Dead Romantic by Ruth Saberton Page B

was talking to her!” I turn to the nurse in desperation. “You must know who I mean? She’s an old lady? Talks a lot? And she knits non-stop? Those clicking needles were driving me mad, actually, because she knits all night.”
    The nurse looks surprised. “Why, that sounds just like Mrs Collins. She knitted all the time with the brightest yellow wool I’d ever seen.”
    “That’s her! The wool was gross! I told you, Suse, I’ve been talking to her for days.” Relieved beyond belief I turn back to the nurse. “Have you moved her? Where’s she gone?”
    “I don’t know how to tell you this,” the nurse says slowly. “It’s going to be something of a shock.”
    I think I know what’s coming but it won’t shock me. I’m the girl who spends every working minute thinking about the deceased. OK, so they’re thousands of years dead rather than minutes, but it’s the same thing. A chemical process in the brain stops and the body ceases to function. It’s all perfectly natural and, although unbearably sad for those left behind, nothing to be frightened of.
    “She died, didn’t she?” I say. I touch my stitches tentatively and smile. “I’m starting to realise just how much of an injury I’ve had. Don’t worry, I won’t freak out. I guess I just got a bit muddled with when things were happening.”
    But the nurse has turned very pale. “Mrs Collins did die but it wasn’t today.”
    I must be more muddled than I thought. “Was it yesterday?”
    She shakes her head. “Mrs Collins didn’t die yesterday. She died three weeks ago and in that very bed. There’s no way that you could have met her, no way at all.”
    Susie’s mouth is hanging open. “A ghost?”
    The nurse shrugs. “A lot of nurses see things in hospitals. The night staff often say they see old Dr Andrews. He gave a patient the wrong drugs and killed her by mistake. He couldn’t cope with the guilt so he hanged himself in the locker room.”
    Susie’s hand flies to her mouth. “How tragic!”
    “They say he walks up and down the wards checking the charts, just to make sure no one makes the same mistakes that he did,” finishes the nurse. “Poor man. Doomed to haunt the NHS for all eternity.”
    My hands are gripping the metal bed frame. If my stomach wasn’t so empty I think I’d vomit again.
    I don’t believe in ghosts! It’s all rubbish. Ghosts are for the credulous and the uneducated; they’re just tales to add excitement to boring lives or add atmosphere to stately homes. Ghosts don’t exist and I don’t believe in spirits or spooks of any description. Full stop.
    There’s no such thing as ghosts!
    So in that case what on earth is happening to me?
    And who or what is Alex Thorne?
     
     
     

Chapter 7
    “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” worries Susie, tucking the duvet round me and handing over the remote control. “I don’t like leaving you on your own when you’ve been so poorly.”
    I laugh. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit here and watch telly. I might even have a lovely hot bath.”
    Susie looks worried. “I’m not sure having a bath’s a good idea. What if you pass out or something? You only came out of hospital this morning. Maybe I should cancel my shift and stay in with you?”
    “Don’t be silly. I was there for over two weeks. They wouldn’t have let me out if there was anything to worry about, would they?”
    The last thing I need is Susie flapping around like a mother hen. All I want to do is flip open my laptop, hook up to the Internet and get stuck in to some work, which definitely won’t happen if Susie stays in. I’ll be doomed to an evening goggling at drivel like Totally Spooked while she watches me carefully for signs of head trauma. As if anyone who watches and believes in Totally Spooked is in a position to comment on my head trauma!
    “I suppose not,” Susie says reluctantly. “It’s really late notice for Giraffe Ward to get a bank nurse. Are you sure?”
    “Of course I