Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I want to die at home,” is the first thing Alison says after they give her the final diagnosis.

“Mum...” says Kate – strong, dependable Kate who has always been there throughout all the tests and the treatments, despite working full time, and the twins still living at home, and her own daughter's baby being born premature and nearly dying and still needing so much support.

“We can certainly plan for that, but you should be aware that sometimes the medical situation means that isn't possible,” says the doctor. Alison knows she's fully qualified and experienced, but she still looks so young. But then everyone looks young to Alison these days because she is so very old.

“I will die at home,” says Alison, determined.

***

Later, after they get home and Kate helps Alison into her special chair, the one that lifts up or lies flat at the push of a button, it's Kate who breaks down first. “I don't know what I'll do without you,” she sobs.

Alison strokes her hair, just as she did when she was a little girl. “You'll be fine,” she says. “Nothing will change really. The house is in trust for you and your sisters. You've been managing the hotel and conference business without me for, what, twenty years now. You've got Pete and your kids. And you know death isn't the end. I'll either move on and be with your Dad again, or I'll stay here. Judging you even though you can't see me.”

Kate laughs through her tears. “Like Fanny,” she says. All Mike and Alison's children were brought up on stories of the ghosts from birth.

“Like Fanny,” says Alison and smiles as Fanny somewhere behind her says “I'm right here, you know.”

***

“Are you still sure you want to do this, Mum?” asks Kate as the sitting room is rearranged to make space for the special bed, the wheelchair, the commode, and the lockable cabinet for Alison's seemingly endless quantities of medication. “They said the hospice would have a bed for you if you decide that's what you want.”

“Bed here in good place,” says Robin. “Can see Moonah from it.”

“I want to die at home,” Alison says, stubborn. “Mike died at home, and I will too.”

“Dad was different,” says Kate. “He had a massive stroke in the greenhouse and died immediately. There was none of this slow decline and needing more and more help.”

“I'm hardly likely to forget,” says Alison. She never knows whether to be pleased that Mike has moved on to whatever comes next, or sorry that he didn't stay as a ghost, but she does know that she still misses him every single day, even after 12 years. “It's still my house, Kate. I want to die at home. You know why.”

***

“I do hope you'll stay,” Kitty says one afternoon. The others shush her, unsure if this is an appropriate thing to talk to Alison about.

Alison smiles. “I'd rather move on and find Mike,” she says. “But if I don't, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend an earthbound eternity with than all of you.”

“You'd be very welcome, of course,” says the Captain.

“You'll have no excuse for not joining in with Food Club and the rest any more,” adds Pat.

“And it's not as if we need you to put on films for us any more since they invented eye-control,” Julian smirks.

***

“I'd like to sit in the pantry for a bit,” Alison says one day.

“The pantry?” says Kate, and then suddenly understanding, “Oh, yes. Let's get you into your wheelchair and I'll take you.”

***

“Be the physic helpful, Alison?” asks Mary. “Would not a tea of willow bark and poppy juice give you more relief than all those tiny pills?”

“Medicine has moved on a lot since your day, Mary,” says Alison. “It doesn't stop the pain completely, but it makes it bearable. It does make me feel sleepy and confused, though. And you know, morphine comes from poppies so it's not that different from your poppy juice tea, just a more modern version.”

“You're very brave,” says Fanny. “For the rest of us, death was relatively quick. But for you to deal with a long painful illness like this. Well, let's just say you do display the Button family spirit after all. I'm proud of you.”

Alison melts at this rare praise from her ancestor.

“They used to say live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse,” she says trying to make a joke despite it all. “I'm doing the opposite – dying slow and old, and looking battle-scarred and haggard.”

“To me you are still as beautiful as the day I first saw you,” sighs Thomas.

This makes Alison laugh through the pain. “What, with the white hair and the creaky hip, and the operation scars, and the leg ulcers? Tell me, do ghosts need eye tests, Thomas? I suppose I'll find out soon enough.”

“You still have a beautiful soul,” says Julian unexpectedly.

***

One evening, after Kate has slipped out of the room to grab something to eat, Alison says to the assembled ghosts “I'd like to see the plague ghosts again, you know, just to say goodbye in case I do move on. But I can't get down to the cellar any more, not even with the new stairs.”

“The spa,” says Pat.

“The spa,” Alison agrees, thinking how incongruous the plague ghosts look amongst the shiny tiles and gleaming chrome of the renovated cellar. “It doesn't have a lift so I wondered if you could invite them up here.”

The Captain salutes. “Of course, ma'am. I shall go and speak to them immediately.”

***

Sometimes the medication clouds Alison's mind and she talks of things from long ago as if they are new. “We named the girls after you, you know,” she says to the ghosts. The ghosts, clustered around her bed as usual, coo and sound gratified, as if they haven't known it for 50 years. “It's true,” she continues, “Katherine Julia, that's Kate; Patricia Robyn, that's Trish; and Frances Mary, Fran. We couldn't very well call one of them Captain, and we couldn't think of a girl's version of Thomas or Humphrey. But if we'd had a boy...”

“Humphrey's a terrible name,” says Humphrey's head, as if they haven't had this discussion many times before. He's lying on the foot of the bed, as he nearly always is these days. “I didn't even call my son Humphrey. I wouldn't expect you to inflict it on yours.”

“One of your grandsons is called Thomas,” says Thomas. “I know that is a coincidence and not after me, but nonetheless I am proud that the name continues.”

***

Alison is never alone now. She sleeps fitfully, waking in the night and then sleeping late in the morning, and drowsing in the afternoon. But whenever she awakes, there is always someone sitting with her, whether it is one of her daughters, their husbands, one of the adult grandchildren, or the kind, capable Marie Curie nurse. And there is always a ghost there too. She assumes the Captain must have set up a rota.

***

She has been sleeping much more lately. One day she wakes up in the early hours of the morning and knows. She's much more lucid than she has been in recent days. “I think it's nearly time,” she says to the Marie Curie nurse who has been sitting with her, and to the ghosts.

The nurse listens expertly to her changed breathing and says, “I think you're probably right, luvvie.”

“I'll go and fetch the others,” says Pat.

“I'm not scared.” Alison says. “I know death isn't the end.”

“Faith can be a comfort,” says the nurse.

“It's more than faith,” says Alison. “What's that quote from Peter Pan? To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

That evening, with her living family and her ghostly family gathered round her, she starts to fade.

“Oh, I think it's happening,” says Kitty.

“Stand by,” says the Captain.

And she peacefully closes her eyes for the last time.