Dead Romantic (13 page)

I am not amused. Can’t a girl have some privacy? There’s no way I’m going to stand here in my smalls with Alex Thorne about.

“Go away!” I order. “I’m not kidding, Alex!”

“Keep your hair on! Anyway,
you
called
me
, remember?”

I glower at him. “I did no such thing!”

Alex looks triumphant. “I’m afraid you did. Why else would I be in Topshop on a Saturday afternoon? Believe me, no guy – dead or alive – really wants to spend his spare time waiting outside the changing room–” His eyes take a road trip over my body. “Although I must admit, being inside is a whole lot more fun!”

There goes that annoying blush again. “You’re as bad as Hank!”

“Ouch. That’s harsh, even for you. Look, I’ll close my eyes, how about that?” Alex makes a show of screwing his eyes tightly shut and then places his hands over them for good measure. “Ooo! It’s dark! I’m scared. I hope there aren’t any ghosts!”

I hug the dress tighter against my chest. I’m not sure I trust him not to peek. Ghost, hallucination, whatever; he’s still a boy.

“What did you mean about me calling you?” I demand.

“Who said that?” he deadpans, but I’m not laughing. This is not a joking matter. This is my life that’s being disrupted.

“Seriously, Alex, I need to know what you meant by that?”

“You were thinking about why I hadn’t told you about Rafe, so it’s your fault I’m here. You summoned me. Don’t blame me if you’re half undressed.” The lips below the hands curve into a smile. “Anyway, you’re not the first girl who’s taken her kit off and called me over, and I’m really hoping you won’t be the last.”

I choose to ignore his teasing. “So you appear if I think about you?”

This is not good news. If Alex does exist, and unfortunately all the evidence I’ve gathered so far is pointing in favour of this alarming conclusion, then I can’t have him popping up whenever I might randomly think of him. What if I’m in the bath? Or on the loo? Or naked?

“Now you’re panicking that I’ll appear when you’re in the bath or something, aren’t you?” he laughs. “Like I want to see you on the loo, Cleo Carpenter!”

I’m scarlet now; my cheeks feel like the core of Sellafield.

“I thought I was supposed to be the psychic one?”

“Aha! So you are starting to believe me? About bloody time. No, Cleo, give me some credit. I’m not Hank. Anyway, you weren’t thinking: you were talking out loud, which, unless I’m very much mistaken, is one of the early signs of madness.”

“The first one is believing in ghosts,” I say bleakly.

“Or denying all the evidence to the contrary,” he shoots back.

I’m still trying to think of a cutting retort, and failing miserably, when there’s a sharp rap on the cubicle door, followed by a bout of nervous throat clearing.

“Is everything all right in there?” asks a shop assistant. “I thought I heard voices?”

“Yes! Yes! Fine! Just, err, FaceTiming my boyfriend to ask his opinion on the dresses!” I explain hastily. Lord only knows what the shop assistant thinks I’ve been up to.

“The long green velvet one,” says Alex helpfully. “That’ll look great with your hair. And anyway, just for the record, I normally like to be bought dinner before I see a girl without her clothes and have to go shopping with her!”

I consider the green dress. It’s strapless and floor length with layers of netting under the skirt. You can tell Susie picked it. Maybe I should get this for the staff Christmas party? It’s not that I’m trying to impress Simon or anything, but it might be fun to have a change…

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you,” Alex is saying a little awkwardly, interrupting my train of thought. “I’ve always known you were the girl my brother wrote about. At least, I’ve known that ever since I found myself in this peculiar situation. You have no idea how long I’d been trying to get your attention. I couldn’t believe my luck when you hit your head and could see me. It really was my lucky day!”

When it comes to lucky days, that one isn’t top of my list. It’s not even on my list.

Then a thought occurs to me. “You were stalking me?”

“How uncharitable! That’s not quite how I’d have put it. Listen, my brother isn’t like me. I’m a lot more outgoing and brash – maybe even a little tactless at times.”

“No. Really?” I say, and Alex laughs.

