No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham

Then, as was her routine, she sat at the small breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the living room and carefully placed a forkful of food made up of perfect proportions and dimension in her mouth. She chewed exactly thirty times before she swallowed, and, because she'd had so much practice at ignoring anything that made her uncomfortable, she successfully dismissed the thoughts of weddings and stained glass windows as she reviewed Mrs Robinson-Smythe’s settlement.

By exactly ten thirty pm Edie was in bed, a solitary figure lying in her cool crisp white linen sheets. It was as if she was laid out, arms by her sides or occasionally crossed across her chest. All neat and tidy, nothing messy.

OK, so tonight she might have checked under the bed and in each wardrobe before she lay down, but those were just sensible precautions for a single woman living in the centre of London. And if she'd never done it before tonight, it was never too late to start. At least that is what she told herself.

On that fuzzy edge of sleep, that time where you walk on the verge between the waking path or the field of dreams, she heard an electronic click, the sound of a text message being delivered. It jolted her awake.

Who could be texting her now?

And then as her brain woke up, she remembered she didn't have an alert for her text messages, her phone was set to vibrate mode. Then as if to underline her thought and highlight it in bold, she heard it again, and again. And then it seemed that every electrical appliance in the flat turned on and began to beep, the sound getting louder and louder.

What the…

Edie's heart was hammering so loudly that she almost didn't hear the sound of stiletto-heeled shoes tapping slowly and laboriously towards her and the clanking sound of a chain being dragged over wooden floors.

It came closer and closer.

“Bugger this!” she whispered. “It’s just a dream.”

And as she said it, something came through the bedroom door. Right through it, without opening it.

“Jessica?” Edie whispered.

She pressed her hand against her ribcage as if trying to keep her slamming heart from leaping out.

The same face that had stared at her from the stained glass was right there in front of her: the superior look, the chin length bob. But Edie had never seen Jessica in a bridesmaid’s dress before. It was peach satin, cheap looking and so full of frills and lace, it was the embodiment of the dream of a demented four year old. And Jessica had a chain dragging behind her. It was fastened about her waist. It wound around her and fell behind her like a train. It sparkled with pink glitter; and woven between the links were pink feather boas, ‘L’ plates and bunny rabbit ears, penis-shaped straws, red devil horns and fairy wings.

Her body was transparent, so Edie could see the massive bow that adorned the back of the dress.

She’d always suspected Jessica was full of hot air.

“What the hell do you want? You’re dead.” Edie said.

“Oh come on Edie, of course I’m dead. Do you think if I were still alive I’d be here? Also, you know, see-through…” The shade gestured to her body.

“But J-Jessica…” Edie wasn’t sure why she was trying to argue with a mad bridesmaid ghost in her bedroom; maybe she needed to humour it until she was certain what she was dealing with.

“You know, that is the first time I’ve heard my name since I died. Nothing worse than having been someone and then to be reduced to wandering around without anyone knowing you,” the spirit said.

Edie suddenly remembered that although she and Jessica had known each other since secondary school and were united in their hatred of all things nuptial, she hadn’t actually liked Jessica very much. Too full of herself.

“Can you sit down?” asked Edie, doubtfully.

The ghoul raised a withering transparent eyebrow.

No, Edie hadn’t really cared for Jessica at all.

“Well… erm… make yourself at home.”

Make yourself at home? What was she saying? She’d never had Jessica to stay in her flat when she was alive and now she was asking her spirit to make herself at home. In fact she couldn't remember ever hanging out with Jessica except at various weddings of mutual acquaintances. Not that Edie went out much anyway.

Edie watched as Jessica positioned herself on the end of her bed. There was no corresponding dip in the mattress; it was like the ghoul floated on the duvet.

She must be dreaming.

“You think you’re dreaming,” stated the ghost.

“Well I must be.”

“Edie, for once in your life stop being a lawyer and doubting everything. Use the senses God gave you, why question everything?”

“Because senses have a habit of being hijacked, that’s why. Little things can affect them; I could be overworked and hallucinating.”

Edie knew she was clutching at straws, but what was the alternative?

The beady gaze of the spectre was making her uneasy. Added to that was the way that whilst the ghost sat still, her hair, gown and wedding ephemera were agitated. It was as if someone had opened an oven and let the hot vapour out.

Odd, very odd.

“If I wanted I could have had a piece of cheese after dinner and I'd be imagining George Clooney instead. It’s all bollocks.” Edie said going on the attack as she always did when feeling uncomfortable. But also wondering why she hadn't imagined George Clooney.

At this, see-through Jessica gave her a scathing look and then raised a cry, so truly gut wrenching and melancholy, that the hairs on Edie’s neck rose and she clutched her duvet closer to her, moving it to her mouth so she could bite on it and stifle her scream.

“OK, OK. I believe in you.” Edie said.

“Thank God for that, those cries are hellish on one’s throat.” The apparition coughed politely.

“So it’s lovely to see you and all Jessica, but why are you here?” Edie’s voice trembled even as she tried to sound calm and professional.

“I can tell you where I would be if I had a choice. I would be living it up the other side of the pearly gates. As it is I’m stuck round here doing the spiritual version of social work.” The ghoul sighed and slumped slightly.

Edie waited. The spectre then sat up straighter and fixed its stare on her.

“OK so here’s the thing, Edie, supposedly everyone is required to love selflessly. I know; I rolled my eyes too. You are supposed to go out and ‘spread the love.’ Not just love of course, but also all that hope that it supposedly produces, and share it. With the whole world. All a bit vomit inducing, I thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Oh no, and this is the doozy… If you don’t go out and ‘spread the love,’" Jessica-that-was used her fingers to make quotation marks, "well, you spend death wandering the earth, witnessing all that love and stuff and not being able to share in it. Did you know there was a contract? People should let you know these things. I was told it was all set out in the small print. But who has time to read that?”

That which had been Jessica threw up its hands causing the chain to rattle and a blizzard of pink glitter to fall on the duvet.

“And the chain?” Edie asked.

“Another one of those pesky Ts & Cs which no one tells you about; allegedly the links represent every time I scorned love, focused on work and the minutiae of weddings. When I didn’t see through the glitter and the tat to what was underneath it all, I made one of these damn links. Something about free will, I zoned out around then.” The ghost sighed. “And if you think this is bad… well you should see yours. You get extra links every time you act shark-like in those divorces instead of going for mediation. I particularly like the fetching penis deely boppers and magic wands they've put on yours.”

Edie was horrified. Not the boppers.

Chapter 2 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf)

Edie was shaking, her teeth chattering. Frantically she looked around her and peeked under the duvet.

No boppers. No chain.