The Haunted Bench by Jacqui Cooper

Mrs Denby had a sad story to tell, and Sara knew what she had to do to help . . .

SARA liked to get out of the office at lunchtime, just for ten minutes or so, to get some fresh air and recharge her batteries in a nearby park hidden away behind the office.

She was so used to having the little park to herself that when she saw an old woman sitting on “her” bench, she felt a flash of irritation.

The woman smiled as Sara sat down. “Beautiful day,” she said. “Isn’t it?” Sara replied politely, unwrapping her sandwiches.

“Do you live around here?” she asked, hoping the answer would be no and she would have the park to herself again tomorrow.

“I was born a few streets away.” The woman smiled. “I used to come here all the time, but I haven’t been for a while. I’m less tolerant of the cold these days.”

“You are lucky, having a pretty park so close,” Sara said, grudgingly polite.

“I know. It wasn’t always a park, though. It used to be a churchyard.”

Sara froze, tuna sandwich halfway to her mouth. “As in a graveyard?” The old woman nodded. “The headstones were removed, but the surviving relatives agreed to leave the graves undisturbed as long as they kept it as a place of rest and calm. I must be one of the last ones still visiting.”

Suddenly Sara’s little park didn’t seem quite so pretty.

“Have you family buried here?” she asked, shivering slightly at the idea.

The old woman nodded. “My husband and my twin boys. They died of influenza, which was a more serious illness in those days.”

Appalled at such a terrible tragedy, Sara put her sandwich down, her appetite gone.

“I’m sorry,” the old lady said. “I didn’t mean to spoil your lunch. When you reach my age death isn’t quite such a taboo subject.”

“I suppose you come here because it makes you feel close to them?” Sara asked.

“Something like that.” The lady stared out over the grass. “Sometimes I think I see my boys playing there under that tree.” Sara didn’t dare look. “Do you believe in ghosts?” the woman asked suddenly, looking at her.

Sara definitely did not. But if the old woman drew comfort from the thought of her boys playing under a tree, who was she to argue?

Her name was Mrs Denby and after that day she and Sara regularly met on the park bench.

In fact, Sara even began to look forward to their chats. Brought up in care, she’d never had a family of her own and Mrs Denby became a substitute gran.

“Did you never remarry?” Sara asked one day.

Mrs Denby smiled. “Oh, no. I didn’t have my husband or my boys for long, but I had happiness enough for any lifetime. I have no regrets. Well, maybe just one.”

A regret? Sara itched to know. Thankfully it didn’t seem to be a secret.

“That day my husband came home poorly from work, the boys were squabbling over a little toy car. I was so worried about my husband that I scolded them and took it from them.

“I tossed it on top of the dresser out of reach. Then they got ill, too, and they went downhill so fast.” She sighed. “Sometimes I worry they died still thinking I was angry with them.

“Do you know, that car is probably still there even after all these years.” She gave herself a shake. “It’s silly the things we can’t let go of, isn’t it? It’s time I was going.”

She struggled to her feet. Worried about how pale she looked, Sara walked her home. They stopped outside a pleasant-looking house with a For Sale sign over the gate.

“You’re moving?” Sara asked, realising she was going to miss her.

Mrs Denby looked fondly at the house.

“Yes. I think it’s finally time to move on.”

Sara didn’t see her friend the next day, or the next. On the third day, worried, she called at the house on her way home.

A harassed-looking man yanked the door open.

“Are you from the removal firm?”

Sara shook her head. “I’m here to see Mrs Denby.”

“Who?”

“The lady who lives here.” He squirmed.

“I’m sorry. She died six months ago. I’m the estate agent.”

Six months? That wasn’t possible.

Sara must have paled because he ushered her inside.

“I shouldn’t have broken the news like that. Come in.” He led her into the kitchen. “I’d make you a cup of tea, but almost everything’s gone.”

His phone rang. “Sorry. I have to take this. Do you mind?”

Shaken by what she’d just heard, Sara looked around the

kitchen. Her gaze fell on a tall dresser.

Acting on impulse, she scrambled up on to a chair and felt around the top of the dresser. There was nothing but dust.

“What are you doing?” The man was staring at her.

What could she say? I’m looking for a toy car that might allow me to put an old lady’s spirit to rest?

The chair wobbled and she fell with a crash.

There was no toy, she thought in despair. Lying on the floor, she blinked up at the estate agent.

“Er. This is such a beautiful dresser. I was just checking the craftsmanship” He didn’t buy it.

“I think it’s time you left.” Helping her up, he marched her to the door. When he yanked it open, she saw Mrs Denby walking up the path.

Sara felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re alive?” “Alive? Of course.” Mrs Denby looked bemused. “What are you doing here?”

“He told me you were dead!” Sara turned accusingly to the man.

“I told you the old woman who lives in the ground floor flat had died.”

“Mrs Johnson.” Mrs Denby nodded. “I live upstairs. We were neighbours for sixty years. Now she’s gone I’ve decided to move, too. It won’t be the same without her living downstairs.”

“Where have you been?” Sara asked. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been busy packing. I just nipped out to order more boxes. Are you all right, dear? You look very pale. And why are you so dusty?”

“I was looking for the toy car. To bury in the park,” Sara blurted out. “So your boys would know you’d forgiven them and your ghost could rest.”

Mrs Denby and the estate agent exchanged a look.

“In Mrs Johnston’s flat? Come upstairs and have a cup of tea,” Mrs Denby said kindly. “Do you think you might have banged your head?”

Relieved but sheepish, Sara followed her inside, almost wishing she had. n