“Yeah, hard to believe, I know. I loved fronting the band and all the attention and that kind of shit that came with it, but Rafe, well... He’s really shy; he was happy to just write the music and stay in the background. To be honest he hated the fame, hence our huge row about signing a new contract. He always feels things deeply, which is why when he told me about that girl he’d met – you, Cleo – and how he knew she was the only one for him, I knew he meant every word.”

“Yeah, right. Is that why he never got in touch?” As soon as the words dive off my tongue I could kick myself, and hard. Great, Cleo. Well done. Now you sound really pathetic, still stewing about a guy who never called ten years after the event! Why I’m worrying about what my hallucination thinks is something I don’t want to dwell on. I have a horrible feeling that I’m starting to see Alex as a real person. And if that’s the case then it means I’ve accepted that ghosts really do exist. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that paradigm shift just yet. I may be standing in my knickers in the changing room of Topshop and talking to thin air, but I’m still clinging to the final remnants of my intellectual dignity.

“He lost your details,” Alex is saying. “I know it sounds like a lame excuse but he really did. Seriously, Cleo! He went crazy trying to find you. It drove me insane too. We must have spent hours staking out that station. I swear to God I almost took up trainspotting just to pass the time. And why the bloody hell didn’t you tell each other your names?”

“It just didn’t seem important,” I say, although it does sound bonkers now. He’d called me Christmas Girl. I guess we were far too busy kissing. Names, history, futures – none of that seemed to matter back then. But then it doesn’t, does it, when you’re nineteen? You live in the moment. It’s only now that I’m older that I find myself living more and more in the past.

“Well it might have saved ten years of heartache and ten years of Rafe wishing he could find you,” Alex says, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus. You two deserve each other.”

I stare at him. Discovering that Rafe hadn’t just ignored me is almost as much of a shock as learning his identity.

“I’m not making it up,” Alex insists. “Rafe was sure if we gave it long enough you’d turn up eventually. He remembered that your family lived nearby. You never did show, though, and in the end he had to accept that you probably never would.”

“I was back in Egypt by then,” I explain. “My mum died and I took off pretty soon afterwards.” There hadn’t felt like much else to stay for. Let’s face it: I’ve pretty much stayed away ever since.

Alex nods, still with his eyes closed. “That figures. Anyway, long story cut short, Thorne was signed shortly after that and it all got pretty crazy. Rafe never forgot you, though. Our biggest chart hit was written about you – they reckon it even outranks Wham! now – and I know that every Christmas Eve without fail he went back to the station just in case.” He pauses. “At least, he used to. I don’t think he goes anywhere now apart from the off-licence.”

There’s a lump in my throat at this. It’s all water under the bridge now but I can’t help wondering what might have happened if we’d met again.

“So why were you looking for me?” I ask. Surely the wrong brother is crouched on the floor here?

“It was Rafe who made Thorne
great. It was his talent that drove the band,” Alex explains. “His lyrics and his compositions made us famous; I was just the front man, the Robbie to his Gary, if you like. Rafe never wanted the fame, but he put up with it because it was what I wanted. I knew I owed everything to him and I always said if there was one thing I could ever do it would be to help him find you. When I found myself…” He pauses.

“Dead?”

“Why mince words? Yeah, when I found myself
dead
I was drawn to you straight away. I guess I have to fulfil my promise before I can go wherever it is I’m supposed to go next.”

“To the light?” I suggest helpfully. Lilac Delaney, psychic to the stars, is always sending spirits into the light on
Totally Spooked
.

Alex splays his fingers to give me a pitying look through his hands. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you watch far too much crap telly for somebody who’s supposed to be intelligent. All I know is that I need to make sure my brother’s safe before I can do anything else. Maybe it’s my mission? I don’t know! No old man with a beard has popped up to tell me.”

I’m pulling my own clothes back on again. The mention of Lilac Delaney has given me a horrible jolt. At the back of my poor confused and injured brain I seem to recall that I made a very rash promise to Susie. A promise that I think I’m about to regret...

“Anyway, that’s my story,” Alex finishes, oblivious to the fact that I’ve just remembered I have an evening appointment with Britain’s most famous psychic. “Now do you understand why I need you to find Rafe for me? It’s important!”

