The Dead Wife's Handbook (21 page)

Eve’s eyes light up with playful curiosity.

‘Oh, really? Was he a bit of a handful then?’

‘A handful? I’ll say. He seemed to think school rules were put in place for nothing more than him to break them. When I think of all the times we had the school on the phone to complain about his latest antics. Honestly, there was a time when I used to dread the phone ringing in case it was one of his teachers on the other end again. I know you wouldn’t believe it to look at him now but he was a proper little tearaway.’

Eve grins at Max who shrugs his shoulders with amused resignation. He’s played this part before, at least once.

‘So what kind of things did he get up to?’

‘What didn’t he might be a better question. Ralph, tell Eve the story about the swimming pool.’

‘Which story? The one with the dye or the one where he ended up naked?’

‘Really, Dad. I’m sure Eve doesn’t want to hear any of this.’

‘Are you kidding? I want to hear all of it.’

Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she? I remember when I heard these stories for the first time too, almost certainly on one of my early visits to the Myerson household as well; I remember my surprise at Max’s misspent
youth and, more than that, the sense of familial inclusion that accompanied the telling of such tales.

‘Well, there was the time he managed to get his hands on a couple of cans of red water dye – I don’t think we know to this day where he got it from, do we, Joan? – and decided it would be a good idea to empty the lot into the school swimming pool.’

‘You’re joking? What happened?’

‘What happened was that the pool looked liked someone had been murdered in it. When the caretaker turned up on Monday morning, he assumed some God-awful crime had been committed over the weekend and called the police. You were lucky not to be expelled over that one, Max.’

‘I know, Dad. You’ve been telling me that for the past twenty-five years.’

Max is feigning fatigue at having these stories relayed yet again but I can see in the wryness of his smile that he’s enjoying this opportunity to be teased in front of Eve, for her to be privy to another dimension of his past, for his parents to share these private histories with her.

‘So weren’t you punished at all?’

‘He got a one-day suspension and a fortnight of after-school litter duty. You thought he should have got more, didn’t you, Ralph? But he was bright, you see, and it was just before they were doing their mock exams and the school needed him to boost their overall grades. That’s the only way you got away with it, Max – by the skin of your teeth.’

Joan raises her eyebrows with an air of maternal forbearance, as though Max is still a teenager and she’s just hung up the phone to the school yet again.

‘And what about the naked incident? That one sounds intriguing.’

‘You don’t want to know. Thanks, Mum – I think we can leave the school anecdotes there for today. Plenty of opportunity for Eve to hear the horror stories another time.’

Max rubs an affectionate hand up and down Eve’s arm and for a second their eyes lock in mutual mischief. I see Joan clock the gesture and proffer a surreptitious, sideways smile to Ralph, who beams conspicuously back at her.

This is all disarmingly cosy.

‘The funny thing is, Eve, although Max had a bit of a naughty streak throughout his teens, he was never a problem at home. He’s always had such a strong sense of family, right since he was little. What was it you used to say when you were growing up, Max? That when you got married you wanted to have five sons so that you could manage your own five-a-side football team. Five sons. Can you imagine it?’

And there, without even knowing it, Joan provokes my guilt all over again. Five sons. His very own mini football team. By the time we actually got married, of course, that childhood fantasy had long since disappeared into the youthful ether. But one son. He’d have loved just one. And the thought that it won’t be me, that it may be someone else, that it may even be Eve who one day gives him what he always wanted is a possible future I’m not yet ready to consider.

‘Five sons, really? And do you still have ambitions to spawn your own football team?’

My heart would skip a beat if it had any left to miss. Max looks slightly taken aback as though this isn’t a conversation he expected to be having with Eve in front of his parents, but he manages to camouflage any sense of embarrassment with a self-deprecating chuckle.

‘I think with the benefit of rational adult thought, five’s probably a few too many. I don’t know, to be honest. I’m just very grateful to have Ellie. Even having one child feels like a blessing.’

