“Bloody hell, Vick… Wake up, you daft sod! Youll sleep your whole life away if I let ya. Look at himsnoring like a bear in winter. Victor, get up before you miss your ruddy destiny!”
“Adelaide Margaret, for pitys sake, let a man sleep!”
“Sleep? Youll sleep when youre dead. Now shift yourself!”
“Yeah, and Ill catch up on rest in the afterlife, wont I?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Up you get!”
Victor glared at his reflectionred-eyed, stubbled, and thoroughly miserable.
“Honestly, Adelaide Margaret…”
“Honestly nothing. Go wash up, shave, make yourself presentable. Clocks ticking.”
“What clock? Its Saturday!”
“The clock I say is ticking. Move it.”
With a groan, Victor trudged to the bathroom, muttering under his breath. Arguing was pointless. Even in death, his mother-in-law was a force of nature.
Oh yes*former* mother-in-law. And not your run-of-the-mill one, either. Adelaide Margaret was a ghost.
Proper haunting and all.
No, he hadnt lost the plot or drunk himself into delirium. One day, shed just… appeared. After the funeral and everything.
“I *can* hear your thoughts, you know,” Adelaide said, floating cross-legged by his bed. “Honestly, how did my Lydia put up with you? Youre a relic, Victor. A proper caveman.”
Victor waved her off and stomped to the bathroom.
He and Lydia had divorced a year ago. Kids grown, lives moved on. Lydia had called him a “Neanderthal,” packed her bags, and slammed the door. Said he stifled her “personal growth.”
Victor, baffled, rang her later. Shed shrieked something about “toxic masculinity” and hung up. Bloody coaches filling her head with nonsense.
And how, pray tell, was he meant to stop being a “patriarchal oppressor” when he *literally* built houses for a living? Odd woman, his Lydia. Brilliant at roast dinners, though.
Victors mouth watered at the thoughtthen froze mid-shave.
“Adelaide Margaret!” he yelled, half-lathered.
“What now?”
“Teach me to make your roast. Please.”
“Over my dead oh. Right. Well, Im not handing over family secrets!”
“Youre *already dead*. Whos going to eat it, Satan?”
“Cheeky bugger.”
“Lydias roast is better anyway.”
“*Excuse me?* I taught her everything she knows!”
“Then she improved it.”
Adelaide gasped. “Take that back! She doesnt even use the right cut of beef!”
“Sure, and youd swear the pan makes all the difference.”
“*That* pan, you numpty!”
An hour later, Victor scribbled notes as Adelaide dictated. The result? A roast so divine, he nearly wept.
“Mum… youre a genius.”
“What?”
“This roast. Lydias doesnt hold a candle.”
Adelaide sniffled. “You absolute *swine*.”
“Blimey, whatd I do now?”
“Calling me Mum like that. Ghosts arent supposed to cry!”
“Then why are you?”
“Dunno,” she wailed. “But I was trying to sort your life out, and you ruined it!”
“How?”
“I was meant to send you out with the bins at half six. Galina from number 42lovely spinster, just moved inwas going to accidentally bump into you. Sparks, romance, happily ever after. Then I could finally *leave*.”
Victor blinked. “And?”
Adelaides eyes darted. “Well… you distracted me with the roast!”
“*My* fault?”
“Exactly! Now Im stuck here until youre happy.”
“Happy? Who said Im not? Ive got the worlds best roast recipe. Ive got *you* nagging me into productivity. Who needs a strange woman when Ive got you, Mum?”
Adelaide shrieked and vanished into the wardrobe, sobbing.
Victor tidied up, grinning.
“Not like that, you muppet! Use the *blue cloth*!”
***
Lydia hadnt slept well. Dreamt of her motheryoung, radiant, reaching out…
She tried calling her life coach, Chad “Wonder” Williams. No answer.
“Who the *hell* calls at seven on a Saturday?” Chads groggy snarl made her slam the laptop shut.
That… wasnt Chad.
Something tugged her back to Victors flat. No idea why.
She found him playing chess*laughing*with thin air.
“Lost the plot,” she muttered.
“Lydia! Mum, your movecheckmate!”
The chess pieces *moved themselves*.
“You look peaky,” Victor said. “Mum says youre not eating. Fancy some roast?”
Lydia paled. “Victor… whos Mum?”
“Your mum. Shes been haunting me.”
“Victor, shes *dead*.”
“Exactly. Fancy a bite?”
The roast smelled *exactly* like her mothers.
“You… made this?”
“Yep. Mums secret. Stop crying, Adelaide MargaretLydia, ask her something only you two would know.”
“Wh-what was my first pets name?”
“Whiskers, the hamster you buried in a matchbox. Blue pram. First tooth at eight months. Auntie Mabels fake pearls.”
Lydia collapsed into a chair.
“Show yourself,” Victor said.
A flickerthen Adelaides face, just for a second.
“Shes fading,” Victor whispered. “She just wants you happy. *Us* happy.”
Thengone.
***
Victor woke with a gasp. Lydia bolted upright beside him.
“Did you just dream about”
“your mum haunting us? Yeah.”
A fist hammered the door.
“Up, you layabouts! Were going to the countrysideLydia, no more nonsense coaches. Victor, youre learning to roast properly. *Just in case*.”
Victor grinned.
“Oi, whyd you never call me Mum in thirty years?”
“Dunno… Mum. “Too busy being a stubborn old fool, I suppose.”
“Damn right you were. Now shift yourselvescars packed!”
Victor looked at Lydia. Lydia looked at him.
And for the first time in years, they both laughed.
