When I get to the end of the street I detect the unmistakable whiff of burning sage. My heart takes a nosedive. It can mean only one thing: she is bothering the ether.

Sure enough, as I snick open the front door I hear them. Is there anybody there? Is there anybody there? A terribly random endeavour, don’t you think? Sort of like Chat Roulette, but with ghosts. You’ve literally got a one in three chance of getting a wanker. I always thought of the afterlife as being like an airport waiting lounge, filled with impatient spirits, with one phone at one end, that would occasionally ring and be pounced on. It’s for Kevin! Kevin? And a spirit would sprint over, pushing through the crowds, hand raised. That’s me! I’m Kevin! Wait, don’t hang up!

My mother would be sitting on a table to hold the room. She always made sure her head was higher than anyone’s, like Caesar. I remember the nights I couldn’t revise because the caterwauling was so loud. My French listening test was a disaster. I arrived late and said I’d run over a dog on my bike; an unconvincing lie, I see that now. The tutor looked at me woefully. I sat down. I had missed half the test. French was my only B. When I got the results it was like a pair of soft breasts sitting there, jiggling, mocking me, among the strong, triangular As. I could not function in that house.

This is my house.

Her head darts out of the lounge. ‘Jenny! Come join us!’

I step forward and say in what I hope is a hushed tone: ‘What are you doing? You know I don’t like being around this.’

‘The spirits live amongst us, Jenny.’

‘Christ knows where they find the space, with all your coats.’

‘It’s just a few people, connecting.’

‘Getting drunk, more like.’

‘Alcohol is the safest choice in the capital. I forgot how the water makes tea taste like a goat’s arse-pocket.’

A huge man comes out of the lounge. He has earlobes like medallions of beef. ‘Carmen,’ he says. To me, an enforced and dramatic, ‘Hello.’ To Carmen again: ‘I’m just worried we will run out of time to make contact.’

He looks stricken. This is the unsavoury part. The wounded and hopeless, the lost. Preyed on.

‘Just a moment, Benjamin, love,’ my mother says.

I look down and see an open cardboard box, filled with A6 flyers. I pull one out.

Carmen McLaine – Spiritual Healer and Psychic-Medium. Specialist advice on Love and Relationships, Family Matters, Exams, Careers, Jobs, Luck, Death and more. 25 years’ expertise in dealing with Spirit. Pay after results. 07876 211560. Facebook: Carmen McLaine

‘What are these?’

‘Flyers. I decided to try and drum up a bit of business locally.’

‘You’ve put these through people’s doors? Around here?’

She nods energetically.