Time to Say Goodbye. S.D. Robertson

said. ‘You can’t even be bothered to bark at me any more? Brilliant. The only one who can see me has lost interest.’

      I heard someone on the stairs behind me and turned to see Ella descending in a knee-length black dress. Mum had bought it for her a couple of days ago, as all the other clothes in her wardrobe were in bright, girly colours. It hadn’t been easy to find, but Mum’s determination – a welcome distraction from her grief – had eventually paid off. Ella looked really pretty, her curls tamed in a tight plait. But her skin looked too pale next to the dark material of the dress and there was a terrible sadness in her eyes. She sat on the bottom step and stared blankly at the front door.

      ‘My precious girl,’ I said, kneeling before her. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go through this.’ I placed my right hand above hers, just far enough away to avoid being repelled, and told her how much I loved her. ‘You won’t know it, darling, but I’ll be right by your side all day. We’ll get through this together.’

      I thought back to all the mornings I’d seen Ella sit on this step before school. I remembered the fruity shampoo smell of her hair as I’d lean over to help her put her shoes on, planting a kiss on her forehead. The two of us had always had such a close bond; I missed that more than anything.

      The bell rang as two black silhouettes, one much taller than the other, appeared on the other side of the door’s frosted glass panel. Ella let in Lauren and Xander, who were staying at Mum and Dad’s place while they remained here with Ella.

      ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ Lauren said to her, picking her up and giving her a big hug. ‘You look lovely – especially your hair. Did Nana do that for you?’

      Ella nodded shyly.

      ‘Well, it looks fantastic. Your daddy would have loved it. And the dress too. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it, Xander?’

      ‘Yes, definitely. You look great, Ella. We’d call you a “mooi meisje” in Dutch.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Ella said, perking up. ‘Do you speak Dutch all the time in Holland?’

      ‘Of course. Lauren and I tend to speak English when we’re alone, though. We always have, because she didn’t speak any Dutch when we met.’

      ‘Do you speak Dutch now, Auntie Lauren?’

      ‘Een beetje.’

      ‘Eh? Is that Dutch? What does it mean?’

      ‘It means “a little bit”.’

      ‘She’s being modest,’ Xander said. ‘She speaks it very well. Maybe we can teach you a few words.’

      Ella smiled.

      Dad appeared on the landing. After years of having to dress up for work, he rarely wore anything other than jeans since retiring, although today called for his black suit. It was a snug fit; the jacket wasn’t getting buttoned up any time soon. ‘Everything okay at the house?’ he asked his daughter and son-in-law, coughing his way downstairs.

      ‘Fine,’ Lauren replied, reaching inside her handbag. ‘Here. I’ve got those cufflinks you wanted.’

      ‘Thanks. I’ll grab them in a minute. I’m just popping outside for a smoke.’

      ‘Sounds like you could do without it,’ Lauren said, her words falling on deaf ears.

      Once Mum appeared, looking anxious in a smart jacket and skirt, the conversation turned to practicalities regarding the day’s arrangements. I followed Ella to the lounge and watched her pick up a school reading book about the Loch Ness Monster.

      ‘I went to Loch Ness once with your mummy,’ I said. ‘You were just a twinkle in my eye then.’ I’d got into the habit of chatting to Ella as if she could hear me. Although she clearly couldn’t, I found it comforting.

      I felt badly underdressed. Everyone was in black – suits and smart frocks – apart from me, still stuck in my frayed jeans and T-shirt. They ought to have been filthy and stinking of sweat after all this time, but they didn’t look any different from when I’d first found myself on the pavement watching the paramedics try to revive the old me. I couldn’t say what they smelled like, due to my whole sensory deprivation thing, but my guess was that spirits and their clothes didn’t smell of anything.

      I walked over to the long mirror on the wall near the front door. I could remember hanging it there last year. Ella had wanted to help me and had plonked herself on the laminate floor by my toolbox, passing me each drill bit, screw or wall plug as I needed it. That was the best and the worst thing about being in this house. There were memories everywhere; sometimes they made me smile, but mostly they made me long to have my old life back.

      I liked being able to see my reflection, even though no one else could. I’d tried several times with Ella, despite the failed attempt with my parents, but it hadn’t worked. All the same, I found it a good way to assert my existence when being invisible got on top of me.

      I looked exactly as I must have looked just before the accident. My thick hair was windswept, which I wasn’t able to change, and my nose and cheeks were slightly reddened by the sun that had beamed down on me on that fateful day. I permanently had a day’s stubble, which I was actually quite pleased about, as I’d always thought that suited me. Not that there was any point in vanity now. I suppose I was lucky not to be walking around battered and bloody, like my body was when I saw it in front of me. Still not a great look for a funeral, though, particularly when I was to be the guest of honour.

      Lizzie’s face appeared behind me in the mirror, giving me one hell of a fright.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘I thought you might like me to accompany you to the funeral.’

      ‘What about some answers to my questions? I need to know how to get through to my daughter.’

      ‘You’ve not made any progress with that?’

      ‘What do you care? You don’t even want me to be here any more.’

      ‘It’s not a matter of what I want or don’t want; it never has been. My views don’t come into it. I’m just doing my job. In this case, that means attending your funeral. It’s not usually a good time to be on your own.’

      ‘So you’ve been to a few funerals before?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘How many?’

      ‘I couldn’t give you an exact number.’

      ‘A ballpark figure, then. Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?’

      ‘A few hundred, I suppose. Don’t look so shocked. This is what I do.’

      ‘You must have been at it a while. How come you look so young?’

      ‘I was only twenty-seven when I died. My appearance is the same now as it was then. That was back in nineteen ninety.’

      ‘Wow. So you’re older than I thought. And you were human once?’

      ‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’

      ‘Um, no. I guess not. I just … there’s so much to take in. Have you been doing this ever since you died?’

      ‘More or less. It wasn’t long after I passed over that I chose to train as a guide.’

      ‘What happened? If it’s as incredible as you say on the other side, why would you want to leave? Did you get bored or something?’

      ‘It is incredible. And, no, I didn’t get bored. I had a calling. I wanted to help people like you.’

      ‘I thought most people moved on straight away. You made out that I was unusual in wanting to stay here.’

      ‘Most spirits do cross over quickly, although you also get a few who hang around for a