The Boutique

blocking her path. The shocked expression on Alison's face made it clear he'd been a little too forceful. He relaxed his grip and tried to play down the situation. "Best leave it to the coppers, eh? You don't want to go disturbing things now, do you?"

  "Oh, of course not. Silly me, I wasn't thinking! This is all new to me, I've never been burgled before. I've only ever had to deal with Mrs Pritchard when she had a minor case of kleptomania. I have no idea why she tried to steal that blouse, you know. It was three sizes too small for her and mauve is so not her colour!" Peter gave her a warm smile and he gently rubbed her shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Listen at me blabbering on about Mrs Pritchard! You must think I'm a right gossip! I'm sorry, I can't help it. I tend to talk a lot when I'm nervous..." she said but her words were interrupted by the sound of sirens.

  "It sounds like the police are on their way," Peter said as he ushered Alison back towards the bench.

  "Of course! The alarm system must have worked. I knew it was worth paying the extra for the direct line to the station."

  "I'm sorry?" asked Peter.

  "The burglar alarm. Apparently it emails the police station and they dispatch the rapid response vehicle, or something like that."

  "Email?" asked Peter, as if Alison was talking a foreign language.

  "You are a security guard, aren't you? I thought you'd know about those things."

  "I'm just the night watchman," Peter said, raising his hands and pleading innocence.

  Alison didn't press him further, she was distracted by two police officers running down the alley into the courtyard. She stood up and called, "Hello," but they ignored her and proceeded towards the open door of her shop. She tried to stand but Peter put his hand on her shoulder.

  "Let them be, they know what they're doing," he said. Alison gave him a worried smile. They sat and watched as the police officers investigated the scene. Peter took Alison's hand. He desperately wanted to warn her and tell her what he'd found but he didn't know how. He was spared the responsibility when the younger of the two officers let out a high pitched scream. Alison jumped at the sound and Peter could see the panic in her eyes.

  The young officer appeared at the shop door, his face was white as a sheet and he was visibly shaken. He steadied himself on the doorframe gulping deep breaths of air but it wasn't enough to stave off the nausea and he deposited his supper in the grate beneath the shop window.

  "You all right there, Ricky?" the older officer asked as he came to the door. Ricky shook his head and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

  "Sorry, Phil. I've never been good with blood..." he replied, turning pale at the thought of what he'd seen. Phil patted him on the shoulder and got on his radio.

  "Cheryl? Can we have an ambulance, please? Looks like the owner disturbed them. Cheers!"

  "Ambulance?" asked Alison, her eyes wide with fear as her mind worked overtime. "Is someone hurt? Why aren't they helping them?" She stood up and marched over to the police officers. Peter tried to catch her hand but it slipped through his as she rushed over to her shop.

  "Excuse me, my name is Alison Payne, this is my shop. Is someone hurt inside?" she asked the older police officer but he completely ignored her. Ricky was still retching over the grate.

  "There, there, son. Better out than in," he said as he patted Ricky on the shoulder again.

  "Excuse me, what's going on?" asked Alison but the officer made no attempt to reply. She spoke again louder. "There's no need to be rude! This is my shop and..."

  The officer looked around the courtyard without acknowledging Alison in any way. He sighed and shook his head. "I'd best go wait for that ambulance, you give yourself a minute," he said to his colleague and he walked straight towards Alison.

  "Now you look here!" she began. As the officer came closer she almost stepped out of the way, but in her defiance she stood her ground. She wasn't going to let anyone ignore her like that. She squared up to the man but he continued walking right at her. "Stop!" she called but the man continued on his path and walked right through her. Alison screamed. Peter rushed to her side as she staggered backwards, reeling from the shock.

  Alison looked up at Peter, her mouth open and her eyes blank as she tried to find words to describe what just happened.

  "I think you'd better sit down," he said, taking her hand and leading her back to the iron bench.

  "But! What? How? Did he...?" Alison felt like she might faint. She couldn't understand what just happened. "He walked right through me! Like he was a ghost!"

  "He's not a ghost," said Peter, shaking his head and holding Alison's hands in his. "You are."

