Chapter 10 John
John
Well, that is interesting. John watches Mia as she dashes up the stairs like her tail is on fire.
He had followed Mia and Sam to the kitchen, set on wreaking more havoc given how much Mia had enjoyed his antics with the ornaments.
He was thinking that perhaps he could dump some rubbish on Sam, or make the microwave keep buzzing over and over.
Something that would drive Sam crazy, and make Mia laugh again, while also saving her from getting into a blazing argument with Sam.
He could only imagine the bitter words being thrown around while the two of them were alone.
Instead, he’d seemed to have observed some sort of truce. Or at least a temporary cessation of hostilities. Sam and Mia had shared what seemed to be a heartfelt conversation, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, Mia had even laughed.
John had been quite the busybody in his day.
There was nothing he’d enjoyed more than matching up a couple based on their compatibility and he had always had a sense for these things while he was alive, and now he can’t help but think that it really is a shame Mia is such a sworn enemy of Sam.
They’d make a striking couple, and John can even imagine they might have a few things in common.
Ridiculous footwear, for starters. He sighs and heads up the stairs after Mia.
No use imagining the impossible. He has a feeling that Mia Robinson isn’t one to change her mind.
That girl has a stubborn streak the width of Africa.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he catches up to Mia in the corridor and follows her into her childhood bedroom. Once they’re inside and the door is closed, Mia lets herself fall back on the bed, laughter bubbling up.
‘John! This is working out so perfectly. His face when you tossed that first ornament on the floor! I thought he was going to throw up.’
‘I was worried I was taking it too far. But let me tell you, Mia, I have no regrets. I’ve been staring at those ghastly ornaments for longer than you’ve been alive. It was time for them to go.’
‘You’ve done the world a great service today.’ Mia’s voice is grave. Then she dissolves once more into laughter.
‘You know where they came from, right?’
Mia shakes her head as she pulls out wrapping paper and tape from under her bed, then slides open a dresser drawer and starts taking out the gifts she’d stashed there when she arrived. John takes a seat up by the head of the bed.
‘Mags told me they were gifts from a suitor. Apparently, some young man in town was interested in your gran. Joan was quite the catch when she was an eligible young lady, you know. Anyway, the man – I believe his name was Reginald – worked at the factory in town, and he would gather up all the ornaments that ended up as seconds and bring them to Joan whenever he visited. She thought they were atrocious, but she was too nice to say anything. Eventually, Gertie told him to stop coming. She was the one to break the news to Reginald that your gran was engaged to Morris.’
‘I love that you know all of this.’ Mia, having abandoned all pretence of wrapping gifts, is lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hands as she listens. ‘What other juicy gossip can you tell me about Willowby Manor? Maybe listening to ancient drama will inspire a new way to mess with Sam.’
John leans back against the headboard and crosses his legs at the ankles. ‘Well, the gardener died a tragic death here.’
‘Pssht. I already know that one.’ Mia brightens. ‘Ohh, but I don’t know how! Is it insensitive to try to guess how you died?’
‘Of course it is,’ John responds. But he waves his permission anyway.
‘OK, let’s see. You seem like a man who enjoys a nice bath.
Did you fall asleep and drown?’ John shakes his head.
‘Wait, no. I think you fell asleep in your room with a candle on … No, that can’t be it because the cottage would have burnt down.
Also, do ghosts look the way they did when they died?
Like, if you had your head cut off, would you have to run around headless? ’
‘Probably,’ John quips with a serious face.
Mia’s eyes widen. ‘Truly?’
‘I have no idea. But I don’t think so, or else my head would be full of holes.’
‘Ooh, a clue! OK, wait. Don’t tell me any more. So, your head is a sieve – maybe you walked into some birdshot? No? Hmm. I feel like I can get this if I just think hard enough.’
John starts to respond, but there’s a tentative knock at the door.
‘Mia?’
‘Come in, Mum,’ Mia calls, absentmindedly.
She’s clearly still trying to figure out how John died when Penny steps into the room, her arms laden with photograph albums. She’s changed into a pale green trouser suit with a striped turtleneck underneath the jacket. ‘I thought you might like to look at these. Oh, were you talking to someone?’
Mia’s eyes jump to John, and then away. Quickly, she flicks the bedspread over the small pile of presents in the middle of the bed. ‘Nope! Ah, must have been the radio.’
