Still distant, maybe twenty steps or so away, trying to hide behind a tree trunk that was too small to conceal them completely, and something in my gut ballooned and popped and told me that I knew them, and that actually, there was something sinister about them, and that I needed to run –

‘Ghost,’ I muttered under my breath.

I had to get out. I had to get out.

I turned and ran, hoping it was in the direction of my backyard – I couldn’t remember. But I ran, and ran, until a loose log skidded under my foot, and I flew forward. I smacked against the thick-rooted base of a tree and stuck there.

Coppery blood worked itself between my teeth and I sucked it down, the taste of it jolting some welcome life into me. Black soaked the corners of the world, and I tried to blink it away, to silence the ringing, and then there was Olivia, who crouched down to me and asked what happened, what did I see?

This was when I learned you can outrun the ghost.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Grief and guilt came hand in hand. Guilt that followed smiling or laughing or getting any kind of mild enjoyment out of anything. Indulging in earthly pleasures seemed grossly hedonistic, somehow, after having experienced A Great Loss, so I learned to compartmentalize. The grief was always there; if not centre stage, then lurking in the wings, or hanging from the rafters, or pulsing beneath the floorboards. But it didn’t always need my attention. I could ignore it – for a little while, at least. I was always grieving, but sometimes I was grieving with an and.

So that morning, I lay stiffly beneath my sheets, hand edging along the elastic of my pyjama pants, and thought about June. June, who pulls the car over in the morning, who shows up in the middle of the night, who pulls me into the bathroom at school, who yanks me close and kisses me fast, like she’s been meaning to and has just remembered, who guides me in and kisses me slow, like this is the only thing we have to do for the rest of time, who’s all lips and hands and eyes while I’m all shakes and shakes and shakes – but then I thought about death. Death. Dad? No. June. Dead Dad. June. Dad …

Nope. That was enough of that. I felt stupid for even trying.

June who I hadn’t heard from since break began. June who’d promised to text.

It was New Year’s Eve, and I wasn’t up to much. I’d spent the past eleven New Years with Olivia, watching Ryan Seacrest host the countdown, and tonight, I assumed, wouldn’t be much different.