my new job on Monday.”
The 21st, he realised, was the day he had first seen her dancing in the clearing in the woods. That couldn’t be a coincidence, he decided.
“So, you haven’t seen much of the town yet then?” he asked.
“Not really. Just the Academy and the town centre,” she confessed.
“I could show you around if you’d like? Or not – you’re probably busy or you think I’m a total prat – and you’d probably be right there. Forget I asked,” he concluded, looking down at his feet and feeling his face redden again.
“That would be nice,” said the girl tentatively.
“Really?” he looked up to see her smiling at him and noticed that she was blushing too.
She nodded. “My name is Ella – Ella Stuart.”
“Luke Peterson,” he responded.
“I could meet you here at around seven o’clock tonight, if you’re free?” she suggested.
“Yes. Seven would be great.”
“I’ll see you later then, Luke,” she responded standing up.
Luke stood up abruptly, his sandwich packet falling onto the floor at his feet. “Yes; see you later,” he said crouching to pick up his sandwich. By the time he stood up, Ella was striding away across the precinct, tucking her wavy hair behind her ear.
“You’ve got to be crazy, Luke Peterson,” said Luke out loud, as an old lady carrying two carrier bags sat down heavily in the spot recently vacated by Ella. She gave him a disapproving look as he brushed breadcrumbs off his trousers onto the ground, and he decided that it was time to get back to work.
Luke couldn’t believe his luck; Ella was funny, intelligent, good company and ‒ as he had already known ‒ beautiful.
After their first date, when he’d shown her around the town and taken her for a drink, they’d walked together back to her flat. He’d been anxious about kissing her, but afterwards, he felt amazing – as if his heart had swollen to twice its usual size and he’d instantly grown a foot taller.
They arranged another date for the following evening, and Luke could barely sleep for thinking about her. He felt as though fate had brought them together and that the apparition in the woods had been there to ensure that they would meet.
A week later, as they sat holding hands across the table in the little restaurant that was Luke’s favourite place to eat out, he decided to tell her about the girl in the woods.
“That’s unbelievable!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through her long hair. “Are you sure it was me?”
“Pretty sure,” confirmed Luke nodding. “We could go and take a look if you like; then you can see for yourself.”
“No no. No way!” she said adamantly. “I don’t do ghosts – especially when it’s me. What if it means I’m going to die?” she asked, sounding horrified and frightened.
“I’m sure it doesn’t mean that; seeing the girl ‒ you ‒ dancing in the woods was what led me to you. It’s what gave me the courage to speak to you when I saw you sitting on that bench in the town centre. I’d never have summoned up the nerve if it hadn’t been for the vision in the woods. It was fate giving us a push in the right direction, that’s all,” he reassured her, wishing he hadn’t decided to tell her.
“Can we change the subject, please?” she pleaded. “Forget we ever spoke about it. It really makes me feel uncomfortable, and I don’t want it to spoil things between us.”
Luke nodded, already holding her hand in his own, he placed his other hand on top in an effort to show his regret at telling her. “Of course,” he said. “Let’s talk about your day instead.”
Luke’s ‘vision’ worried Ella for a few weeks. She even made him go back to the woods one Thursday night with a camera, but when he went the vision wasn’t there.
“See, it’s stopped appearing because the purpose has been achieved – we’re together now, as fate wanted us to be. Maybe it was only real in my mind in the first place,” he suggested, hoping to ease her mind.
Ella seemed reassured and came up with her own explanation: perhaps, she suggested, he’d seen her in town the day she’d arrived and somehow created the vision out of his slightly alcohol-affected mind. He had left the pub early that night to clear his head after feeling a bit out of sorts, so that would explain the whole thing, she said.
The months passed and Luke asked Ella to move in with him, which she eagerly agreed to do. She packed up her things and moved out of her little flat into his bigger one, and they celebrated the next morning with a champagne breakfast. Both Luke and Ella had never been happier.
