I bristle at the idea of them having conversations behind my back. ‘What issues specifically did he tell you about?’
‘He’s worried about you.’ Gina looks worried too.
‘He says you’re seeing ghosts,’ interrupts Heidi stonily. She doesn’t look worried; more disbelieving, dumbfounded.
‘No, no. I never said that.’
Heidi nods with satisfaction. ‘Of course you didn’t. I didn’t believe him for a minute. You are literally the most sane and rational person I’ve ever met. You’d never believe in that sort of garbage.’
‘Hey, my nana swore she had a ghost living with her,’ comments Gina.
‘Yeah, but your nana was ninety-three and had dementia,’ retorts Heidi.
I shake my head. ‘I haven’t seen a ghost, but I do think I’m being haunted.’
There’s a moment when I think we’ve lost connection and the screen has frozen, but then I see the images move on the muted TV behind Heidi and Gina. The screen isn’t frozen; they are paralysed.
‘You serious?’ Heidi laughs, and then checks my expression. ‘Shit, you are serious. Oh girl.’ Her face no longer shines with humour or challenge or indignation, all those emotions it’s displayed during this call. Now she simply looks creased with pity. ‘OK, Emma, you know I love you, you’re like a sister to me, so I’m asking this from a good place. Are you drinking when you’re on your own?’
‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘Why aren’t you giving me an answer?’ We stare at one another. Shocked, saddened.
‘That’s why Matthew called me,’ says Gina quietly. ‘He said he was worried about your drinking and your mental health. It was brave of him to reach out.’
‘I thought he was bullshitting,’ says Heidi. I note the past tense. She thinks something different now.
I tut. ‘No, I’m not drinking. Well, sometimes, a bit. No more than I ever have. Don’t you drink when you’re on your own?’
‘I’m not the one who is being mad here. I mean, you must be kidding about the ghost thing. How does that make sense to you?’ Heidi meets my gaze. Her huge brown eyes are sharp with accusation, not warm or bright as they usually are. ‘If you’re not kidding, then you have to be ill.’
‘Sorry?’ I am not sorry. I am offended. ‘What are you saying exactly?’
‘Why did you tell us you tripped when running when you told Matthew that you fell off a ladder?’ Gina’s question is asked so gently I want to cry.
‘No, look, that is nothing. That’s right. I just didn’t want to get into it with you.’ I sound flustered, unreliable.
‘So you’re saying now you did fall off a ladder,’ Heidi probes.
‘I’ve always said as much.’
‘Not to us. You’ve just said you tripped when running.’
‘Why a ladder? Why did you pick the same way to injure yourself as Becky died?’ asks Gina. ‘That worries me, Emma.’
‘What? No. I didn’t injure myself. At least not deliberately. That’s madness. I was pushed off the ladder and then it was back up against the wall, but that was after it landed on me.’
‘You seem really confused.’
‘The bolognese. How do you explain that?’ I ask. ‘She threw the bolognese.’
‘She?’
‘Becky’s ghost.’
‘Oh sweetheart. You spilt the bolognese. Matthew explained. You saw a rat. Got a horrible fright and dropped the pan. The rat ran through the sauce and then around the room in panic because it was scalded.’
‘No, there was no rat.’ Why would Matthew say there was a rat?
‘There’s a colony of them. Living under your house. Matthew has had pest control out to try to sort it.’
‘No, I’d know that.’
‘You do know it. Or did. He said you had to go up to Scotland while it was dealt with because you were so distraught thinking about the nest under the floorboards.’
‘That’s why you’re always hearing peculiar bangs and scratches.’
‘No.’
‘It is awful,’ adds Heidi, shuddering. ‘No one is OK with rats. We don’t blame you for being freaked out.’
I look at my two best friends. They seem utterly sincere. ‘No, no. I would have told you about a rats’ nest.’
‘Well, maybe, but you weren’t speaking to us.’
My head hurts. A fat tear rolls down my face. I want to brush it away, but I don’t want to draw attention to it. Heidi straightens her shoulders and stares right at me. ‘Emma, think about it. Were you drunk when you fell off the ladder or when you think you heard books being thrown or when you accidentally locked yourself in the sauna? Is it likely that you’ve had too much to drink on occasion and have forgotten some things, imagined others? Is that more or less likely than that your new husband’s dead wife is haunting you?’
I hang up.
