Eyes On You: A Ghost Story Page 12

  “Yeah, that is good,” I say, not really interested in the windows. More concerned with judging how big a TV I can get on the wall. Maybe even a projector.

  Aimee’ll kill me.

  We inspect the two-bedroom house, from top to bottom, until finally David goes outside and gives us a little privacy to speak in the living room.

  “Well,” I say, “what do you think of the place?”

  Aimee gives the room another scan. “Apart from the pub outside, I really like it.”

  I nod, grinning excitedly. “Yeah, me too—especially this room. I think it would be great for friends coming over. And I like the garden too. Not too big, but big enough to have a barbecue in the summer.”

  “You don’t think having just concrete is gonna be a bit annoying?”

  “No, not really. Neither of us is going to cut the grass anyway. At least it’s easy to maintain.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Of course I am. Why does it bother you so much? It’s not as if you’re into gardening.”

  Aimee walks over to the furthest window, which looks directly into the garden. She pushes the blinds to one side and stares out. “What if we end up having a baby? Where would they play?”

  Hearing her speak so optimistically about our future, about trying for another baby, fills me with such warmth, such hope…such relief. I knew it was only a matter of time before she came around, before she saw sense again.

  I’m desperate to talk more to her about trying again, but I don’t. Instead, I put it to one side and focus on the house.

  And our future.

  “What about the pub?” I ask her.

  “I know. That’s the only thing that’s putting a spanner in the works.”

  “Maybe we can ask the estate agent about it. See what he thinks.”

  “What’s the point? He’s not exactly going to tell us that it’s a shithole. We’d be better off popping back in the night to see for ourselves. Maybe even asking next door.”

  I walk over to the window, taking Aimee by the hand. We both peer out into the garden. I picture the barbecue with sirloin steaks sizzling on top, a table beside it, stacked with bread rolls and ketchup. No salad. I see Ed, Jones, Paul, and the rest of the guys standing ‘round it, laughing and joking, each holding a bottle of ice-cold beer. And then, just back a little, next to the wooden shed, I see a pink trampoline. There’s a little girl bouncing high, about five-years old, big smile spread across her face, her long blonde curls bobbing up and down. And there’s Aimee, watching from its edge, making sure the little girl doesn’t fall off.

  The child’s face is too far away to make out. But I know she’s beautiful. It’s obvious. She looks like Aimee. My beautiful, perfect Aimee.

  Outside the house, we’re greeted by the estate agent, just finishing up on a phone call. “Well, what’s the verdict then?” he asks; his voice clearly filled with eagerness and sanguinity. “Any thoughts?”

  “Yeah, we like it,” I reply. “We like it a lot. But there’s just one problem.”

  “Oh, right. And what’s that?”

  “The pub down the road,” Aimee cuts in. “I’m not so sure that I want to live so close to one. What with all the loud music and drunk people. Doesn’t sound very appealing, especially if we have children.”

  The estate agent smiles. “Then you’re in luck, Mrs Archer. It’s a very quiet pub. It has to be. By law. It’s just full of retired old men. It might get a little loud if there’s a rugby match on, but most matches are shown in the afternoon, and people have usually moved on by six to the next pub. Honestly, it’ll be fine. I mean, if you’re worried, then it might be worth asking one of the neighbours what they think of the place.”

  “Okay,” she replies, “we will.”

  “Can we have a think about it and get back to you?” Aimee asks David. “There are a few things we need to discuss. But we are interested. So…”

  “Of course it’s fine,” he replies. “Take as long as you need. Buying a house is not something you should rush into. Take your time.”

  I shake David’s hand. “Thanks. We’ll be in touch. Probably later on today.”

  “No problem. I look forward to it.”

  Aimee also shakes his hand. “Thank you, David.”

  We watch as he drives off down the street, beeping his horn as he disappears around the corner.

  Hand in hand, we take a step back and gaze at the house. Turning to Aimee, I smile, and then kiss her on the lips. “I love you,” I tell her.

  “I love you too.”

  I pull her close, arms wrapped around her waist, and then motion with my head towards the pub. “Fancy a quick pint?”

