“Oi, mate, you still kipping? Vic, Vic…wake up, youll sleep your whole life away if you carry on like this. Blimey, just look at him, still snoring. Victor, get up, or youll miss your chance at happiness, Im telling ya!”
“Bloody hell, Edith Margaret, give us a break, will ya? Its my day off.”
“Day off my foot! Youll have plenty of time to nap when youre retired.”
“Yeah, or when Im six feet under, more like.”
“Dont be daft, just get up already. Come on!”
Victor groaned, staring at his bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror.
“Well?”
“Not even dressed, are ya? Go wash up, shave, sort yourself out. Youve got time. Get on with it.”
“What time, Edith Margaret?”
“Enough time, thats what.”
Victor trudged to the bathroom, muttering under his breathbetter not let her catch him, or hed get a slipper lobbed at his head. Still nagging him, even nowblimey, she was a right piece of work, even in the afterlife.
“Vic, did I ever tell you I can hear your thoughts sometimes? No? Well, now you know,” said Edith, settling cross-legged on his bed. “Side effect, innit? Now go on, wash your face, brush your teeth, and for heavens sake, shave. You look like youve been living in the woods.”
Victor knew better than to argue. Arguing with her had been pointless when she was alive, and somehow, death hadnt changed that.
His mother-in-law wasnt your typical ghost. Oh no. Shed just… shown up in his flat one day.
After her funeral.
“I hear you, you know. Most of the time,” Edith said, floating closer. “Honestly, how my Linda put up with you all these years, Ill never know. Youre a proper dinosaur, you are.”
Victor waved her off and headed to the bathroom.
He and Linda had divorced a year ago. The kids were grown, living their own lives. Linda had suddenly decided he was a “patriarchal oppressor,” packed her bags, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Victor had been left standing there, gobsmacked.
Hed called her, but shed ranted about him being a “misogynist relic” and hung up. Never in his life had he been called such foul things.
And how was he supposed to *stop* being a “patriarchal oppressor” when his literal job was building houses, sheds, and the like? Proper odd, that Linda. And now shed gone and got herself one of those life coachessome bloke named *Esmond Wondersmith*. Who even names their kid that?
According to Linda, her life with Victor had been “suffocation.” Hed “yoked her like a plough horse,” forced her to make roasts and shepherds pie.
Though, to be fair, Lindas shepherds pie was divine…
Victor nearly choked on his own drool at the thought whenmid-shavea sudden idea struck him. Half his face still lathered, he bolted into the hallway.
“Edith Margaret… Edith Margaret!”
“What now? Why are you shouting?”
“Edith Margaret, teach me how to make your roast dinner. Please.”
“Pfft, as if! You think Id just hand over my secret recipe?”
“What, you gonna cook for the angels up there?”
“Cheeky git.”
“Exactly. Lindas roast is better than yours, anyway.”
“Oh, pull the other one! I taught her everything she knows!”
“Yeah, well, pupil outshone the teacher, didnt she?”
“*What*? You take that back! What meat does Linda even use in her roast, huh?”
“Beef, obviously.”
“Ha! See? Thats where youre wrongits *lamb*!”
“Yeah? And I suppose youll say its gotta be cooked in *that* pot over there, not this one?”
“Dont be daft, of course its *that* oneoh, you little!”
And so, between bickering and scribbling notes, Victor managed to cook his first proper roast.
He sat at the kitchen table, clean-shaven, tucking into the most glorious meal of his life.
“Mum… youre a genius.”
“Eh?”
“Your roast… its unbeatable.”
“What about Lindas?”
“Pfft, doesnt hold a candle. Waitare you *crying*? Can ghosts even cry?”
“Dunno,” Edith sniffed. “But youre a right git, Vic.”
“Here we go. Whatve I done now?”
“*Mum*you called me *mum*! Now Im blubbing like a fool. Vic, I was trying to sort your life out, you know.”
“Hows that?”
“Well… I was gonna send you out with the bins at half-six, all spruced up, and just then, Geraldine from next doorforty-seven, never married, just moved inshed be coming out too. Youd bump into each other, and…”
“Right… and then what?”
“Nothing, Vic,” Ediths eyes darted aboutas much as a ghosts can. “Youd… yknow… hit it off. And then I could… move on.”
“Move on?”
“Yeah. Condition was, I had to make you happy first.”
“So youve known all this for a *year*?”
“Course I have.”
