‘I talk to my dead mam in a cemetery so I’m no one to judge.’
‘Yes. That’s definitely weird.’
She laughed. Wilbur had no idea if they were flirting. He was always bad at reading the signs.
‘What do you say? To your mam?’
Her face became serious for a moment. ‘All sorts, actually. I think everyone you meet you end up losing in some way, but if you love someone they don’t really leave. Obviously they do. But not entirely. They live in your mind. You keep them alive. You can lose everything but you can’t lose love. Sorry. I’m sounding mad.’
‘Not in the slightest,’ he said tenderly.
‘I was lucky I knew her well. And the way I see it, if you know someone well then you know how they would think about things. You can talk with them for ever because you know what they would say. You even know the face they would make. I sometimes even argue with her. She could be mardy as hell sometimes.’
‘What do you argue about?’
She laughed at him.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Just the way you said it. Like I’d just said something totally normal. Like you didn’t laugh.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I liked it. It means you’re like me. My biggest argument with my mam’s grave was when I quit teacher-training. But that was your fault.’
Wilbur felt his heart race at this. Either worry or excitement that he was a part of her life. ‘What? How was that my fault?’
‘Can you remember when I told you I wasn’t drawing any more?’
‘Um—’
‘You made this disappointed face. You didn’t mean to, but you did. And I kept thinking of that while I was at college and it helped me realise I didn’t want to be a teacher. I wanted to do art. Anddesign. And create things. Not just drawings. I make posters and things now. I like it. To take something in your head and make it real. I’m doing what I really want.’
‘I’m pleased, Maggie. Really pleased.’
‘I think the trouble with life is we do things because we should. We act for outside eyes. I’m trying to live it the other way round. To do what feels right deep down even if it shouldn’t be.’
‘It sounds like a good philosophy.’
‘And in a way the art thing … It was talking to you that helped me clarify something. Can you remember? The concert?’
He nodded. Did the tiniest involuntary flinch. She realised what she had said. She looked over at Dougie’s headstone. ‘Oh God. Sorry. I know that’s when it happened. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s no bother, Maggie. I like what you said just now. About love. I just hate that when you lose someone when you’re young you’re going to have to spend more time missing them than with them.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I like that you were there that night.’
Her eyes shone. ‘Why’s that?’
‘It puts something else in the memory. Does that make sense? It helps divert my mind away from the darkness. What was that word you told me about? The art word. You know, the one that explains light and dark in old paintings.’
‘Chiaroscuro?’
‘Yes. That was it. Chiaroscuro.’ He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. ‘See, that was what you were that night. You were the only shining thing.’
The Ghost looked beyond them as an elderly woman placed some carnations beside a grave. He felt the speed of time. Maybe right here, his young self had a moment of feeling it, of not wanting things to slip away without appreciating them.