As the anniversary of their first date approached, Ella planned a surprise holiday for herself and Luke. She’d booked flights to Jamaica and rooms at a hotel right on the beach, with a room overlooking the ocean. She’d cleared it with Luke’s boss, swearing him to secrecy, and even booked a taxi to take them to the airport. Now, all she had left to do was tell Luke.
She decided to cook him a special dinner and present him with the tickets. As she didn’t work on Fridays, she spent the afternoon shopping for ingredients and carefully followed the recipe to make the tiramisù for dessert before beginning to prepare vegetables for the main course.
It was nearly six o’clock before she realised that Luke wasn’t yet home from work, and she was angry that he’d picked this, of all days, to be late back.
A few minutes later, the phone rang.
“Is this Ella Stuart?” asked the voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, it is,” she replied.
“Miss Stuart, this is the Royal Alexandra Hospital. I’m afraid Mr Luke Peterson has been admitted here after a road traffic accident. We didn’t know who to call, so we got Mr Peterson’s parents’ number from his mobile phone and they asked us to call you too. They would have rung themselves, but they’re heading here from Ashford, I believe. Mr Peterson is in a bad way I’m afraid. I think you should come straight away.”
Ella turned cold and she leaned heavily against the wall in the hall next to the telephone. “Where do I go when I arrive?” she asked, feeling as though her voice was coming from somewhere other than inside her.
“The Accident and Emergency Department. Go to the reception desk and someone will take you to him.”
“I’ll be right there,” Ella acknowledged, replacing the telephone.
Leaving the half-prepared vegetables on the kitchen worktop and the oven turned on, Ella grabbed her bag and headed straight out of the door. Once outside, she turned around in a circle on the spot, realising that she hadn’t any idea how she was going to get to the hospital. She tried the bus stop, but there was no bus due for another ten minutes and Ella couldn’t wait that long. So she strode off in the direction of the taxi rank, checking her purse to see if she had enough cash to pay the fare. Luckily she wouldn’t need to stop at a cash machine on the way – she’d over-estimated the cost of her cooking ingredients and still had a £20 note in her purse.
The taxi driver didn’t try any of the usual chit-chat that Ella was accustomed to as he drove her to the hospital, and she was grateful for his silence. She completely forgot to give him a tip too, realising after the car had already pulled away. She hurried through the big automatic double doors into the accident and emergency department, almost crashing into them when they didn’t open quickly enough.
Immediately inside was a small window behind which sat a middle-aged receptionist with a rather sour expression on her face.
“I’m here to see Luke Peterson – someone called me to say he’d been in a car crash,” explained Ella, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting her and tears welling up in her eyes and then streaming down her face.
“Take a seat just here,” said the receptionist, her sour expression turning to one of compassion. “I’ll find out where he is and get someone to come and collect you.”
“Thanks,” gulped Ella, obediently turning and taking the nearest available seat.
It was only a minute later when a doctor appeared from
one of the row of treatment rooms and called, “Ella Stuart?”
Ella shot out of her seat and hurried over to meet the doctor. “How’s Luke?” she asked immediately.
“Come with me, miss,” he said, ushering her into the treatment room from which he had emerged.
Ella felt cold. She rubbed her arms then hugged them around her body as the doctor gestured towards a chair in the treatment room.
“Is he in a bad way?” she asked, perching on the edge of the chair.
The doctor looked briefly down at his feet, and Ella suddenly realised what was coming. “No. No, no. He has to be all right. We’re going on holiday to celebrate our anniversary; he’s always wanted to go to Jamaica. I’ve arranged for him to have time off work and booked it all as a surprise…” Tears began rolling down her cheeks, and she looked pleadingly into the doctor’s kind face as she rocked back and forth in agitation, her arms still wrapped around her body.
“I’m afraid Mr Peterson’s injuries were just too severe. We did our very best to save him, but I’m afraid he passed away a few minutes before you arrived.”
“He’s not meant to die: me perhaps – I was the ghost after all – but not Luke.”
The doctor looked puzzled. Ella realised he’d probably heard people say some odd things when reacting to news of a loved one’s death, but nothing quite as bizarre as this.
“Would you like me to give you a few minutes alone?” he asked. “I could arrange for you to have an