chapel and the crowd followed. I hung back, not wanting to intrude, then followed and slipped into a seat at the back.
It was a nice service, as far as funerals went, I supposed. Star’s brother told some stories about when she was young. When he sat back down his parents both hugged him and his dad kept his arms round his shoulders. For a second I envied him his normal, stable family with two parents who loved him, then caught myself – he had just lost his sister, I reminded myself. Imagine if Esme died? I’d be lost without her, however much she got on my wick.
Another friend, a woman who looked spookily like Star, did a reading in a quivery voice. Fiona cried through the whole thing, a tissue clutched in her hand. Then the curtain moved as the coffin dropped down, sending a shiver up my spine, and that was it. Star was gone. It was all very respectful. Just as you’d expect, really.
After the service, everyone filed out and milled around again. Thankfully the rain had stopped now, but the day was cold and grey. Steeling myself, I joined the informal line waiting to speak to Star’s parents.
As I approached them, her mum grasped my hands.
“Harry,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
I felt dizzy with guilt. If Star had died protecting me, then I was the reason for the funeral, and poor Mrs Douglas’s unbearable grief. I muttered something inane and polite.
“Will you come back to the house?”
I was horror-stricken. Make conversation with Star’s family and friends while I knew I was the reason she was dead?
“How nice,” I found myself saying. “But I’m afraid I must get back to work.”
“So dedicated,” Mrs Douglas said. “Star always said she wished she was more like you.”
I gave her a tight smile. Star wanting to be more like me was what had landed her in the sights of some maniac. Suddenly I had to sit down. Making my excuses, I slipped round the corner of the chapel where all the flowers were laid out. Pretending to be reading the cards, I crouched down, shut my eyes and waited for my heart to stop pounding. This was a nightmare. I should never have come.
The rain started again and I could hear car doors slamming as the mourners began to leave for Mr and Mrs Douglas’s house. I tipped my head back and let the rain fall onto my face for a minute, then I stood up. I fished a tissue from my bag and carefully dried my skin, making sure not to smudge my make-up, smoothed my hair, and put up my umbrella. I was feeling more myself again. As I walked towards the crematorium exit, my eye was caught by an older man, standing very still, by the wall. I squinted at him, wondering if he was real. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d seen a ghost, though it mostly happened when I was much younger and my powers were just settling down. When I got older and more in control of things, my ability to see ghosts all but disappeared. I hadn’t missed it. As I approached the gate, the old man raised a hand in greeting then disappeared. I rolled my eyes. Being ‘other-worldly’ wasn’t always a barrel of laughs.
The rain was getting heavier and I picked up the pace, hoping to get to the main road and hail a taxi before I got too wet. But when I reached the corner, the rain was lashing down, and the road was deserted. I ducked into a doorway to shelter, and rummaged in my bag for my phone so I could call a cab. I hadn’t switched it back on since I’d been in the funeral service, and I was expecting a few messages, but I was taken aback when it beeped, four, five, six or more times. I looked at the screen. I had eight missed calls, all from different numbers, and four messages. Two were hang-ups, but the third was a posh man’s voice with an English accent.
“Call me back to arrange a meeting,” he said, reeling off a mobile number. I jotted it down on the back of my diary, assuming it was about work and wondering who the mystery man was.
I beeped through to the fourth
It was a nice service, as far as funerals went, I supposed. Star’s brother told some stories about when she was young. When he sat back down his parents both hugged him and his dad kept his arms round his shoulders. For a second I envied him his normal, stable family with two parents who loved him, then caught myself – he had just lost his sister, I reminded myself. Imagine if Esme died? I’d be lost without her, however much she got on my wick.
Another friend, a woman who looked spookily like Star, did a reading in a quivery voice. Fiona cried through the whole thing, a tissue clutched in her hand. Then the curtain moved as the coffin dropped down, sending a shiver up my spine, and that was it. Star was gone. It was all very respectful. Just as you’d expect, really.
After the service, everyone filed out and milled around again. Thankfully the rain had stopped now, but the day was cold and grey. Steeling myself, I joined the informal line waiting to speak to Star’s parents.
As I approached them, her mum grasped my hands.
“Harry,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
I felt dizzy with guilt. If Star had died protecting me, then I was the reason for the funeral, and poor Mrs Douglas’s unbearable grief. I muttered something inane and polite.
“Will you come back to the house?”
I was horror-stricken. Make conversation with Star’s family and friends while I knew I was the reason she was dead?
“How nice,” I found myself saying. “But I’m afraid I must get back to work.”
“So dedicated,” Mrs Douglas said. “Star always said she wished she was more like you.”
I gave her a tight smile. Star wanting to be more like me was what had landed her in the sights of some maniac. Suddenly I had to sit down. Making my excuses, I slipped round the corner of the chapel where all the flowers were laid out. Pretending to be reading the cards, I crouched down, shut my eyes and waited for my heart to stop pounding. This was a nightmare. I should never have come.
The rain started again and I could hear car doors slamming as the mourners began to leave for Mr and Mrs Douglas’s house. I tipped my head back and let the rain fall onto my face for a minute, then I stood up. I fished a tissue from my bag and carefully dried my skin, making sure not to smudge my make-up, smoothed my hair, and put up my umbrella. I was feeling more myself again. As I walked towards the crematorium exit, my eye was caught by an older man, standing very still, by the wall. I squinted at him, wondering if he was real. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d seen a ghost, though it mostly happened when I was much younger and my powers were just settling down. When I got older and more in control of things, my ability to see ghosts all but disappeared. I hadn’t missed it. As I approached the gate, the old man raised a hand in greeting then disappeared. I rolled my eyes. Being ‘other-worldly’ wasn’t always a barrel of laughs.
The rain was getting heavier and I picked up the pace, hoping to get to the main road and hail a taxi before I got too wet. But when I reached the corner, the rain was lashing down, and the road was deserted. I ducked into a doorway to shelter, and rummaged in my bag for my phone so I could call a cab. I hadn’t switched it back on since I’d been in the funeral service, and I was expecting a few messages, but I was taken aback when it beeped, four, five, six or more times. I looked at the screen. I had eight missed calls, all from different numbers, and four messages. Two were hang-ups, but the third was a posh man’s voice with an English accent.
“Call me back to arrange a meeting,” he said, reeling off a mobile number. I jotted it down on the back of my diary, assuming it was about work and wondering who the mystery man was.
I beeped through to the fourth
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