  "Don't talk nonsense! Ghosts aren't real! I'm sure there is some perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Wait, this isn't one of those hidden camera pranks, is it? Don't tell me, that bloke off the telly is hiding around the corner with a TV crew, isn't he?"

  Peter slowly shook his head. "Alison, I'm very sorry but you're like me now."

  "What do you mean, I'm like you?"

  "You've passed over."

  "For goodness sake!"

  "Alison, please listen to me. I'm trying to explain," Peter said getting frustrated. He'd never very good with words and it wasn't easy trying to tell someone that they were dead. "Alison, look at this bench."

  "What about it? It's a bench, it's always been here."

  "Have you ever looked at the name on the plaque?" Peter asked.

  "No, why?" Alison asked. She was getting frustrated at his riddles but as her eyes traced the worn letters on the brass plaque she gasped. "Peter James Dunne. 1921 - 1973. Was he your father?"

  "No, that was me."

  "No, it can't have been. How can you be sitting here with me now if you're dead?" she said, screwing up her nose and trying to make sense of everything.

  "I don't know how, I just am. The last thing I remember is going to work one night. I'd just opened my flask of tea when I heard a noise. The shop over there used to be a pawn brokers," Peter said pointing across the courtyard to the art store. Alison looked above the door and spotted the iron sign with three balls hanging from it. She thought it was just for decoration, like everything else in the courtyard. "I walked over and noticed the door was open, so I went inside. That was the last thing I remember. I woke up on the floor and I didn't know where I was. Eventually people started turning up for work but everyone I spoke to ignored me. I had no idea what was going on then I heard the screams and went running over to the shop. There was a man in a night watchman's uniform laying face down on the shop floor. He'd been shot in the back. It took me a good ten minutes to figure out it was me!" he said, shaking his head and almost laughing.

  "No! I don't believe it!" said Alison.

  "It's true, see?" said Peter. He turned around and pointed to the back of his jacket. Alison peered closer and noticed a small hole in the fabric. The edges were frayed as if something had punctured them, something like the bullet from a revolver.

  Alison gasped. "So, you really are a ghost?" she asked, raising her hand to her chest and trying not to hyperventilate.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  "But I can see you!"

  "I know, that's because you're a ghost too."

  "I can't be! I'm not dead!" Alison said, desperately trying not to panic. Peter sighed.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you but when I searched your shop I found something..."

  "No..." said Alison, her eyes pricking as she tried to hold back the tears.

  "I'm very sorry..." said Peter. Alison put her head against his chest as she cried tears of grief for her own passing. Peter put his arm around her shoulder and comforted her the best he could, holding her until her tears subsided.

  "So that's why the police officer couldn't see me?" she said, sniffing into a tissue.

  "Yes. People don't tend to see us, sometimes animals can sense our presence and occasionally very young child
ren will acknowledge us, but people generally don't notice us at all. Oh and it's best to keep out of their way, it's not very pleasant when one of them walks through you!"

  "I know!" said Alison, taking a fresh tissue from her handbag and dabbing her eyes. She turned as she heard footsteps coming down the alley. The police officer returned with two paramedics and a stretcher on wheels. Curious, Alison followed them into the shop. She didn't want to see what fate had befallen her but her morbid curiosity got the better of her. Peter took her hand and lead her around the back of the counter. Alison recoiled in shock at the sight of her body, prone and bloodied on the wooden floor.

  "Tragic," said the paramedic. "I hope they get the bastards who did it."

  "Hopefully we'll have got them on the CCTV," the police officer said.

  Alison shed more tears as they respectfully loaded her body onto the stretcher and covered her face with a white sheet. She never imagined her life would end this way.

  Peter put her arm around her shoulder and they walked back out into the courtyard. Everything was peaceful and still and the stars were shining brightly in the clear night sky. Her turmoil of emotions seemed to dissipate and she felt an overwhelming sense of tranquillity descend upon her. All the little things she used to worry about didn't matter now. There would be no more feeling guilty about scoffing a whole packet of chocolate biscuits, there would be no more stress about how she was going to pay rent on the shop or afford the new seasons stock, and she wouldn't have