Penny looks around Mia’s room. ‘But you don’t have a radio in here, dear.’
Mia gulps. ‘Ah, I meant the radio was on next door. In Charlie’s room.’
Penny lowers the albums to the bed. ‘Well, OK. These are all the albums I could find. They’re not in any order, but I thought you might like looking at all of Dad’s trees over the years.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Penny gives Mia a little squeeze and heads out, closing the door behind her.
Mia tugs the thickest album into her lap and begins to flip through the pages.
‘Oh, look. These are of Mum and Dad when they were young. Dating, maybe?’ She flips a few more pages, then squints at another picture.
‘Wow, Grandma Joan was a total hottie, you weren’t lying. Look at her in her swimming costume.’
John gives the photo a cursory glance with a polite nod. ‘Very nice. She actually looks a bit like my mum.’
‘Really?’ Mia peers at the picture again. ‘How interesting. Oh, look! There are pictures of every single holiday party here at Willowby. Gosh. I think that’s Mr Thrumble with hair.’
John chuckles, and Mia falls silent for a few minutes, absorbed in the photos.
‘Ugh. This was my dad’s moustache phase. Terrible idea. He looks like a serial killer. Oh, here’s the millennium tree he was talking about.’
John shifts to peer over her shoulder. The tree in question is enormous, studded with lights and swathed in airy silver tulle. ‘I remember that one now. Looked like a giant spaceship.’
‘Mmm hmm. This is actually quite fun. No one prints out photos any more.’
This confuses John. ‘Are you telling me no one takes pictures any more? Haven’t I seen you snapping away on that little pocket phone you have?’
Mia smirks. ‘You can just say phone. And yes, I have hundreds of photos on my phone. But we don’t print them out. We just keep them in the cloud.’
John’s confusion is evident.
‘The internet was a thing when you were alive, right?’
‘Of course,’ John says. ‘I went to the internet cafe once or twice.’
Mia’s eyes widen. ‘O … K. I’ve read about those. Things really have changed in the last few decades, haven’t they?’
‘Mmm. It remains to be seen whether that’s good or bad.’
‘Oh, I think it’s good. People are much more open minded about a lot of things these days. For instance, it’s not cool to bully people any more. Or poke fun at their weight or their freckles and things. It’s all about tolerance, John.’
‘Well, I’m sure there are some things people still aren’t tolerant of.’ Like being humiliated by a certain brown-eyed tennis player, John thinks.
‘Sure, but I think it’s mostly centred around religion and politics these days. Not about people’s individual choices. Haven’t you heard the expression “you do you”?’
John shakes his head.
‘Well, it’s just kind of this acknowledgement that we all have our own path to walk and should feel confident being ourselves.
’ Mia stares thoughtfully off into the distance.
John watches her, wondering if the world really has changed that much since he died.
Tolerance wasn’t exactly the de facto response that he remembered.
As a child, he’d always been passionate about music, and particularly singing, but he’d been subjected to a fair amount of ridicule for it.
His mum had always been very encouraging about it, but the other children at school had been ruthless.
He had been teased relentlessly for an entire year, and John had been tempted to quit so many times.
But that year he’d had the solo at the end of year concert, and he couldn’t bring himself to miss out on that experience.
Thankfully, Mrs Wicket had become head of music the following year, and taken John under her wing, until singing had quickly become the brightest spot in his life.
Shaking herself, Mia returns her attention to the albums on the bed. ‘Wow, these albums really do go way back. Hey, you should be in here somewhere, shouldn’t you? Mum said the staff were always invited to the Christmas parties.’
‘It’s very likely,’ John offers.
‘Oh, it’s a shame Mags won’t be in any of the pictures, though! I’d have loved to see her.’
John barks out a laugh. ‘Mags was positively terrified of any and all technology when she came across it while she was stuck in limbo, so perhaps it’s for the best she never came face to face with the business end of a camera.
You know, her crockery-throwing antics were actually the inspiration behind the ornament tossing earlier. ’
‘Genius – thank you, Mags! God, Sam was so confused, it was brilliant.’ Mia dissolves into giggles at the thought.
At the mention of Sam, John is tempted to bring up the events that transpired in the kitchen, to see whether Mia might confess that perhaps Sam isn’t all bad after all.
But before he can work up the courage, Mia stops giggling and turns to him with a curious look. ‘How was Mags able to pass over?’