because you’re too in love with the way she haunts you.
—Kamila Shamsie
Haunted men are tormented men—oppressed by guilt for past sins and unable to make amends for what they did—and unfortunately, that just about sums me up.
Elaine is dead, or so I thought, but now her lovely form returns seeking glimpses of the sun and perhaps notice from me.
Well, she has my attention and I want so badly to return to drinking and banish her with Gordon’s gin, but what would be the point? Her wraith would simply rise again.
The only sure way to cause a ghostly lover to lose interest and depart is to find solace in the arms of another woman.
I haven’t done that yet and maybe that’s why I’ve been soulless these past ten years, consoled not so much by her ghostly presence as the spirits found in a glass of gin.
But now I’ve involved Clare in this madness— she was a source of temptation for me when Elaine was alive and now that my wife's spirit has chosen to revisit me, those feelings of guilt have also returned again.
Guilt is the operant word and it’s probably why I’ve abandoned my plan of testing the spirits using Clare as my medium and elected to go it alone, come what may.
I mean, she’s already confronted Elaine or her ghostly apparition and confirmed there’s someone or something objectively there, so if a ghost is unfinished business, I suppose it falls to me to speak to her.
Clare had a momentary encounter with Elaine yesterday and when we met afterwards at The Slye Fox it became apparent to me that this was the only way to proceed.
So here I am again, in the small park across from our old house, getting up the nerve to cross the street and ring the doorbell.
I take a deep breath and step off the curb.
There’s a hedge around the front lawn and the opening to the front walk can only be reached by walking down a short blind street that ends at the edge of a local schoolyard.
As I reach the sidewalk before the house, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
A blue, Japanese car turns the corner and parks in the visitor’s space behind the house.
The car is identical to Jake’s car—my deceased friend.
The driver gets out and quickly goes inside. Is it Jake? I can't be sure.
Jake struggled with booze like me but unfortunately, was even more of a loner and ended up drinking himself to death.
I need to hang back and observe. But why would Jake be visiting the house?
And then the realization hits me— if this is some kind of time warp and Elaine is alive, then maybe my younger self is also living inside the house.
How would that work confronting myself?
My head begins to swim. I walk back to the park and slump down on the bench where I sat the day I first observed Elaine.
It takes me a long time to calm my racing thoughts—my body’s vibrating like a tuning fork.
After about half an hour I manage to partly regain my composure, although my hands are still trembling.
I want—okay, make that , I need a drink badly, but no way I’m leaving my post until I know exactly what the hell is happening.
I'm not doing anything until I can make some sense out of this new twist in my upside down life.
Another half hour passes and I see the young man who resembles Jake come out of the house and walk towards his car.
I’m on my feet and crossing the street as I hear the car start up and by this time I’m at the corner as the car approaches.
As it passes, the driver glances my way and our eyes lock. It’s Jake.
There’s a clear moment of recognition, but curiously, he keeps on going and drives away.
I wasn’t prepared for this—seeing Elaine from a distance was one thing, but staring into Jake’s eyes was quite another.
I don’t know what was more upsetting—that he recognized me, or that he drove away.
A feeling of total abandonment overwhelms me. I should phone Clare—I promised I would—but I don’t think I’d be able to speak.
I walk back up the street to my apartment feeling almost as desolate as the day Elaine’s plane went down, only this time, I’m doubly forsaken and so shaken I can’t even ponder what to do next.