The Dead Wife's Handbook (45 page)

Eve’s voice is bright and encouraging and, whatever a memory map is, I’m grateful to her for endeavouring to keep Ellie’s sadness at bay.

‘What’s a memory map?’

‘It’s a big collage of photos, mementoes, souvenirs – anything you have to remind you of your best times with Mummy. We’ll collect together all your favourite things and glue them on to one big piece of card and then we can hang it on the wall in your bedroom so that you can see it every night before you go to sleep and every morning
when you wake up. We could make it while Dad’s still out at football. How does that sound?’

That sounds wonderful.

Ellie leaps off Eve’s lap, her energy levels restored by such a heart-warming suggestion, and heads for the sitting room.

‘I love it. Can we do it now? There’s a big box of photos in the cupboard under the TV and I’ll get my special treasures box from my bedroom too. That’s got loads of things in it from days out with Mummy.’

As Ellie rushes off in search of tangible memories, I watch Eve watching Ellie, a smile of warmth on her face, a smile of gratitude on mine. It can’t be easy, can it, coming late to this familial party and negotiating her way through the minefield of bereavement etiquette? I’ve spent so much time being envious of her stepping into my role, being jealous of her living my life even though it’s not mine to live any more, I think I may have been blinded to some of her admirable qualities: her kindness to Ellie, her compassion and love for Max and her generosity towards me, the woman who’s done little more than complain about her since that very first date sixteen months ago.

Perhaps it’s time for the dead to be as generous towards the living as the living are to the dead.

Ellie’s back at the kitchen table now, rummaging through two big boxes and pulling out various ephemera to show Eve, who’s stuck four sheets of white A4 paper on to a piece of cardboard and is sitting waiting, scissors and glue at the ready.

‘What’s this Ellie?’

‘That’s my ticket for the Parthenon. Mummy and Daddy took me to Greece and it was the best holiday ever. There was this restaurant we went to nearly every night in Athens ’cos they had the best grilled prawns in the world. And then we went to an island – I can’t remember its name – and the sea was so clear that even when you were in really deep you could still see your toes. And sometimes it was so hot in the middle of the day that we had to go back to our apartment, but we had this really comfy hammock and Mummy or Daddy would lay in it with me and we’d read books together. I want to go back there one day.’

Ellie concludes her elaborate description of a holiday I hadn’t even dared imagine she’d remember as she rummages around in one of the boxes for more treasures.

‘Well, in that case, I definitely think the ticket should go on the memory map, don’t you? And maybe we can find a photo of that holiday too?’

‘Yep, definitely. I think I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up. It’s really cool. You get to dig up things from thousands of years ago and then work out who they belonged to. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle but without the picture on the box to show you what it’s supposed to look like. I think that would be an awesome job.’

She really is special, my little girl. I’ve no doubt her career plans will change countless times over the coming decade, but right now there’s pleasure enough in the knowledge that her current ambitions are inextricably linked with experiences she shared with both Max and me.

‘Is that you in this photo, Ellie?’

Ellie looks at it and giggles.

‘Yep, that’s me as the Ladybird when we did
James and the Giant Peach
at school. Dad has a video of it somewhere and it’s really embarrassing. I was only about five and every one kept forgetting their lines so the teacher kept having to shout them out for us. But Mummy made my costume for me and it was definitely the best costume in the whole play.’

I remember that costume. It took hours to make. Ellie was the world’s most impatient model during fittings – she’d fidget every time I started making adjustments – but when I finally showed it to her in the mirror, she’d gazed at her own reflection with such wonderment that the hours spent at the sewing machine seemed immaterial. I can still see, so vividly, that look on her face now – the look of someone enthralled by their own transformation.

‘There’s loads of other things I still want to find for the memory map, Eve. I want to find a picture of Mummy and me at the piano – I know there’s one somewhere – because she used to teach me tunes like ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. And I want to find my first swimming badge because Mummy and Daddy taught me how to swim. And I’ve got the ticket here somewhere from when Mummy took me to see
Mary Poppins
at the theatre. Oh, and when we went to the ballet too,
The Nutcracker
at the Opera House. I want to add those. I was just thinking as well, what about sticking on a page from one of my exercise books when I got a gold star for spelling homework? Because Mummy always helped me with my homework. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?’

‘That would be just fine. I think all those sound like lovely things to put on your memory map. You know,
Ellie, I know it’s really, really sad that you lost your mummy when you were so young, but it sounds like you had some really lovely times together. In fact, I think you probably had more lovely times with your mummy in those few years than some people have with mummies who are around for much, much longer.’

Eve’s right. We did have lovely times, Ellie and I. I’d look at her sometimes, when we’d be out on one of our trips together to the theatre or to the cinema or just to wander around parks or galleries, and I’d think how lucky I was to have a daughter who was so much fun to be with. I had friends who complained about husbands disappearing off to various sporting activities at the weekend, but to me it always seemed like rather a special gift. All those afternoons with Ellie, just the two of us, milling around town together – I wouldn’t have swapped them for anything.

