Flowers on The Bridge
written by: Penny Rogers
I felt such a fool.
Here I was, in the police station at 2.00 in the morning, surrounded by all sorts of people acting strangely. I guessed they were all drunk or unwell; just the sort of people Mum and Dad warned me about.
A really cute policeman came out from behind the thick glass screens. I walked up to him, but he turned away to answer a question from a woman who was arguing on a phone, so I jogged his arm. He just walked away, so rude. Why do adults ignore young people? Determined to get his attention I waved my arms at him and he turned towards me. I mumbled ‘I’ve come to tell you that I’ve murdered someone.’
He shook his head, sort of smiled and called out ‘Sarge, Madame Valerie in Number 4 wants a cup of tea.’
‘Just get her one,’ replied a voice from behind me, ‘and make sure she doesn’t take her clothes off – again.’
I clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere while all this was going on, so I decided I’d go back to Lodden Bridge, see what was happening there and come back to make my confession in the morning when it might be less frantic in the police station.
Outside there were a couple of taxis and a few patrol cars. I heard a man in a combat jacket saying something to a taxi driver about not having much money. The driver said, ‘Find someone else to share the journey and I’ll split the fare.’
‘I’m going to Lodden Bridge’ I said, and got into the front seat. A few minutes later the man in the combat jacket and another man got into the back and we set off. The driver talked on his phone, I didn’t understand a word he said, I don’t think the men in the back did either. But they seemed to know each other and were talking about a bad accident on the bridge. I asked them if they knew if anyone had been killed and one of them said ‘one person’ to his friend. I felt a bit sad.
When we got to Lodden Bridge I sneaked out of the taxi and crept away, leaving the men to argue about the fare. I didn’t have any money on me anyway.
The road was still closed. The recovery trucks and emergency vehicles had all gone, leaving the place eerily quiet, absolutely no one around. I’d never seen the town like this, the street lights were on and some shops and businesses were lit up, but without traffic and people it looked really spooky.
There were road closed signs at the end of the bridge and at the lower end of High Street, by what used to be Mum and Dad’s bank, but I see it’s now a wine bar called the Swanky Badger. I thought that’s an odd name because there aren’t any badgers in the town and even if there were they wouldn’t dress up like the one on the sign. But I was more interested in the grey VW Polo that was still there, it had been lifted clear of the wall of the bridge, the front crumpled and pushed right against the rear of the car. The roadway was a mass of marks and measurements and a sort of tent covered the wall.
By the end of the bridge there’s a seat; we used to sit there when we were in town with our parents. They’d buy us an ice cream and we’d wait for them there while they did boring stuff. Tamsin and I were close then, as twin sisters should be. Perched on that seat I thought about the good times we’d had and recalled the lingering sweetness of Luigi’s strawberry ice cream. Then I thought about how it all went wrong. It was just after our fifteenth birthday and Alex, a really sweet boy in year 11, had asked me to go with him to the end of year prom. We started to see quite a bit of each other, he even took me to the sci-fi Laser Quest. It was SICK! Everyone was really jealous; by everyone I mean the girls in our year. My sister was livid.
‘I can’t see what he sees in you.’
‘Well I’m prettier.’ That wasn’t true but I wanted to have a go at her.
‘Huh. We’ll see about that.’
That weekend we went to the beach. Mum’s friend had a beach hut and we often went there. It was getting a bit boring, we both wanted to do something more exciting than to build sandcastles and swim in the chilly sea. It never felt really warm, even in the middle of summer. Our friends were doing cool things like going to festivals and raves; we weren’t allowed to.
So there we were, pretending to play with a beach ball and looking through our sunglasses at the boys. They were all a bit weedy, certainly none as peng as Alex. I wished so hard that he would suddenly appear on the beach. I knew really that wasn’t going to happen, but I could dream about it. In the sea a couple of lads swam over and started talking to me, just rubbish stuff about how they had a really cool car and they’d take me for a drive along the coast. I didn’t dare say that my mum wouldn’t let me, so I just pretended that I wasn’t interested, and said I’d got a boyfriend. Now I know they were making it all up, just showing off, but at the time I believed them and more importantly so did Tamsin. She started flirting with them, throwing our beach ball at them and splashing right beside them. They sort of played around for a bit and then pushed off. There was no one else about; I suppose it was getting towards tea time and the aroma of fish and chips was floating across from the promenade.
‘What do you think I should wear to the prom?’ It was a bit mean of me, but she had been stupid with those boys and I was getting fed up with her.
‘A black sack for all I care. You’ll look rubbish whatever you wear.’
‘Just because you’re gross and no one likes you.’ I could be so cruel.
We went on like this, getting nastier and nastier to each other and started splashing and throwing water in the other’s eyes. I stumbled on a submerged rock and fell over, flat on my face in the water. I went to get up but couldn’t; my sister was pushing on me, holding me down, relentlessly drowning me.