  Aimee chuckles. “Bit early.”

  “Well…you better get used to it then.”

  19

  We spend most of Christmas Eve dragging furniture into the house. Byron said he’d help but he’s put his back out again, and everyone else is either working or with their families. Luckily our new neighbour, Henry and his son Philip kindly offered to give us a hand with the heavy stuff. Thank God. Don’t know how we would have finished before midnight.

  Most of our things are either unpacked in their correct places, or still in boxes, scattered across the living-room floor. Normally Aimee would be on my case to finish up—but not today. We’ve been sat on this tiny couch for nearly an hour, staring at the wall where the TV should be. And normally that would be the first thing that was up and running, but I just can’t find the strength.

  I’m starving too. Haven’t eaten since twelve this afternoon, and now it’s going on eleven. Too tired even to eat. There’s nothing here anyway, and the fridge won’t be delivered until the New Year.

  “I’m going to bed,” Aimee announces. “I’m knackered. You coming?”

  Before I answer, I contemplate devouring the half-eaten bag of crisps from Aimee’s handbag, the one that I spotted this morning. But I think I’ll pass. God knows how long they’ve been in there. “Yeah. Why not. It’s Christmas Day tomorrow. Need to get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day.”

  Aimee sighs dramatically. “Parents all day long. Just what I need.”

  Standing up from the couch, I grab Aimee’s hand and pull her up. “Come on, lazy-bones, it’ll be fine. We can’t exactly spend Christmas Day here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we haven’t even got a microwave, let alone an oven. How are we supposed to cook a turkey?”

  We make our way towards the stairs. “I don’t care,” she says, her words muffled by a yawn. “I’d be happy watching cheesy Christmas films all day, stuffing my face with chocolate and wine.”

  I chuckle as we walk up the stairs. “That does sound nice.”

  At the top, the dark, narrow landing fills me with a feeling of foreboding.

  “What’s wrong?” Aimee asks.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I reply with a forced smile.

  “Tell me. What’s up?”

  “Just weird living on our own again. That’s all.”

  “Yeah. I know how you feel. If I’m being honest, I was dreading moving in today.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I was. But we’ve been so busy I almost forgot about everything.”

  “Yeah, me too. It’s been a good distraction.” We start to walk towards our bedroom. “I know it’ll be fine. It’s just…”

  “I know, Matt. Let’s just get some sleep and try not to dwell on it. We need to get on with our lives.”

  “You’re right.”

  Once inside the bedroom, Aimee switches the light on. The room still has that horrid cream and brown flower-patterned wallpaper. That’s definitely going. The light blue carpet is okay, just a little grubby. Aimee wants it changed though, and the only furniture we have in here is our bed, plonked down at the very centre of the room—without sheets, quilt or pillows. I groan loudly when I realise that they’re still in one of the boxes downstairs. Aimee chuckles, then takes my hand and e
scorts me over to the bed. We both collapse onto the soft mattress, face down, eyes closed.

  “Let’s just lie here for a minute,” Aimee drowsily says. “I’ll nip down to get the quilt later.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I wrap my arm around Aimee and pull her close. “I love you, Aims.”

  “I love you too.”

  We don’t move an inch for maybe five or so minutes before I realise that I need a pee.

  20

  Summer’s coming.

  Thank God for that!

  Paul has been seeing Aimee’s sister, Nia for the past four months. I think it’s awesome, but Aimee wasn’t too happy at first. I don’t blame her. We all know what Paul’s like, and I think Aimee is more worried about her niece, Jordan. But who’s to say what works. They’re still together, and they seem happy enough. Let them get on with it I say. Being a stepdad might be exactly what Paul needs.

  The night air is chilly, but warm enough to sit outside on our wooden picnic table. Aimee was good enough to bring me my black Kasabian hoodie, and a plain green one for Paul.

  “We definitely need to go camping this year,” Paul tells me, finishing the last of his beer bottle. “We haven’t been for years.”

  “Yeah, I’d be up for that,” I reply, enthusiastically. “Maybe down the Gower. Or Brecon. I’m sure Ed and the guys will fancy it.”

