Kitabı oku: «Time to Say Goodbye», sayfa 3
CHAPTER 5
THIRTEEN DAYS DEAD
When the day I’d been dreading finally arrived, I wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. My funeral had been delayed by the need for a post-mortem, which had found the cause of my death to be severe head and chest injuries. However, the arrangements were quickly finalized once the coroner released my body.
That morning I found myself wandering aimlessly around the house as everyone got ready to say their goodbyes to me.
‘There’s no need to cry,’ I said to Mum as she shed a silent tear while applying her make-up. ‘I’ve not gone anywhere. I’m still right here. It’s just that none of you can see me.’
I wandered down to the kitchen. Sam was lying in his bed. He looked at me when I entered, yawned and then averted his gaze. ‘Hello?’ I said. ‘You can’t even be bothered to bark at me any more? Brilliant. The only one who can see me has lost interest.’
I heard someone on the stairs behind me and turned to see Ella descending in a knee-length black dress. Mum had bought it for her a couple of days ago, as all the other clothes in her wardrobe were in bright, girly colours. It hadn’t been easy to find, but Mum’s determination – a welcome distraction from her grief – had eventually paid off. Ella looked really pretty, her curls tamed in a tight plait. But her skin looked too pale next to the dark material of the dress and there was a terrible sadness in her eyes. She sat on the bottom step and stared blankly at the front door.
‘My precious girl,’ I said, kneeling before her. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go through this.’ I placed my right hand above hers, just far enough away to avoid being repelled, and told her how much I loved her. ‘You won’t know it, darling, but I’ll be right by your side all day. We’ll get through this together.’
I thought back to all the mornings I’d seen Ella sit on this step before school. I remembered the fruity shampoo smell of her hair as I’d lean over to help her put her shoes on, planting a kiss on her forehead. The two of us had always had such a close bond; I missed that more than anything.
The bell rang as two black silhouettes, one much taller than the other, appeared on the other side of the door’s frosted glass panel. Ella let in Lauren and Xander, who were staying at Mum and Dad’s place while they remained here with Ella.
‘Hello, gorgeous,’ Lauren said to her, picking her up and giving her a big hug. ‘You look lovely – especially your hair. Did Nana do that for you?’
Ella nodded shyly.
‘Well, it looks fantastic. Your daddy would have loved it. And the dress too. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it, Xander?’
‘Yes, definitely. You look great, Ella. We’d call you a “mooi meisje” in Dutch.’
‘Thank you,’ Ella said, perking up. ‘Do you speak Dutch all the time in Holland?’
‘Of course. Lauren and I tend to speak English when we’re alone, though. We always have, because she didn’t speak any Dutch when we met.’
‘Do you speak Dutch now, Auntie Lauren?’
‘Een beetje.’
‘Eh? Is that Dutch? What does it mean?’
‘It means “a little bit”.’
‘She’s being modest,’ Xander said. ‘She speaks it very well. Maybe we can teach you a few words.’
Ella smiled.
Dad appeared on the landing. After years of having to dress up for work, he rarely wore anything other than jeans since retiring, although today called for his black suit. It was a snug fit; the jacket wasn’t getting buttoned up any time soon. ‘Everything okay at the house?’ he asked his daughter and son-in-law, coughing his way downstairs.
‘Fine,’ Lauren replied, reaching inside her handbag. ‘Here. I’ve got those cufflinks you wanted.’
‘Thanks. I’ll grab them in a minute. I’m just popping outside for a smoke.’
‘Sounds like you could do without it,’ Lauren said, her words falling on deaf ears.
Once Mum appeared, looking anxious in a smart jacket and skirt, the conversation turned to practicalities regarding the day’s arrangements. I followed Ella to the lounge and watched her pick up a school reading book about the Loch Ness Monster.
‘I went to Loch Ness once with your mummy,’ I said. ‘You were just a twinkle in my eye then.’ I’d got into the habit of chatting to Ella as if she could hear me. Although she clearly couldn’t, I found it comforting.
