Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (best love novels of all time .txt) 📕

Why shouldn’t she be able to come and see me, just to let me know it’s okay? Does that make sense, Ruthy? Does it? I’m not sure it does. I’m worried I sound mad. But I’m not. I’m sure I’m not.’

No, it doesn’t sound mad at all, Ruth thought, it sounded completely insane. Desperate then to say to her dad, ‘you’re a retired army colonel, the most no-nonsense person I’ve ever known in my entire life, and here you are, just a few hours after the tragic death of your wife, talking about trying to see her ghost?’ But she didn’t. It just didn’t seem fair. Because she knew that grief did different things to different people and that everyone coped with it and dealt with it in their own way. And perhaps this was Dad’s, as surprising as it seemed to her right then. Maybe it was because he felt responsible, to blame even. And that little voice inside her called out then, just loud enough for her to hear, that he was.

‘I don’t think anything makes sense right now,’ Ruth eventually said, doing her best to ignore her internal dialogue. ‘And I don’t think anything will for a very long time.’

‘No, neither do I,’ James agreed. ‘But do you see what I mean? What I’m saying? I don’t want to sound crazy, because I’m not, I’m really not. I just need to know that she’s alright, wherever she is. That’s all. That’s all I want, all I’m asking for right now.’

‘What about giving the minister a call?’ Ruth suggested, half because she wanted to stop her dad from talking the way he was, but also because it might genuinely help. ‘He’s already been in touch anyway, after he heard. And he’s popping over later, isn’t he? So, might be worth talking things through then, maybe?’

‘Rawlings, you mean?’ James said. ‘That young Methodist minister chap? I don’t know . . .’

‘It might help,’ Ruth said. ‘Just to have someone else to talk it through with. This kind of stuff is all part of the job for him, I’m sure. He’s trained for it. It’s what he does for a living.’

‘I’m not sure it would help,’ James sighed. ‘I don’t want people to think—’

‘Think what?’ Ruth said. ‘That you’re suffering after Mum’s death? That you don’t know how to deal with it? What’s wrong with any of that? It’s normal, Dad! I feel it, too. Anyway, we’ll need to speak to him . . .’ Ruth paused, the next words ones she could hardly bear to mutter. ‘. . . to sort out . . . the funeral.’

‘And you say he’s coming out later on today?’ James said.

Ruth gave a nod over her mug of tea.

‘Perhaps I will, then,’ James said. ‘It can’t do any harm, can it?’

‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘It really can’t, Dad.’ Then, as she took another sip of tea, she said, ‘Pat said that she’ll be here as soon as she can tomorrow, once Dan has finished whatever project or contract he’s on with right now. Oh, and I’ll be heading off later as I’m on night shift over at the care home.’

‘They’re coming, then?’ James said. ‘Well, that’s something. It’ll be good to see them.’

Would it though, Ruth thought, because when had Pat and Dan ever visited unless they wanted something? But she said, ‘They are, yes,’ recalling the brief phone call she’d had with Pat, declining to say anything further about her somewhat distant older sister.

‘They don’t need to,’ James said. ‘But it is nice of them to come.’

‘Well, you know what Pat’s like,’ Ruth said. ‘She’s not one for taking no for an answer once she’s decided to do something.’

‘I’ll be fine, though,’ James said. ‘Just need some time, that’s all. We all do. And you’re next door, aren’t you? So, I’m okay, really.’

Yes, I am, Ruth thought, which is where I’ve always been. But she said, ‘You’re not okay, Dad. And none of us will be, not unless we lean on each other for a while.’

Tea finished, and with a few jobs to do before she headed off to work that afternoon, Ruth pushed herself to her feet, the aches still there, in every bit of her, inside and out.

‘Thanks,’ James said. ‘And I’m pleased you’re here, you know. I know I’m lucky to have you so close, you and Anthony, and I’ve always appreciated it. And for what it’s worth, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t. And I’ll always look after you, you know that, don’t you? Even when I’m gone. You’ve done so much.’

‘I’d have come over regardless,’ Ruth said. ‘That, and the fact that Anthony and I live next door is beside the point.’

‘Thanks, anyway,’ James said, then he added, ‘I’ll be out in my shed if you want me for anything.’

Ruth wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. ‘It’s a bit cold for that, isn’t it, Dad?’

‘I’ll get the stove going,’ James explained. ‘Get it all nice and cosy. Just like your mum used to like it when she’d come over and fall asleep in that chair with a book on her lap.’

Ruth left her father to himself in the kitchen and headed on into the house. The place seemed so silent and empty, as though the absence of her mum was enough to make the walls turn even the smallest of sounds into the meanest, coldest of echoes. Then she was outside, having not made the conscious decision to find some fresh air, but glad that she had.

She walked away from the house, heading down the lawn at the front, towards the road. When she turned back to stare up at it, the overly grand dwelling glared back, as though conscious of its broken shell and that Ruth’s pain was a mirror to its own.

Ruth’s eyes swept left, to where a large gap sat between the main house and what was now a smaller cottage, the one she and her teenage son, Anthony, lived