A heavy silence falls on the group and as I look around the room I notice a strange expression on Eve’s face; it’s a complex, confused look, a mask of social conviviality behind which is something strained, something uncomfortable, something sad even. I wonder whether Max’s half-hearted response is a disappointment to her, whether her expectations have been tempered, whether she was hoping for greater confirmation that Max might envisage a future that included more than a single child.

I wonder just how far ahead into this relationship Eve is thinking.

It’s Ralph who breaks the silence.

‘I bet you never gave your mum and dad any trouble, did you, petal? Not like our Max did?’

Eve emerges from the privacy of whatever thoughts she was musing on, a residue of preoccupation still lingering behind her eyes, and turns to smile diffidently at Ralph.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure all teenagers are a worry to their parents in one way or another.’

‘But your mum and dad must be so proud of you now. Look at you. You’re young, beautiful, clever, talented, you’ve got a smashing career. I know if you were my little
girl I wouldn’t be able to stop bragging about you to anyone who’d listen.’

Ralph’s words sting me like the swarm of a thousand bees. I hadn’t prepared myself for this. I’ve only ever contemplated how I might feel about Max and Ellie having someone new in their lives. I haven’t really thought about the prospect of another woman taking up residence with my wider family. But hearing Ralph speak to Eve with such admiration, such esteem, such warmth, I’m pierced by a new instrument of loss. Ralph’s been the closest person I’ve had to a father for the past decade, the only paternal presence in my life since my own dad died, and I don’t think I can bear him transferring his affections to her. Not to her. Not yet.

Not for the first time since Eve entered our lives, I’m overcome by a woeful sense of professional inadequacy. I spent fifteen years of my life doing a job that I enjoyed, that I believed had some merit, that I think I did well, but now all that seems insignificant in comparison to Eve’s meteoric rise and precocious success. Now all I can think about is all that I didn’t achieve, all that I didn’t have time to achieve, all that I assumed, somewhere in my mind, I’d be able to achieve in the decades I trusted were still ahead of me.

Physically beautiful, professionally successful, kind, calm and charming; there’s no denying the fact that Eve outclasses me in every conceivable category. And, in truth, she’d be everything I’d wish for Max if only I were ready to wish for anything beyond a little more time in remembrance of marriages past.

Right now, Max’s previous marriage is clearly the last thing on his mind. He’s grinning with pride. But Eve’s smile is less convincing, tentative even.

‘I’m not sure about that. I’m just lucky that I really love what I do, I think.’

‘Oh, come on, petal. There’s no need to be so modest. I bet your parents were over the moon when you told them you were going to be a head teacher. I know how proud we were when Max got his deputy headship.’

There’s a lengthy silence which edges just a fraction too far over the line of social acceptability and I can sense the collective awkwardness from up here.

‘I … I don’t really see my parents.’

Eve’s faltering response concludes with downcast eyes, as though there’s a danger inherent in meeting anyone’s gaze. It’s the first time I’ve seen even the tiniest crack in her self-assured demeanour.

‘What, you mean you don’t see them at all? Ever?’

It’s clear from Max’s reaction that this is the first he’s heard of any family rift. There’s the tightening of his cheeks and the slight narrowing of his eyes that only someone who knows every nuance of Max’s expressions would immediately detect.

Eve turns to face Max, composure fully restored.

‘It’s just one of those things. We had a silly falling out a few years ago that somehow never got resolved. You know how it is.’

There’s another weighty silence in which I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking that they don’t, in fact, know how it is at all.

‘I’m just … I’m just surprised you hadn’t mentioned it before. That’s all.’

There’s a hint of accusation in Max’s voice that he’s unable to conceal in spite of his parents’ presence.

It’s Eve’s turn now to place a reassuring hand on Max’s leg.

‘That’s because it’s not a big deal. Really. Can we just drop it?’

She’s smiling appeasingly, but there’s an imploring undertone in her voice. Max holds her gaze for a few seconds, and I can see him negotiate his way through a minefield of emotions before Joan decides it’s her responsibility to break the tension.

‘Well, I’m sure they’d be terribly proud of you, if they knew. I think it’s just lovely, Eve, you doing so well in your job. And it’s lovely to have you here, too, really it is. You’re a real tonic.’

