My deceased father and I chatted at the garden table as the sun was setting. My anxiety about our meeting increased as darkness fell. Soon we’d need to retreat inside. How could I keep him away from my mother?

He made straight for the bathroom when we headed indoors, barging in on my mother who was sitting on the lavatory. To my relief, she didn’t flinch. I realised then that only I could see my father’s ghost. He ignored his widow, climbed into the shower tray, lay down, and took a ‘bath’ under the main shower head.

Later TPR admitted that he had been playing mind games with me. He had invented unnecessary domestic tasks that I had to complete, and lied about the number of eggs that he used to make my lunch. I suspected that he was also behind the sudden appearance of my father’s ghost.