I felt badly underdressed. Everyone was in black – suits and smart frocks – apart from me, still stuck in my frayed jeans and T-shirt. They ought to have been filthy and stinking of sweat after all this time, but they didn’t look any different from when I’d first found myself on the pavement watching the paramedics try to revive the old me. I couldn’t say what they smelled like, due to my whole sensory deprivation thing, but my guess was that spirits and their clothes didn’t smell of anything.
I walked over to the long mirror on the wall near the front door. I could remember hanging it there last year. Ella had wanted to help me and had plonked herself on the laminate floor by my toolbox, passing me each drill bit, screw or wall plug as I needed it. That was the best and the worst thing about being in this house. There were memories everywhere; sometimes they made me smile, but mostly they made me long to have my old life back.
I liked being able to see my reflection, even though no one else could. I’d tried several times with Ella, despite the failed attempt with my parents, but it hadn’t worked. All the same, I found it a good way to assert my existence when being invisible got on top of me.
I looked exactly as I must have looked just before the accident. My thick hair was windswept, which I wasn’t able to change, and my nose and cheeks were slightly reddened by the sun that had beamed down on me on that fateful day. I permanently had a day’s stubble, which I was actually quite pleased about, as I’d always thought that suited me. Not that there was any point in vanity now. I suppose I was lucky not to be walking around battered and bloody, like my body was when I saw it in front of me. Still not a great look for a funeral, though, particularly when I was to be the guest of honour.
Lizzie’s face appeared behind me in the mirror, giving me one hell of a fright.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought you might like me to accompany you to the funeral.’
‘What about some answers to my questions? I need to know how to get through to my daughter.’
‘You’ve not made any progress with that?’
‘What do you care? You don’t even want me to be here any more.’
‘It’s not a matter of what I want or don’t want; it never has been. My views don’t come into it. I’m just doing my job. In this case, that means attending your funeral. It’s not usually a good time to be on your own.’
‘So you’ve been to a few funerals before?’
‘Of course.’
‘How many?’
‘I couldn’t give you an exact number.’
‘A ballpark figure, then. Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?’
‘A few hundred, I suppose. Don’t look so shocked. This is what I do.’
‘You must have been at it a while. How come you look so young?’
‘I was only twenty-seven when I died. My appearance is the same now as it was then. That was back in nineteen ninety.’
‘Wow. So you’re older than I thought. And you were human once?’
‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’
‘Um, no. I guess not. I just … there’s so much to take in. Have you been doing this ever since you died?’
‘More or less. It wasn’t long after I passed over that I chose to train as a guide.’
‘What happened? If it’s as incredible as you say on the other side, why would you want to leave? Did you get bored or something?’
‘It is incredible. And, no, I didn’t get bored. I had a calling. I wanted to help people like you.’
‘I thought most people moved on straight away. You made out that I was unusual in wanting to stay here.’
‘Most spirits do cross over quickly, although you also get a few who hang around for a while. Staying until the funeral isn’t uncommon. I suppose it’s a type of closure. It happens in maybe a quarter of cases. But normally that only takes a few days. Yours took longer because of the accident.’
‘Hold on. Wait a minute. I see what’s going on now. You’re not here to hold my hand; you’re hoping I’ll want to come with you afterwards. Well, sorry, I’m not interested. I’d rather you left.’
‘You want me to go?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘Would you like me to smarten you up first? Jeans and a T-shirt isn’t exactly typical funeral attire.’
‘What does it matter? No one can see me. I don’t need your help.’
‘Very well, but if you change your mind, give me a shout. I know this is a difficult day for you.’
‘Please go,’ I said, turning away from her.
‘Okay. One last thing. I was going to wait until afterwards, but now will have to do. The deadline for your grace period has been set at two months from today, which is actually very generous. Remember, if you don’t cross over by then, you’ll never be able to, so please give it some careful thought. I’m on your side, William, whatever you might think. I hope it goes smoothly today.’