I do understand, actually. Alex has to fulfil his promise to Rafe before he can rest. It’s classic stuff. Don’t all the best ghost stories go this way? My mind is working furiously because this isn’t an uncommon myth in ancient cultures either. Tombs are filled with writings concerning the soul’s journey through the afterlife, and customs the world over repeat this exact idea. Perhaps I just need to give in and go with it. Maybe this is my brain’s very complicated way of healing itself.

 “So if I help your brother you’ll leave me alone?” I say slowly. “You’ll go away? My life can go back to normal?”

He nods. “I think that’s pretty much how it works. Hey, I’m sorry for not telling you the whole story before. I really wanted to but I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“In that case I dread to think what happens when you do want to freak people out,” I retort wryly. “And just for the record I
am
totally freaked out on just about every level. If I go and see your brother – and it’s a huge
if
, by the way – then he’ll think I’m a lunatic. People don’t tend to take kindly to this sort of thing. I’d be furious if a total stranger came along and tried to give me a message from my mother.”

Alex is indignant. “No he won’t! Rafe’ll be thrilled to see the love of his life and you and he will get together and everything will be fine. You’ll live happily ever after and I’ll push off to the pearly gates. Tra-da!”

“Who’s had the bash on the head here? Do you seriously think we’ll take one look at each other and fall into each other’s arms, get married and have babies? You are kidding?”

Alex looks shifty and I know at once that this is exactly what he thought.

“And you say
I
watch too much crap TV? That’s rich coming from a man who seems to think life’s a Richard Curtis movie!” I shake my head. “I promise you that a touching reunion is never going to happen, Alex. It was years ago. To be honest I’d forgotten all about it.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Alex says airily, “and I think–”

But I don’t get to find out whatever it is that Alex thinks, because at this moment Susie starts hammering on the cubicle door, and when I next look he’s gone. My head’s spinning and I hold the changing-room door to steady myself. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

“Cleo? Are you OK in there? You’ve been ages,” calls Susie from the other side of the door, sounding worried. She probably thinks I’ve passed out from the shock of trying on exciting clothes.

“Just coming,” I chirp back. Shoving on my boots and scooping up the outfits, none of which actually made it off its hanger, I unlock the door and step into the communal changing room – which is thankfully devoid of dead pop stars. It’s full of teenage girls with willowy bodies; they’re all preening in front of mirrors and moaning about non-existent fat bits. I feel about as ancient as one of my mummies. What on earth am I doing in Topshop? To my mind, the only person over twenty-five who could blend in well here is Kate Moss, and she has the unfair advantage of being a supermodel.

“Any good?” Susie asks, looking at the clothes hopefully.

I glance down. To be honest, I have absolutely no idea, but I do know that I can’t face having to repeat this experience in H&M and Monsoon and Mango and everywhere else she’ll take me. Knowing that Alex could pop up at any time, whether I’m dressed or undressed, is very off-putting.

“They’re all great! I loved them and I’ll take the lot,” I declare impulsively while my credit cards start to tremble in the depths of my purse.

Alex is right about me being a bad liar; Susie’s looking alarmed.

“You liked everything? Seriously?”

I glance down at the clothes in my arms. There are scarlet leggings, skinny jeans, miniskirts, the green party dress, three sweaters in jewel hues, and not a black or grey garment in sight. A pair of butter-soft leather trousers has even made it into the collection. Leather trousers! I’d never try on clothes like this, let alone buy them, so no wonder Susie is surprised. If she knew the half of what’s been happening to me she’d be more than surprised. Leather trousers I can just about handle; ghosts I can’t.

She threads her arm through mine. “Who
are
you and what have you done with the real Cleo Carpenter? Oh, who cares! Quick, whoever you are, I’m going to get you to the till before the real Cleo comes back and decides she wants to wear sludge colours again and bottles out of seeing Lilac Delaney tonight.”

As she drags me to the cashier and watches, arms folded and head nodding approvingly with every beep of the scanner, I can’t help wishing that the real Cleo Carpenter, the one who was always so certain about everything, would come back.

Nobody misses her more than me.

Chapter 13

“This is so exciting!” Susie is dancing from foot to foot, hardly able to contain herself. “I can hardly believe we’re doing this, can you?”