There's A Ghost In The House

I keep seeing a ghost. And the ghost is me.

It started at my school reunion. Sitting in the church with my old school friends, looking around, nothing had changed. Yes, we were older but somehow still teenagers. Listening to the same sounds 'And may God be with you' 'And also with you' said in the same monotonous tones, hearing people sigh, fidget and whisper. The sames smells. Incense, candles. That's where I first saw her. My ghost. Sitting in a pew at a few rows down, wearing school uniform, hair in a 'page boy' (what possessed me?) and wearing the 'wet look' platforms that Katrina's dad said made us look (she had the same shoes) as if we had two club feet. I saw her and wanted to take her by the hand and lead her outside and have a chat with her. Just steer her right about a few things, give her a bit of a head start so she wouldn't grow up to be me.

On Sunday I took my mum out for a meal and she had a bit too much to drink and when that happens she gets maudlin. Which means she wants to talk about the past, which is never a safe subject to visit. But we had done the X Factor, my sister and death. 'Was I really such a bad mother' she asked? Why does she not remember? Her eyes filled with tears. Damn that vodka. 'No, mum, you were great.' I lied.

I know now that I wasn't a great parent. I wasn't bad. Just not great. Maybe not being great is bad? Parents should be great. Or even good may do. I was 'satisfactory' I suppose. So how come I can remember that? What did I hear someone on the radio say this morning? 'Hindsight is an exact science.'

Anyway I saw her/me again the other day. Twice. Once was down the Old Kent Road. She was pushing a buggy with her son in it with her daughter clinging tightly to the handle as she walked along next to her/me. She had just been out to buy the tea for that night. That's what you had in those days. Not dinner. Your tea. I remember what she was thinking as she made her way back from the butchers. She was worried about money. There never seemed to be enough. And she was worried that she would get back to their flat and he would be sitting there having walked out of yet another job. I drove past her in my nice car, on my way to my nice office, to my nice job and my nice life. I wanted to pull over and ask her to jump in and drive her and her babies far far away.

I caught a glimpse of her/me today. This time I know she was a bit happier. She was standing talking to her friends on the university campus, just before going in for the afternoons lecture. I didn't need to tell her to keep at it because I know she did.

I don't like seeing her/me at all. I think I may have to close my eyes the next time, count to ten and hope that when I open them she will have disappeared back into the past.