Chapter 15 #2
I stuffed the leaflets back in my bag and crossed the nearest stone footbridge over the river, heading along the wide footpath towards Churchside, which was where the Swinging Sixties street was located.
It really did feel like stepping back in time.
The window displays and decor felt like another world, and I could imagine my mum would love it, as this was more her era.
The toy shop window was full of things she’d probably played with when she was little – Sindy dolls and Tiny Tears, old board games and puzzles, a doll’s house with a shiny red roof and roses painted round the front door, cowboy outfits complete with toy guns, and a nurse’s outfit with a little cap and cape.
It was so sweet, and I remembered my mum telling me about the doll’s pram she’d got one Christmas, complete with a Tiny Tears doll, and how she’d treasured those gifts so much and wished she’d kept them so that one day she could have given them to me.
I moved on to the newsagent’s. My nose practically touching the glass, I peered with fascination at the books on display. They were old paperbacks, many of them for children. And the comics! Oh wow, Mum would love it here.
Jars of sweets were lined up on some shelves, and I noticed names like Kop Kops, sherbet pips, sour apples, rhubarb and custard, and toffee bon bons.
I wondered if Mum used to enjoy sweets like that.
I imagined her walking to school with her friends, dipping into the sweet shop and asking for two ounces of whichever treat had caught her fancy.
Bless her. Maybe I should buy her some as a treat?
I could take them to her when I got home.
It was ages since I’d been to my parents’ house, come to think of it. I’d just been too busy. Too tired.
Someone moved in the reflection of the window, and I moved aside, thinking they wanted to get a better view of the display.
I went back to browsing the comics for a few moments, before becoming aware that the person behind me hadn’t moved. I lifted my gaze and saw her staring at me. I couldn’t make out her features but wow, she had wild hair.
Realising I was now staring at her as much as she was staring at me, I shifted uncomfortably and turned to leave.
I flashed her an apologetic smile as I walked away because I’m British, and even when someone else is being decidedly rude to us we always feel sorry, as if the whole thing was our fault. It’s in our DNA.
‘Kir-Kirsty?’
I halted. Something about that voice… For some reason, goosebumps broke out on my arms, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Slowly I turned round and finally took a proper look at the rude woman who’d been gawping at my reflection in the window.
It took me a few moments. Initially the thought flashed through my mind that she looked an awful lot like Brooke. But then it occurred to me that she’d said my name, and how would a stranger know that?
Anyway, I’d never seen my cousin dressed like that before, and what the heck was going on with this person’s hair?
But as I kept staring at her I couldn’t help reaching the conclusion that it was Brooke. Which was insane. And clearly, I was insane, too.
I mean, I’d certainly not expected to see her on a little street in Rowan Vale because – well – because she’d been dead eighteen years. So there was that.
‘Brooke?’ Part of me was telling myself that I was being stupid.
How could it possibly be Brooke? The other part of me was telling me to shut up because there was clear evidence right in front of my eyes.
I knew my cousin. This was Brooke all right, and she might be dead, but she was looking bloody well from where I was standing.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What am I doing here?’ I threw up my hands in disbelief. ‘That’s rich, coming from you! What are you doing here? You do know you died eighteen years ago?’
As I said the words an irrational thought took hold. Had she died? Had she somehow miraculously escaped the car crash? Had there been someone else in the car who had been mistaken for Brooke? My mind was a jumble of chaotic thoughts.
‘Well, thanks for the reminder,’ she said, folding her arms and fixing me with one of her looks.
And that’s when I was certain. This was Brooke all right.
I remembered that sulky expression now. I’d almost forgotten.
We used to get on really well, but in the last couple of years of her life she’d changed.
It was like she hated me at times, yet at other times she’d be all over me, buying me little presents and being extra kind, which always made me suspicious.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But honestly, I don’t understand any of this. I don’t think I’m going mad, although given the kind of week I’m having it’s quite possible, I suppose. How can you be here?’ A thought occurred to me and my eyes widened. ‘Danny! Is he here, too?’
Brooke hesitated, then she dug her hands into the pockets of her strange trousers and shook her head. ‘Sorry. No. Just me.’
I didn’t know whether to be sad or glad. Given the emotional state I was in, I supposed I should be grateful that there wasn’t yet another complication in the mix. I’d got more than enough to deal with already.
I realised suddenly that I was standing in the street having a conversation with a ghost.
‘Can everyone see you?’ I asked, aware that people were walking up and down the path.
‘No. Only people who are blood relatives can see the ghosts,’ she told me. ‘And not all of them are able to, so it’s pure chance that you can see me.’
‘Ghosts plural?’ I said nervously. ‘You mean you’re not alone here?’
‘Oh no. There are quite a few of us in Rowan Vale.’ She shrugged.
‘That’s why no one’s taking any notice of you talking to me.
All the villagers here know the place is full of spirits, and if there are any tourists here, they’re either too interested in the attractions or they’ll think you’re loopy.
Either way it doesn’t really matter, does it? ’
‘Well, it does actually,’ I said. ‘I’d rather people didn’t think I was loopy, thanks very much.’
‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘These people are all locals. They’ll know you’re talking to family.’
I couldn’t know for sure that she was telling me the truth, but I decided to believe her for the sake of my sanity, or I really would go loopy.
‘Can we go somewhere more private?’ I asked her.
She gave me a suspicious look. ‘What for?’
‘To talk!’ I said.
‘What about?’
I shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Oh, you know. What’s been happening on EastEnders over the last eighteen years.
Tess and Claudia leaving Strictly. Who are you rooting for to win Eurovision?
Can you believe Neighbours has been cancelled?
Twice.’ When she just stared at me I gave her an exasperated look.
‘What do you think we’re going to talk about?
You died, Brooke! Yet, somehow, you’re here in Rowan Vale, dressed like – dressed like… What are you dressed like?’
‘Siobhan from Bananarama,’ she muttered. ‘Wait. Neighbours has ended again?’
‘Good grief.’ I shook my head. ‘We need to go somewhere so we can discuss this.’ As she opened her mouth to speak, I said quickly, ‘Not Neighbours! Please, Brooke. I have so much to say to you, and there must be things you want to tell me. Things you want to ask me.’
‘Okay,’ she said, not exactly sounding thrilled about it, although that might have been the shock of her favourite soap ending. ‘I suppose you’re right. We do need to talk, and I suppose it’s better late than never.’