With that, she was gone. Seconds later, everyone was putting their coats on and heading out of the door. I’d assumed that they’d be going in two cars, hopefully leaving room for me to slip in somewhere. Then I saw them all piling into Dad’s silver BMW and I realized that I had a problem. With him and Xander in the front and Ella on her booster seat in the back, next to Mum and Lauren, there was nowhere for me to squeeze in. The doors slammed shut.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I said, trying desperately to bang my hand down on the car roof, but feeling and hearing nothing. ‘What about me? It’s my funeral. You can’t leave me here.’
CHAPTER 6
‘Shit!’ I shouted at the top of my lungs. ‘Bollocks! What the hell do I do now?’
The funeral was being held in the village where I’d grown up – and my parents still lived – about twelve miles further out from the city. They’d decided against holding it here, on the grounds that I had no ties with any local churches. Like many of my generation, I’d drifted away from organized religion after leaving home. And yet the core belief that had been ingrained in my younger self had never entirely left me, so a church send-off felt right. The village church I’d attended as a boy, and where Mum and Dad remained regulars, was the obvious choice.
The big problem now was how to get there. There was no way I’d make it on time by foot. I feared for a moment that I’d have to eat humble pie with Lizzie and ask for her help. Then I heard the answer to my problem trundle past on the main road a couple of streets away; I raced to the bus stop.
The service I needed ran every ten minutes and would drop me just a short walk away from the church. I missed the first one to pass, as I was alone in the shelter and the driver didn’t stop. Luckily, the next bus pulled up to let a passenger off. I jumped on just as the door jerked shut, and found myself a seat near the back of the empty top deck.
As the bus wound its way out of the suburbs and into the countryside, the landscape opened up into an autumnal spread of glorious reds, yellows and golden browns. My mind started to drift. How will it feel to attend my own funeral? I wondered. What if hardly anyone turns up? All of a sudden I felt incredibly nervous.
I moved downstairs once the bus entered my parents’ village. Someone rang the bell for the stop prior to mine, so I got off with them in case the driver skipped the next one. I jogged to the church in five minutes and was relieved to see the front door open and people still making their way inside.
The scene that awaited me when I entered the church came as a shock. It was jam-packed with more family, friends and colleagues than I’d ever dreamed would come. There were faces from throughout my whole life: primary and secondary school, university, the various stages of my journalistic career, and everything else along the way. It jolted my mind back for an instant to my wife Alice’s funeral. There had also been a huge attendance that day, although I’d hardly acknowledged anyone. I’d been a mess, thanks to the combination of my grief and the terrible guilt I felt for what I’d done to her. Everything had been a blur.
Back in the moment, standing at the rear of this church, panic got its claws into me. This is wrong, I thought. I shouldn’t be here. My plan had been to find Ella, who was no doubt somewhere near the front with Mum and Dad, and to stay with her throughout the service. But it was all too much. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself outside once more, watching the last few stragglers make their way into the church, the door shutting behind them.
What am I doing? I thought. I’ve just travelled all the way over here by bus so that I can hang around in the churchyard and miss the service. But it was too late now. Unless someone opened the door, I couldn’t go back inside even if I wanted to.
I took a seat on a green bench that overlooked the sprawling graveyard. I could hear the muffled sound of voices singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ behind me as I stared into the distance.
‘Are you on the lookout for other spirits?’ a croaky voice said, startling me.
I looked to my right and a friendly face I’d not seen since childhood was beaming at me. ‘I was wondering where you were, William. Mind if I join you?’
‘Huh?’ I was utterly confused.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you,’ he chuckled. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Arthur,’ I replied.
‘Ah, you remember me.’
‘Of course. But … what’s going on? How are you here? You died when I was a boy.’
‘All in good time, lad. Let’s focus on you for now. It’s your funeral.’
Arthur had been caretaker at the village primary school, which was a hundred yards down the road from the church. When I was a pupil, I’d thought of him with his white hair and wrinkles as being pretty ancient. Now, still as I remembered him but viewed from an adult’s perspective, he looked to be in his early sixties.
I’d always been fond of Arthur. All the kids had. He was a lovely chap – almost like an adopted grandad to us all. He took care of much more than the school premises, fixing cuts and grazes with his tin pot of plasters and magic tube of antiseptic cream, and mending broken smiles with his endless supply of jokes and tall tales. Officially we were supposed to call him Mr Brown, but he’d laugh at us if we said that, refusing to answer to anything other than Arthur. We’d all been so shocked and upset when he’d died halfway through my final year.