  “What about us then?” Nia asks, huddled close to Paul, clearly feeling the cold. “Can’t we come on your little camping trip?”

  Paul turns to her. “Didn’t think it would be something you girls would be in to.”

  “Oh really,” Aimee cuts in, “and why’s that?”

  I can see the discomfort in Paul’s eyes. This is his first proper relationship, so he has no idea that the girls are just teasing him. I happened to know Aimee and Nia pretty well, and I’d put money on it that neither of them would set foot in a bloody tent.

  But it’s fun to watch Paul suffer.

  “Can’t women enjoy the great outdoors?” Nia asks. “Or is it just reserved for big, strong men?”

  “And what about jobs?” Aimee asks. “Should we get paid the same as big, strong men? Oh, and I suppose women are terrible drivers as well.”

  “I’m not saying that,” Paul squirms. “I’m just saying that men are—”

  “They’re joking, Paul,” I interrupt, before he digs an even bigger grave for himself. “These two can’t stand camping. I’ve been trying to get Aimee to come for years. Don’t listen to them.”

  Aimee elbows me softly in the ribs. “Spoilsport.”

  “Don’t be so boring, Matt,” Nia tells me. “You know how gullible he is.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Paul asks, defensively, even though he’s smiling. “I’m not gullible. I’m just too trusting, that’s all.”

  “No mate,” I say to him, taking a sip of beer, “you’re just gullible.”

  Everyone laughs, including Paul. “Cheeky bastard,” he says. “Picking on the bald guy, is it? You know, I bet Bruce Willis doesn’t get half the shit that I get.”

  Nia kisses him on the cheek. “Yeah, but Bruce Willis is rich—and handsome.”

  Paul shakes his head, grinning, and gets up off his seat. “Right, I’m going for a piss. Does anyone need another beer? Mr Gullible-baldy-bastard will get it.”

  Still chuckling, I wave my hand in protest. “No thanks, mate. I’m good.”

  “How about you, Aimee?” he asks. “Surely you can have one beer. You’ll be fine for work in the morning.”

  “Yeah, why can’t you have a few?” Nia asks. “To Hell with those stuck-up bloody lawyers. It’s not like they’ll notice anyway.”

  “No, it’s too risky driving that early,” Aimee replies. “The police are more likely to pull you over on a Saturday morning. It’s not worth it.”

  “Boring cow,” Nia says. “I’ll have another beer, Paul. In fact, raid their cupboards for a bottle of vodka. I’m sure they’ve got one stashed away somewhere.”

  Paul nods, his grin wide. “And I know where he keeps it.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Bring it on. I’m up for some shots. We haven’t really had a proper housewarming party anyway. So fuck it—let’s get hammered.”

  “Cool,” Paul says as he walks towards the house. Just at the backdoor, he stops, and then looks at me, and then at Aimee, grimacing hard, like Jessica Fletcher figuring out who killed the tennis coach. “Why do you need to be sober tomorrow? You can walk from here. You told Nia that your office was less than a mile away.”

  “Did I?” Aimee says guiltily, clearly fighting hard not to laugh.

  “Yeah, you did too,” Nia says, turning to her sister. But then, as if someone had just whispered it into her ear, she excitedly blurts out: “You’re pregnant!”

  Aimee smirks, and then she nods her head.

  “Oh my god! Congratulations, Sis!” Nia says, hugging her tightly. “I bloody knew there was something fishy going on. I knew you’d never say no to booze. Why didn’t you tell me? How far gone? Come on, I need details. Every last one. Do Mum and Dad know yet?”

  “Slow down, Nia,” Aimee replies. “No one knows. Only us four. I was going to tell everyone this Sunday when we’re over for lunch.”

  Paul shakes my hand and gives me a firm pat on the back. “That’s awesome news, mate. Really chuffed for you.” He then goes over to Aimee, reaches down and kisses her on the cheek. “So how far gone are you?”

  “Three months,” Aimee replies, rubbing her stomach proudly. “We had the scan this morning.”

  “And is everything okay?” Nia asks. “Everything healthy?”

  “Looks like it. So far anyway. Way too early to tell, but…fingers crossed.”

