Ways to See a Ghost

a clairvoyant.”
    The woman was already looking past them, at the juggler. “Isn’t it the same thing?” she said.
    Cally shook her head. “I speak to the spirits, but they only communicate future events if they choose to.”
    The woman’s gaze came back to Cally, eyes flicking up and down, measuring her. “Well, I’m sure no one will mind. And a fortune teller fits in much better with our circus theme.” She pointed one finger at Cally’s purple dress. It looked washed out, almost pink, in the bright sunshine.
    “Is that your costume?”
    Cally nodded. “It’s what I wear for performances.”
    “It’s not very
gypsy
though.”
    “That’s because she’s not,” said Isis.
    The woman regarded Isis, then asked Cally, “Who’s this?”
    “My daughter, Isis.”
    The manager’s walkie-talkie crackled, and a voice garbled through about an obstruction in the bins area.
    “I have to go,” said the manager. “But could you try and look a bit more… ethnic? Buy a tasselled shawl or something.” She glanced at Isis. “And we have very strict rules about young people loitering. Please remember that.”
    Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked away.
    “Don’t worry ’bout Mrs Parkes,” said the juggler, smiling at them. The studs in his bottom lip gleamed. “She’s like, high stress. But if you do all right, she’ll keep on with the bookings.”
    Cally didn’t answer, just smiled back awkwardly and opened up her bag.
    “I’m not sure I want to do this any more,” she said quietly.
    “I never wanted to at all,” said Isis.
    “Are you part of the act or something?” the juggler asked Isis.
    Isis looked at her mum as she answered. “No, I’m just here for the humiliation.”
    The young man grinned, and Cally folded her arms.
    “I couldn’t leave you on your own, Isis.”
    “Yes, you could!” snapped Isis. “Other people’s parents leave them at home. Gray’s dad does it all the time!”
    Cally tutted. “So now you think Gil’s wonderful, do you?”
    “At least he doesn’t treat Gray like a baby.”
    Cally turned to the juggler. “Do you think I’m being overprotective?”
    He held his hands up, shaking his head. “I ain’t involved in your stuff.”
    Cally turned to Isis.
    “Gil does his thing, I do mine. I thought you understood, that after what happened…”
    “Angel died,” hissed Isis. “That’s ‘what happened’. But it was on a road, not in our flat. A car isn’t going to drive up the stairs and crash into the living room!”
    Cally went very still. The juggler got suddenly busy, sorting through his gear.
    “Why are you being like this?” Cally asked.
    “Haven’t the
spirits
told you?” asked Isis, turning roundand stamping off, her footsteps echoing in the empty shopping centre. When she reached the entrance, where the glass roof gave way to sky, she stopped, wrapping her arms around herself. In front of her were two free-standing noticeboards, each one with a poster tacked onto it.

    A security guard ambled by, followed a minute later by two early customers. An elderly lady, holding onto the arm of a middle-aged woman.
    “Oh, that sounds fun,” said the old lady, pointing at the noticeboards.
    “Yes, Mum,” said the younger woman, not even looking. “Now the first place we need to go is Debenhams, get you some vests.”
    Isis thought about just carrying on. Walking all the way home, then on until she reached the railway station. She imagined getting on a train, and heading for…
    Where would she go? The longing for her dad cut through her. In his last email he’d said he was in South Africa. The train wouldn’t get her there.
    Next to the entrance was a bakery. One of the bakers brought a tray of pastries out from the back of the shop and started loading them into the glass-fronted display. A wisp of toddler-shaped steam drifted above the cakes, but the baker worked on, oblivious to the small ghost floating around him.
    Isis heard footsteps behind her.
    “Isis,” said Cally, “I need you to come back to the stall. Remember what the manager said about loitering.”
    Isis didn’t move.
    “I’m sorry you don’t want to be here,” said Cally, “but I have to earn money.”
    Isis turned round. “You could get a job in a shop.”
    “What’s wrong with you?” said Cally. “Why are you being so… difficult?”
    “I’m not!” Isis snapped. Except that was a lie, because difficult was exactly how she felt.
    Ever since that night,