“Then why didnt you just do it?”
Ediths eyes flickered again. “Well, *you* had to go and ruin it with your roast nonsense!”
“*Me*?”
“Yeah, *you*! Now Im stuck here till I sort you out proper!”
“Happy? Seriously? Who decided Id be happy with some strange bird? I *am* happy!”
“Hows that?”
“Im alive, Ive got air in my lungs, and now Ive got the best roast recipe in the world. Ive got *you* nagging me so I dont starve or turn into a slob. Im not lonely. Ive got… *Mum*.”
“Oh, sod off!” Edith shrieked before vanishing into the wardrobe, where muffled sobbing could still be heard.
Victor decided to tidy up.
“Not like *that*! Use the *other* cloth, you daft!”
***
Linda hadnt slept well. Shed dreamt of her mumyoung and beautiful, reaching out, calling her name…
She tried to watch her life coach, *Esmond Wondersmith*, but the video wouldnt load. So she called him instead.
This *divine* man, whod “opened her eyes to life,” was always available.
Except… he wasnt picking up.
“*What*? Who the *hell* is calling me at seven in the bloody morning?” A gruff voice snarled through the phone.
Linda hung up. That… was *not* Esmond.
She sat there, thenfor reasons she couldnt explainshe *had* to go see Victor.
***
Victor and Edith were playing chess, laughing loudly.
“Lost the plot, has he?” Linda thought, watching her ex-husband chat and chuckle with… *no one*.
“Oi, Linda! Your mums movecheckmate!”
Linda couldve sworn the chess pieces moved *on their own*.
What fresh madness was this?
“You look well, Linda… though Mum says youve lost weight. Not eating? Fancy some roast? Mums recipe.”
“Vic… are you *okay*?”
“Me? Never better. Mums promised to teach me her Yorkshire pudding next.”
“Vic… *what* mum? Shes been gone a year.”
“Yeah, well, shes been living with me since then.”
“Vic… love, whats happened to you?”
“Nothing! Im grand. Cmon, try the roast.”
Linda decided not to argue with a madman.
But the roast… the *smell*… just like her mums.
“Vic… *you* made this?”
“Yeah, Mum finally shared her secret. Oh, stop crying, Edith Margaretyou dont believe me, do you, Linda? Ask her something only you two would know.”
“Vic, I”
“Go on. Since you think Ive lost it.”
“Mum… what was my biggest secret in Year Three?”
“That you fancied… *what*? You fancied *me* back then?”
Linda sat down hard.
“What colour was my pram? How old was I when my first tooth came in? Whos Auntie Kath?”
Every answer was spot-on.
“This cant be… Vic… My mums *really* here?”
“Yeah… just… not *exactly* here. Shes a ghost, Linda. Mum… show yourself.”
For just a second, Linda saw her. Then again, in flickers.
“Shes losing energy, Linda. But she loves you. Wants you to be happy. Wants *us* to be happy. Whats that mean, Edith Margaret? Waitwherere you? *Mum*!”
Victor woke with a gasp. Next to him, Linda jerked upright.
“Linda?”
“Victor? II dont know how this happened… Wait… Was that?”
“A dream,” Victor whispered.
“You dreamed it too? That Mum was a ghost… and Id left you for some life coach…”
“Linda!”
“Victor!”
A fist pounded on the door.
“Honestly! How long are you two gonna lie in?”
“Mum?!”
“Edith Margaret, youre *alive*?”
“Not for *your* sake! Linda, stop watching all that life coach nonsense. Had the strangest dreamspent a *year* haunting this daft sod. Now get up! Were going to the cottage. Plenty of work to knock some sense into you. And *you*, Victoryoure learning to make a proper roast. Just in case…”
***
“Vic… in thirty years with Linda, whyd you never call me *Mum* before?”
“Dunno… *Mum*. “Never felt right, I suppose. But now it does.”
Edith sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “About time, you daft old fool.”
Victor smiled, stirring the gravy. “Mum?”
“What now?”
“Im glad youre not dead.”
“Bloody hell. Pass the salt. “Vic… in thirty years with Linda, whyd you never call me *Mum* before?”
“Dunno… *Mum*. ‘Never felt right, I suppose. But now it does.'”
Edith sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “About time, you daft old fool.”
Victor smiled, stirring the gravy. “Mum?”
“What now?”
“Im glad youre not dead.”
“Bloody hell. Pass the salt.”
