S MAGAZINE ★ 25 AUGUST 2019 55
FICTION
Her father wasn’t waiting for her,
walking the corridors alone. He
wasn’t anywhere, not on this
Earth, anyway. The only ghosts
here were her memories. And
this house was just a house.
There was no hope of redemption
here, how could there be? And
yet there were still words that had
to be said, even if no one else
heard them.
“You did your best,” Alice told
the air. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make
you happy again after Mum died.
I hope you are with her now. I will
always love you, Dad. I’ll always
love you both.”
Michael would laugh if he knew
she had travelled hundreds of
miles just to talk to an empty
room. And yet Alice felt lighter, free
of the past for the first time in
a long time. Walking out of the
door, she locked it behind her and
stepped back to take one last look
at the home she had grown up in.
Perhaps it was a trick of the
light – the last of the day’s sun
flashing off the dirty glass – but
just for a moment she thought
she could see her mum and dad,
standing side by side. And then
they were gone.
It was time to live again.Rowan’s new novel, The Girl At The
Window (Ebury, £7.99), is out now.
See Express Bookshop on page 77.window frames. The floorboards
were silted in thick dust.
As Alice walked into the room
she felt the silence lean in and
listen. “Dad?” Her voice echoed
in the empty room. “I’ve come
home. I had to come home to
finally say goodbye...”
She paused, feeling emotion
thicken in her throat. “I’ve come
home to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry
that I left you here alone. That I let
you push me away. When I was a
kid I couldn’t do much about that.
But I’m grown up now... If I’d
known you were so lost, I’d have
come home in time. The truth
is, I thought you hated me for
reminding you of Mum. I thought
you didn’t want me. That was all
that I could see.”
Her words were followed by
perfect stillness. Even the wind
dropped and the birds were quiet.
Alice held her breath, waiting.
There had been one thing she
hadn’t told Michael. She hadn’t
told him that on the day they
buried Dad, she had looked up
at her bedroom window and saw
him standing there watching her.
Waiting. She hadn’t ever told
anyone that from that moment
on, she knew he’d be waiting
here forever until she let him go.
Then there was nothing. The
clouds rolled on outside just as
before and Alice felt like a fool.her alive, just as it was destroying
her father; building and man
crumbling away together at
exactly the same pace.
She remembered how her
father couldn’t bear to look at
her, how his grief dragged him
deeper and deeper into the
bottle. How she had counted
off every day until she could
escape to university and breathe
again, leaving home the October
after her 18th birthday and
not returning until the day of
his funeral.
That had been three years ago.
She felt as if something was
following her as she walked from
room to room, acutely aware that
she was doing her best to be
quiet, an intruder intent on
escaping notice. Even so, familiar
shadows gathered to greet her
at the top of the stairs. Almost
there, Alice thought. Just a few
more steps.
Somewhere on the other side
of the dark she would find him.
For a moment, there was
nothing but the windowless gloom
of the heart of the house, and
then she was through, pushing
her way into the room where it
had happened. Her bedroom.
Years of neglect had taken
their toll. The ivy that ranged
all over the house had forced its
© ROWAN COLEMAN 2019 / ILLUSTRATION: GETTY IMAGESway in here through the rottingN
o one wanted to believe
in ghosts more than
Alice. After all, she had
gone home to look for
one. Taking a deep
breath, she pushed open the stiff
and heavy oak front door. Late
afternoon sunshine spilled over
her shoulders into the cool
shadows of the interior.
The house was silent. It had
been that way for years now,
empty except for a few pieces
of furniture. Everything that once
was, except what remained of him.
“Why are you going up there
alone?” Michael had asked last
night, shouting over the din of the
busy restaurant. “Why now? After
all this time?”
“It’s time,” Alice had said, too
quietly for her boyfriend to hear.
“He won’t rest until I finish things,
he won’t let me be.”
“What?” Michael had shouted.
Alice leaned in and whispered, “If
I sell it, we’ll be able to buy our
own place, a proper home for our
baby when she’s born.”
Michael had offered to come
with her, but Alice had refused. If
he’d come then he’d have brought
all the things that Alice loved
about him – light, joy, kindness
and safety. And he would have
exorcised every last trace of her
father from the house the moment
he walked in. But Alice didn’t want
that, not yet.
Memories ran past her like a
crowd of excited children as she
ventured deeper into the house.
As each one materialised, she saw
herself again and again; fractured
moments from a broken life. The
tiny toddler holding her mum’s
hand as she took her first steps,
the little girl in her yellow party
dress spiralling around and around
in a patch of sunlight on the stone
floor, arms outstretched. And,
at 12 years old, sitting in the
corner while the adults talked
about how merciful it was that
Mum had been taken so suddenly.
It hadn’t felt merciful.
After that, it had just been her
and dad and the house. No matter
the season, the house became
a cold, dark place that Alice began
to feel was patiently waiting to eatHomecoming
Haunted by her father’s death, Alice must face the
past to exorcise her demons Short story by Rowan Coleman
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