  I reach over the table and place my hand over Aimee’s. She smiles at me. “We’ve been dying to tell people since we found out,” I say. “But we didn’t want to jinx it. You know?”

  “Yeah, of course I do,” Nia says. “You never know what could happen. The last thing you want to do is tell the world on Facebook, and then something happens and you have to tell everyone the bad news.”

  “All right, Nia,” Paul says. “Let’s not depress everyone.”

  “It’s all right, Paul,” Aimee says. “She’s right. Anything can happen. But now I’m happy to tell everyone. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  Paul gives me another pat on the back. “Right, I still need that piss, so when I get back—we’re bloody celebrating. No excuses.” He looks over at Aimee. “Except you of course. No shots for at least a year.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, Paul,” Aimee sighs. “I think I’ll be pulling my hair out by then.”

  We wave Paul and Nia goodbye as their taxi pulls off down the street. I kiss Aimee on the lips, playfully spanking her arse as she goes back inside the house. I follow her, closing the front door behind me.

  Aimee sits on the couch, groaning loudly, as if she’s just finished one of her twelve-hour shifts. “Jesus Christ, I’m so tired. Must be all the baby talk.”

  I collapse next to her, one hand on her thigh. “Yeah, me too. I’m knackered. Drunk way too much vodka. I’ve definitely got a wonderful hangover waiting for me tomorrow. Looking forward to it. Bring it on I say.”

  Aimee turns to me, smiling. “No more hangovers for me. I bet you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of you sitting around all day, fantasising about sipping a glass of Prosecco? I don’t think so, Aim. But don’t worry—I’ll be happy to keep you occupied.”

  “Oh, and how do you plan to do that?”

  “You can pick me and the guys up when we’ve been drinking. We’ll save a fortune on taxis. I mean, we’ve got a little one on the way. We’ve got to watch the pennies.”

  “No way, boy. You can still get taxis. I’m not going to be your personal chauffeur. I’ll be too busy relaxing, watching Downton Abbey, keeping our baby safe and sound in our house. No gallivanting around in the car with a bunch of drunken idiots.
” She rubs her stomach and redirects her voice to our unborn child. “Isn’t it, Lucy. Mummy’s gotta stay home and watch daytime TV. Hasn’t she?”

  “Lucy? Since when is she called Lucy? I told you I hate that name. I thought we agreed on Isobel if it’s a girl, and Iron Man if it’s a boy.”

  “See? That’s exactly why men shouldn’t get a say on the name. They just don’t have a clue.”

  “Isobel is much nicer. Lucy’s too common. We don’t want our baby to be common, do we? I mean, she’s already half-common with you as a mother.”

  Aimee chuckles, shaking her head. “Right, now there’s absolutely no chance of sex tonight.”

  My face lights up. “I take it back. You’re not common and I can get Nia to drive us ‘round instead. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  Aimee gets up from the couch. “Come on then, let’s get this over with. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  I get up as well. “Charming. You really know all the right things to say.”

  As we walk up the stairs, something suddenly occurs to me. “Are we allowed to have sex?”

  “Of course we are. Why?”

  “Well, what if my dick pokes the baby in the face?”

  Aimee sniggers as we reach the landing. “You’re just not that big, Matt.”

  “Cheeky bitch,” I say, as I follow her into the bedroom.

  21

  “Push, Aimee!” the midwife says, firmly. “Come on, you can do it! You’re nearly there! Just a little further!”

  My eyes can barely believe what I’m witnessing. I said I wouldn’t look, that I’d stay at the top of the bed. But how can I resist the temptation, the urge. I have to look. See for myself. After all, this could be my only chance to see a baby being born.

  My baby.

  I see the head.

  Holy shit!

  I see a face.

  “Come on, Aimee,” I say; half-excited, half-petrified. “It’s almost out. Come on. Come on. You can do it!”

  My attention is split between seeing my baby slowly coming into life, one millimetre at a time, and watching the torment and strain on Aimee’s face; like a scene from a horror film.

  Time starts to slow. The midwife’s words are buried in screams. I still have Aimee’s hand. Her grip tightens.