I looked at him, sitting next to me in the maroon cardigan I remembered and the thick brown glasses with a plaster around the bridge, and I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s good to see you, Arthur.’
‘You too, lad. Sorry about … you know, the whole dying thing. It takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah, you could say that. But I don’t understand how you can be here. Lizzie, my guide, says you can only stay for a certain amount of time before you have to move on. Otherwise you—’
‘Like I said, William, let’s not get into that right now. You’re the one with a funeral going on in there. Which brings me to a rather important question: what are you doing out here?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I panicked. I walked inside and … seeing all those people there because of me, it was too much.’
‘You should be proud. I’ve seen a lot of funerals at this church over the years – I was churchwarden at one time – and I can tell you that not everyone gets such a big turnout. You must have done something right over the years.’
I shrugged. ‘Did you go to yours?’
‘Yes. It was overwhelming. I do see where you’re coming from. I understand that you left a young daughter.’
‘That’s right. Ella. She’s six.’
‘How’s she coping?’
‘It’s hard to say. She’s very up and down. One minute she’s behaving like nothing has happened; the next, she gets upset or goes very quiet. She’s finding her own way to grieve, I expect. I just wish I could let her know that I’m still here. I don’t suppose you could help with that, could you? Lizzie’s no use at all.’
Arthur paused before answering: ‘I may be able to give you some advice later, but first let’s focus on what’s happening now. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be in the church with Ella than out here with me?’
‘Um, yeah. I should be, but the door’s shut. I can’t get in.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ Arthur squeezed my hand and I was back inside, sitting on a pew next to Ella. Astonished, I looked around and spotted Arthur standing at the back, near the door, a gentle smile on his face.
‘Hello, darling,’ I whispered to my daughter. She was staring stoically at the front of the church, where my sister was climbing the steps of the pulpit, a crumpled piece of paper in one hand.
‘I wanted to say a few words about my little brother,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘I loved him very much. I hope he knew that. I still can’t take in the idea that he’s gone. It seems so cruel. So unfair.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Will was the best brother anyone could ever ask for. He was a wonderful son to our parents and an incredible father to his beautiful daughter. He did such an amazing job of bringing Ella up as a single father, even while he was consumed by grief over the loss of his beloved wife, Alice. He gave up a high-flying job in London to focus on raising Ella and he never looked back. He loved every second he spent with her. She was his life; she brought him so much joy. It’s that little girl who needs us all right now. As Will’s family and friends, we owe it to him – each and every one of us – to give her as much of our love and care as we can.’
All eyes were on Ella, who was staring at the ground, ashen-faced. One of her hands was tightly wrapped around Mum’s left thumb; the other was clenched into a tiny white fist. Listening to the eulogy made me feel uncomfortable. I desperately wanted to leave, but seeing my little girl struggling to cope, I knew that wasn’t possible. ‘Come on, Ella,’ I whispered into her ear. ‘You’re doing great.’
I looked over at Arthur but couldn’t catch his eye, as he was staring intently at the pulpit from which my sister was still speaking.
‘As awful as it is that my brother is dead, I think it’s important that we all take a moment today to reflect on the happy memories we have of him. That’s what he’d want us to remember; not the terrible way that he was taken from us. We need to celebrate his life as well as mourn his death. I’d like to share one of my own memories with you and then we’ll have a minute’s silence for you each to think back to some of your own.’
Lauren cleared her throat and took another deep breath before continuing. ‘A lot of my favourite memories of Will are from our childhood. When I was considering which one to mention here, there were so many it was hard to choose. But one story kept coming to mind. My first thought was that it was too silly to repeat at a funeral, but – well – I decided Will would have liked it. It always made him giggle.
