed at the quilt he lay under. “This is not exactly subtle. Look at these circles of colour. They’re as vibrant as you.”

  Arthur blushed. “Don’t flirt. I’m a ghost from your past.”

  “I guess you are.”

  “Now, I have to say something. The reason your bottle of vodka was outside is because of me. I didn’t know you lived here and helped myself to a drink. Then I realised this was your home.”

  “But you didn’t drink any of the vodka.”

  “I’m a ghost. I don’t drink. I let the fumes invade my body. It’s economic and we don’t get hangovers.”

  Alexander’s worry lines weren’t as evident.

  “Do you miss me, Alex?”

  “I have someone new.”

  “But you still have photos of me.”

  Alex nodded. “You were special. The day you walked out on me hit me hard.”

  “And you’re making the same mistake with Edward as you did with me. Work trumps boyfriend. Why did you come home?”

  “Because Ed didn’t book the resort.”

  “You know that’s not true. La-de-da. I watched you argue. Why did you come home?”

  “Because work trumps boyfriend.”

  “And your work couldn’t wait?”

  Alex’s mouth opened several times like a fish on land gasping for air, but no words spilled out.

  Arthur nodded, knowing he had the upper hand. “Now Edward has to spend seven days with you in the house instead of sunbathing by the pool with cocktails. Don’t lose him as well. Head back to the resort tonight.”

  Alex smiled indistinctly. “I miss you sometimes.”

  “I miss…” Arthur surprised himself. For all his bravado he didn’t think he’d choke on his words.

  “I loved you, Arthur. Yes, I was married to my work instead of you but it’s the way I’ve always been. I’m scared of retiring poor, so I pour myself into my career and hope my partner is there for comfort.”

  “No. You hope your partner is more like a pet.”

  “That’s not fair.” Alexander fidgeted with the corner of the quilt. “No, you’re right. I don’t invest in my boyfriends as much as I do my job.”

  “Go downstairs. Wake Ed up. Go back to the resort. Enjoy breakfast in a romantic mood. He deserves that much at least.”

  “This isn’t like you, Arthur. You’re usually self-obsessed.” Alex chuckled. “Like me.”

  “I guess I walked out because neither of us gave what we had a chance. I was all ‘me me me’. You were all ‘work work work’.” He leaned closer to his ex. “Imagine what we could have had if we made space for each other.”

  “I loved you.”

  Alexander gazed into Arthur’s eyes in a way he never had before.

  “And I still love you.”

  Alex closed his eyes. Arthur imagined what might be going through his head. Regret. Fuzzy memories. Wishing he could have Arthur back alive.

  “Wait here.” Alex lifted the quilt and placed his feet on the carpet. “I’ll be back shortly.” He made his way down the stairs.

  *

  “He’s on his way back,” Tim noted. “I wonder what he and Arthur talked about.”

  “I’ve got a good idea what Arthur said. He reiterated his undying love for Alex. How he wished he’d never left. How it was the biggest mistake of his life.”

  “The same old phrases repeated like a scratched record.”

  Alexander gently shook Edward. Ed spluttered a few times before waking.

  “We can’t go upstairs,” Alex told him. “Arthur is in our bedroom.”

  “What?” Ed spluttered some more. “The guy you shot in the back as he was leaving you! He’s dead. I helped you cut him in two before we stuffed him in hessian bags and shoved him in the boot of your Corolla. Did he come back from the dead?”

  Alex nodded. “He’s in our bedroom. He’s a ghost.”

  “Is he in two halves?”

  “No. He’s in one piece.”

  “And he’s seeking revenge.”

  Alex shook his head. “He doesn’t remember his murder.”

  “What? He just thinks he walked out on you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Tim and Carol held each other’s hands tightly. Carol’s horror was so severe, the veins in her neck jutted out. She stared at Sabrina. The house spirit glared at Alexander and Edward. Then she rubbed her forehead in disbelief before sliding down the wall onto her butt. She glanced back at Carol who trembled.

  “We can’t tell Arthur,” Carol whispered.

  Tim’s eyes watered. “He has to know. We all have to know how we died. He has no idea.”

  “This will kill him. Pun intended.”

  Tim stood, lifting Carol from the couch. This made a noise that Ed noticed, but Tim didn’t care.