With those words of treachery, Joan places a hand on top of Eve’s, squeezing it with maternal approval. Eve may be estranged from her own mum but it would appear that Joan’s more than willing to fill the vacancy.

The two women smile at one another, as if two long-lost friends freshly discovering the soul mate they’ve been searching for.

Joan’s not quite done yet though.

‘You will come back soon, won’t you? Come back whenever you like, the door’s always open. You’re welcome any time.’

And with that invitation the transition’s complete. They’ve not even reached dessert yet and Eve’s already usurped my place in Joan’s affections.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this hopeless. Or sad. Or angry. Watching the four of them confiding and smiling and admiring one another in the candlelight, I feel more excluded from Max’s world than I’ve ever done before. Because with every confidence shared, even the difficult ones, and every anecdote revealed, however embarrassing, I can see that my life – the life I had with Max and Ellie – is disappearing from view.

Life as I knew it is ceasing to exist.

I close my eyes, suddenly dizzy with an anger that emerges from the shadows of my own grief, and keep them shut tight to stop the fear of falling, even though I know that there’s nowhere for me to fall from, nowhere for me to fall to.

For the first time since I died I realize that there is something worse than being stuck here on my own; it’s watching the world revolve without me and understanding that I’m no longer a part of it. It’s the painful acknowledgement that the role I had to play during the short time I was alive now seems so very insignificant. I didn’t have an important job or change anyone’s life or earn an impressive amount of money. I didn’t make a name for myself, not even a small name, didn’t reach the top of any pole, greasy or not, didn’t leave behind anything substantial by which to be remembered. I didn’t achieve fame or notoriety, didn’t accomplish any particular goals, did nothing at all out of the ordinary.

I didn’t, in short, consummate my life.

Instead, I loved a man who seems to be in the process of replacing me already and I gave birth to a daughter who’ll probably barely remember me by the time she’s my age.

It’s not much to feel proud of, is it?

I promised myself, when I first got here, that I wouldn’t become bitter, that I wouldn’t resent the lives of the living, that I’d be grateful for the small mercy of the sporadic access I’d been afforded. I promised myself that I wouldn’t become consumed by a catalogue of accumulated regrets for all that I’d been unable to achieve in my too-short life. But that was then, when I still felt a part of everyone’s lives, if only for the purposes of mourning. Now they’re pushing me to the periphery and who knows where that will take me or where, in the end, it will leave me.

I catch myself suddenly, ranting like a madwoman in life’s attic, venting my frustrations to the empty void and open my eyes to discover that I’m back alone in the whiteness. It is, I admit, probably the best place for me right now. I’m not sure I could have tolerated another moment impotently watching over that domestic cosiness and being so painfully aware of my exclusion from it. Because there’s nothing more lonely than passing by a party to which you’re not invited, is there?

Chapter 15

Bright yellow light begins to puncture the clouds beneath me in determined bursts, giving way to mottled patches of blue sky, the stark white monotony dispersing with a sense of relief.

The trees at the end of Mum’s garden are semi-naked, the few remaining leaves a resigned shade of brown as if in acknowledgement of their own impending retirement. Underneath are Mum and Ellie, wrapped snugly in knitted scarves and woolly hats, collecting piles of redundant leaves and coaxing them into the wheelbarrow that’s been on the earth for longer than I was.

It’s the first time I’ve been home since I died. Home to Mum’s, that is. I don’t know – and have given up speculating – why it’s taken so long for this particular homecoming to occur. But it’s paradoxically both reassuring and unnerving to revisit somewhere so rich in memories for me, memories from when I was Ellie’s age and even younger, memories of standing exactly where Ellie is now but in clothes from a different time and with the experiences of a different era and next to a woman whose face didn’t yet bear the evidence of compound grief.

‘Every time I put some in, Nanna, they just keep blowing out again.’

Mum laughs.

‘I know, darling. It’s getting a bit full, isn’t it? Shall we take it over to the compost heap and empty it? It’s probably about time.’