She frowned. ‘What was I going to say, especially with the waiter standing there? Excuse me while I just check on my dead daughter that nobody else can see?’
‘No, but . . .’
She took his hand. ‘Ben, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. I’m not saying all this to upset you.’
‘I know that. But then what is it that’s bothering you?’
‘I . . .’ She had her words ready, but they seemed so ridiculous in her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Forget it. I’m just tired.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘No. Please. You need to talk about it, and I need to know what it’s doing to you. What is it, Hannah?’
‘It’s just . . . Look, I know it’s all a figment of my imagination. My subconscious or whatever, playing tricks on me. I know all that. But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘What if it’s something more?’
‘Like what?’
‘What if she’s trying to tell me something?’
A longer pause now. ‘Hannah, are you talking about some kind of communication from the afterlife?’
‘I know, it sounds stupid. But think about those three events. Suzy Carling. The attacks. Tilly was there each time. I keep wondering whether . . . whether she was trying to hurt me.’
‘Hurt you! Why would she do that?’
‘I don’t know. Because she’s upset with me. Because I didn’t try hard enough to save her.’
Ben shook his head vigorously. ‘You know she wouldn’t do that. She loved you. If she really was trying to communicate, it would have been to help you or to warn you that danger was nearby.’
‘Is that what you think – that she’s trying to help me?’
He sighed heavily. ‘No, Hannah. I don’t. She’s not trying to hurt you and she’s not trying to help you. She’s not there at all. You know that as well as I do. The last time we spoke about this, you told me you’d seen her quite a few times, isn’t that right?’
‘Yes. Once at the supermarket. Again in the park . . .’
‘And did anything bad happen then? No. This is classic confirmation bias, Hannah. You’re focusing on the events that support your wonky hypothesis while conveniently ignoring the ones that don’t.’
She considered this, and knew that he was right.
‘So what’s going on with me?’ she asked. ‘Should I see a doctor?’
Ben folded her arms around her. ‘You don’t need a doctor. This is your way of coping with what happened to Tilly, and that’s perfectly okay.’
‘You think she’ll ever stop coming?’
‘When you’re ready, but I don’t think you need to push her away. She’ll go in her own good time.’
‘I’ll never forget her, though.’
‘No. I don’t think either of us could ever do that. One way or another, she’ll always be with us.’
Hannah woke with a start, convinced that someone had just prodded her through the duvet.
She raised her head and blinked, but saw only patterns of darkness, black on grey. Next to her, no doubt dreaming about his heroic antics, Ben slept soundly.
She checked the clock and saw that it was twenty past three in the morning. She turned over and closed her eyes again.
Then she heard the footsteps.
Here, in the bedroom.
They were followed by a series of metallic pings, as though somebody was running a hand along the brass rails at the foot of the bed as they went past.
Just as Tilly had always done.
It was a thing of hers. Every time she walked past the foot of bed: slap, slap, slap, ping, ping, ping. The sound had always made Hannah smile.
She sat up, alert now. Heard nothing more except a gentle murmur from Ben.
A dream state, she told herself. You imagined it.
But then her eyes caught movement. A dark shape, slipping through the doorway. A Tilly-sized shape.
More footsteps, along the landing now, and then the creak of another door.
The door to Tilly’s bedroom.