I don’t know how long I floated in the water; time no longer meant anything to me. I guess I was carried to the beach, probably by Mum, and lots of people tried to save me but it was too late. I suppose there was my distraught sister, weeping for ages about how she’d tried to save me, sad friends and teachers who cancelled the end of year prom, and of course a devastated Mum and Dad.
It took time to learn how to be a ghost.
For a start you’d think that ghosts can see other ghosts but I can’t. Perhaps I’ve still got to find out how to do that. For example, I’ve looked for my granddad who died when I was twelve. I went to where he used to live, walked through the woods behind his house, and even spent a boring evening at his golf club but no sign of him anywhere.
After a bit of practice I got quite good at disappearing when anyone sensitive enough to see into my world caught sight of me. I watched my own funeral; so many wreaths, arrangements, flowers in the shape of teddy bears. No one had ever given me flowers when I was alive. There was a lovely bouquet of red roses and white carnations from Alex. I wish he’d given me flowers before I died, though he did give me a cuddly toy he won when we went to the fair.
Another thing about the spectral world is that you’ve only got the clothes you died in. In my case that’s a mauve swimming costume with a pattern of violets around the waist, across the bra bit and on the shoulder straps. I think you’ll agree that’s a pretty gruesome thing to have to wear for eternity.
As for my beloved sister, excuse me, murderous sister, she moped around all summer pretending to miss me, then went back to school in the autumn. Alex was now in year 12 and getting good grades; he wanted to go to university. But he was no match for Tamsin, she got her hooks into him and by Christmas they were an item. He did go to university, got a good degree and a fantastic job. Tamsin did as well, they were a golden couple and on Tamsin’s 25th birthday (our 25th birthday!) they got engaged. I did consider being a ghostly bridesmaid, but in that stupid swimsuit? No way.
So I planned my revenge. I practised sitting on the bench at the end of the bridge then getting up and walking in front of cars as they turned left into High Street. Just very occasionally someone would see me. One lady slammed on her brakes and a Honda Jazz smashed into the back of her car. The police were called and she tried to explain that she’d seen a girl in a swimsuit walk in front of her, but they thought she was drunk and breathalysed her. Mostly the drivers who spotted me did a quick double take and carried on.
But I had to make sure with Tamsin. She always drove quite fast and was usually texting at the same time. I knew this because I sometimes sneaked into her back seat, she was too insensitive to see me or think I might be there. Once she picked up Alex. I’m sure he saw me; he looked straight at me and sort of gurgled. I didn’t let him see me again; I didn’t want to hurt him.
Tamsin drove over the bridge several times a day, so there were plenty of opportunities to practise getting her to see me. I jumped out in front of her car every time she drove past without Alex. It looked hopeless; she didn’t give any sign that she’d seen me, until one day it worked. I leapt in front of the grey car, frantically waving my arms. I was glad that the reflection on the windscreen meant that I couldn’t see her face as I heard the screeching of brakes followed by a resounding crash. I left straight away; I didn’t want to see her being cut out of the car. Fire engines, ambulances and heavy lifting equipment were racing towards the scene; I hoped that no one else had been hurt in the collision.
E=MC2
Einstein’s Theory of Relativity states that for time to exist you need mass ¬– so you see I WAS listening Mrs Physics Teacher – and as ghosts don’t have mass I have no idea of time passing. Anyway, when I next visited Lodden Bridge a lot had changed. The Swanky Badger was now a charity shop; the bridge had been repaired and had traffic lights. I saw a bunch of red roses and white carnations at the spot where Tamsin had died; perhaps Mum and Dad had put them there. I didn’t dare get close enough to see the message on the card in case someone was able to see me. I decided to come back when it was quiet and have a look.
Then I noticed a policeman talking to a policewoman. I was sure this was the same cute policeman who’d been in the station on the night Tamsin died. He’d obviously done well for himself; he now wore an inspector’s uniform. More interestingly he was talking about a bad accident on the bridge that had caused the traffic lights to be installed. I got closer, being careful not to let him see me. I took a chance with the woman; like most people she gave no sign that she knew I was there.
‘Alex Fowler was driving his wife’s car, they hadn’t been married long. He braked suddenly for no obvious reason, spun out of control and smashed into the bridge. Didn’t stand a chance.’
I felt sick, my spectral body convulsed hopelessly and helplessly. I had just assumed Tamsin was driving, just assumed he was safe, just assumed I’d got my revenge.
The inspector’s voice tailed off as he walked away with the policewoman. ‘Now, behind the charity shop over there is a …’
In my ghastly violet swimsuit all I could do was stare at the flowers wilting in the sunshine and read the message ‘Darling Alex, love you forever. Tamsin xx’.
- Flowers on The Bridge - November 28, 2024
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