‘We were away on holiday with Mum and Dad one summer. I think I was twelve, which would have made Will ten. We were staying in a caravan in France and we’d both just been to the campsite shop to spend our pocket money. I’d bought some French magazine I’d never be able to read and he’d got some sweets. Back at the caravan, where Mum and Dad had unwisely left us alone for half an hour, I was trying to persuade him to give me a couple of his orange Tic Tacs. He said I could have one if I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. Foolishly I did, upon which he promptly stuck one up each of my nostrils.’
She smiled as there was a rumble of laughter from the pews. ‘Charming, I know. That was the kind of prank my mischievous brother used to love playing on me. I, of course, went mad, panicking when I couldn’t dislodge the sweets and threatening all sorts in retaliation. The two of us spent ages extracting them from my nose with a hand mirror and pair of tweezers. You’d be surprised what a good fit those Tic Tacs were. One was particularly wedged in, but eventually we got it out. I agreed not to tell Mum and Dad; the cost of my silence was the rest of his sweets and a quarter of his holiday pocket money. For years afterwards, if Will and I ever fell out about something, he’d always buy me a pack of orange Tic Tacs to make things up between us. It never failed to work.’
She reached inside a pocket and pulled out a pack of the tiny sweets, shaking it into the microphone. ‘Now it’s my turn. Will, I’m sorry. Sorry I’ve not been around much for the last few years. Sorry I’ve not been a better sister. I love you so much, now and forever.’
‘I love you too, sis,’ I said in a shaky voice.
Lauren wiped away a tear. ‘Now let’s have that minute’s silence for you all to dwell on your own fond memories of Will.’
My sister remained in the pulpit while the sixty seconds ticked away and everyone sat still in quiet reflection. Then she said a simple ‘thank you’ before returning to sit next to Xander as the vicar took back the reins. For the rest of the service I kept my attention focused on Ella, whispering regular words of encouragement into her ear, hoping they might subconsciously help her get through the day.
Afterwards, it was on to the crematorium, a ten-minute drive away, although Arthur whisked us both there in an instant.
‘That’s some trick,’ I said as we appeared on the front lawn. ‘I could have done with that earlier when I missed my lift and had to get the bus. How does it work?’
He chuckled. ‘That would be telling. It does come in handy, though. How are you holding up?’
‘I’m okay. I felt awkward in the church, like I was eavesdropping, but I was glad to be there for Ella, even though she didn’t know it.’
‘Good. One final hurdle.’ He nodded towards the chimney. I’d chosen to be cremated, like Alice had been, as it had felt like a better option than leaving my corpse to rot underground. Now I wasn’t so sure. As I imagined my body – the last physical link to my old life – ablaze in a furnace, I felt distressed. It was tough to accept that I’d never need it again.
‘It’s just skin and bone,’ Arthur said, as if he could read my mind. ‘An empty shell. There’s no part of you in there any more.’
‘I know. It feels weird, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t say it would be easy. Just to warn you, the crematorium service is often the hardest bit for your loved ones. It’s when people usually say their goodbyes.’
I decided to change the subject while we waited for everyone to arrive. ‘Earlier, when we met outside the church, you asked if I was looking for other spirits.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I wasn’t. Not until you said it. But it’s got me thinking. There weren’t any apart from us. Not that I could see. How come? Isn’t a graveyard the sort of place you would expect spirits to hang out?’
‘Hmm, maybe in films. In reality, it’s the last place most spirits want to be after their funeral. Who needs a constant reminder of their death?’
‘Why were you there, then?’
Arthur smiled. ‘I like to keep an eye on the place; the school too. I was responsible for them both when I was alive. I suppose I’ve never let go.’
‘How did you know it was my funeral today?’
‘A little bird told me.’
‘Who?’
‘Someone who cares about you and was concerned you might not cope alone.’
‘Lizzie? Did she ask you to come?’
‘You shouldn’t be so hard on her. She only wants to help.’
‘To help me move on. I’ve told her I want to stay here, but she’s not interested. She won’t answer any of my questions.’
‘No? I’m sure she’s doing all she can.’
Before I had a chance to reply, the hearse containing my coffin pulled into the car park followed by Dad’s BMW. Arthur grabbed my hand and I found myself on the front pew of the crematorium chapel, staring straight at the curtain through which my coffin would soon make its final journey.
