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Ghost Story

I don’t believe in ghosts. I’ve never met one, don’t see how they could exist and have never believed that any so-called sighting would stand up to any serious scrutiny
But I have made my own. Sort of.
This last weekend I was at what we now call my mum’s house. It actually belongs to us, but out of respect to my late mum we still think of it as her's. It was my parents’ house. My dad, gone now for over five years, left my mum a brief period to be herself before Alzheimer’s came along and took that away. Because of this short period when she was her own person, the house became hers.
Despite having more years off the planet than mum, my dad has not faded away. I still feel an urge to call him up with news and when my son asked be what my three wishes would be, one of them is always, “I’d like another chat with my dad.”
So there I was, at my mum’s house. The children were upstairs, my wife was talking to the neighbour. I was standing at the dining room window, looking out at the garden.…

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