  “But why would Alex keep photos of Arthur in his album?” Carol’s expression wasn’t pretty.

  “What better way to deflect suspicion than to keep pictures of your ex?”

  Tim pointed upstairs. They made their way to Arthur.

  *

  “He misses me.” Arthur lay on the bed with his back propped against a pillow. He had several bottles of aftershave on the bedside drawers and was sniffing them, giving each a rating out of five.

  When his friends rushed into the room, Carol grimaced. Tim chewed his bottom lip.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “How much do you remember about your death?” Tim began.

  “Let’s get out of this room,” Carol said. “I think the study has a view to the backyard. Let’s make sure we don’t miss the shooting star, even if it is many hours away.”

  “How about we go back to the yard.” Arthur collected the bottles and returned them to the en suite. “Or is Alexander staying downstairs? Did I frighten him?”

  “Carol’s right. Let’s talk in the study.”

  Arthur followed the couple. Carol told him to sit on the navy office chair. He did, swinging the seat around a few times. Carol and Tim sat on a sofa bed.

  “What were you doing the day of your death? Tim asked.

  Arthur felt himself smiling. “That was the last day I saw Alexander. My workaholic boyfriend. The one who still loves me.”

  “And then what did you do?” Carol leaned forward.

  Her facial expression intrigued Arthur. This was supposed to be a light-hearted romp. A shooting star would pass, and they’d be on their way. And Arthur would hold on to the feeling of being loved. Sure, Alex made mistakes but in the end the love didn’t fade, even if Alex now had an Arthur substitute.

  “What happened after you left Alex?” Tim repeated Carol’s question.

  “I went home for a nap. And for some reason I died in my sleep.”

  “You went home?” Carol seemed puzzled.

  “Yes. I went home. Then I died. Probably from a broken heart.”

  “But Arthur, you lived with Alex.” Tim now leaned forward. “How could you go home when you just walked away from home?”

  Arthur pondered. He must have slept at his mum’s. No. His mum lived interstate. Ah! He spoke to his friend Clinton about the breakup and had a nap there. But he couldn’t remember confiding in Clinton. He couldn’t remember confiding in anyone.

  “Where d
id you go after you left Alex?” Tim asked.

  “I don’t know.” He trembled.

  Carol reached out and steadied his hands. “It took me a long time to remember how I died.”

  “What does this have to do…?” Arthur was spooked by the kindness in her voice.

  “I wandered into my funeral hoping to find answers,” she continued. “My mum and dad were the hardest to be around, blaming themselves while my aunt kept telling them there was nothing they could have done. Watching parents lose their child is the most heartbreaking thing you can watch. And when it’s your own parents and it’s you they’re grieving over…”

  Tim hugged her. “We understand. No need to say more.”

  “But I have to. Tim’s parents were there, too, even though we had separate services. Mine in the morning. His in the afternoon.”

  “Everyone knew both of you.” Arthur attempted a smile. “The perfect couple killed in a random car accident.”

  “But that’s the thing, Arthur. I didn’t remember the car accident.”

  “I didn’t either,” Tim added. “I didn’t go to Carol’s funeral with her, and she didn’t come to mine. It was a lot to take in, being dead. We couldn’t face two funerals in one day.”

  “So, there I am with my mum and dad grieving, my aunt consoling them, and me none the wiser how I died. And then the priest says it all. A car crash. No wonder my ribs were sore. My side had a bruise. It disappeared when the priest explained my death.”

  “Carol warned me before I went to my funeral.” Tim’s tender gaze at his girlfriend was more real than any glance Arthur got from any of his lovers. “She shared how we died, and I strolled into the service with my head a mess. Then I heard the lovely things our friends said about us. One called us a power-couple, which I laughed at.”

  “I hate that term,” Arthur said.

  “Me too,” Carol agreed.

  “I know it was a compliment but hearing it sounded weird. Fortunately, our other friends thought it was weird, too, and brought the conversation back to earth. But we were celebrated. Sure, my brother talked about me, but some of our friends talked about us.” Tim took a long breath and exhaled slowly. “But I’m getting off point.” He paused. “Brace yourself, Arthur, because this is not going to be easy.”