Ellie looks at the photo she’s holding now – of her, Max and me ice skating at Somerset House – and suddenly seems less convinced by Eve’s positive analysis.

‘But I still miss her. Sometimes remembering nice times with Mummy just makes me miss her even more.’

Eve retrieves a stray curl from Ellie’s forehead and pops it back inside her red hair clip.

‘Of course you still miss her, Ellie. You’ll probably always miss her. But think about all the ways in which your mummy’s still with you, like all the things you’ve told me about this afternoon. Swimming and playing tunes on the piano and doing your homework well; they’re all things Mummy gave you and they’re all things you’ll have with you forever. And I’m sure there are lots of other things
too. What about Mummy’s roast potatoes – think how many people are going to enjoy those because she taught you the recipe. You might still be making those potatoes in fifty years’ time, maybe even for your own children, maybe even your own grandchildren, and all because Mummy showed you how to make them. That’s pretty special, isn’t it?’

Ellie giggles, perhaps at the idea of a potato being special or perhaps at the thought of one day having children of her own.

‘So would that be like Mummy teaching me how to do funny voices in storybooks ’cos now I do them to all my friends at school during reading time and everyone really laughs? Or like when she taught me how to draw a dog’s face really easily and everyone in my class thinks it’s really clever?’

‘That’s exactly right, Ellie. They’re both very good examples. And it’s true of how memories work too. I never met your mummy but I feel like I know her because of all the lovely memories that you and Dad share with me. So there’s lots that I know about things the three of you did together, and the kind of person she was, even though I never had the opportunity to meet her myself.’

I’m shocked and not a little humbled. All this time I’ve imagined that it must be difficult, painful, irritating even, for Eve joining a family with the memory of her predecessor so potent in the air. But now Eve’s telling me I’ve got it all wrong, that these are conversations she not only tolerates but embraces, that she’ll go out of her way to make room for me in her life with Max and Ellie.

‘Look how many people you’ve already got on your memory map, Ellie. Not just you and Mummy and Dad but Granny, Grandpa, Nanna, Harriet, Connor … and is that a photo of you with Mummy’s friends at work? You know, even though she died very young, your mummy touched the lives of lots of people and they all have their own memories of her, so in that way she’s still very much here with all of us.’

Ellie surveys the map she’s made of our life together, and for the first time I feel secure in the belief that Max and Ellie – with a little help from Eve – will be devoted guardians of our collective memories.

‘My mummy really was special. She always knew when I wanted my head stroked, and could always make me feel better, however sad I was. At night, when she tucked me up in bed, we’d play this game where I’d tell her I loved her up the sky and round the world and then she’d tell me she loved me up the sky and round the world and back again, and then I’d add on round the moon and then she’d add on one of the planets and sometimes we’d carry on doing it for ages, until we’d gone round the whole solar system. And Mummy would always end by saying she loved me to infinity and beyond, like Buzz Lightyear in
Toy Story
, and that’s when she’d kiss me goodnight and turn out the light. Sometimes I just want to be tucked up by her again and tell her I love her.’

Ellie’s staring down at the memory map, fiddling self-consciously with the stick of glue, but the image I’m immersed in now is of Ellie aged five, giggling in bed as we declared our love for one another via a whistle-stop
tour of the universe. I loved that bedtime ritual of ours. And I love, too, that she still remembers it so well.

‘Why don’t you then, Ellie? There’s nothing to stop you telling your mummy that you love her. Look, here’s a really nice photo of her the day she married your dad. You could say it to her now.’

Ellie looks unsure.

‘Would that be a bit like Mummy talking to me before I was born?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Dad told me that when I was still in Mummy’s tummy, she used to talk to me lots and tell me about everything that was going on in the world before I could see it for myself. Would me talking to Mummy now be a bit like that?’

‘Yes, I think it’d be just like that. Because Mummy couldn’t see you then, just as you can’t see her now, but it didn’t stop her wanting to tell you things, did it, just as you want to tell her things too?’

Ellie picks up the photograph Eve has handed her. It’s a portrait of me just moments after the registrar pronounced us husband and wife. I’m beaming, my smile directed away from the camera and upwards, towards something out of frame. That something was Max and I think it was, after the birth of Ellie, the happiest moment of my life.

Ellie looks at the photo and then at Eve for reassurance, who provides it by way of an encouraging smile and a coaxing nod.

‘Mummy, I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and I hope you’re okay and I hope you’re not missing us too
much. And I wanted to tell you that I’m going to miss you especially over Christmas and I hope that whatever you’re doing you have a nice time. And what I really wanted to tell you is that I still think about you all the time even though you’re not here any more and I love you lots and lots.’

I try to dry my cheeks but there’s a steady stream of tears to replace those I wipe away. I never thought I’d hear anyone say that again. And of all the people in the world, there’s no one I’d want to hear it from more than my precious little girl.

Because I love you too, angel, more than you could ever possibly know. More than I ever knew possible. To infinity and beyond.

Ellie puts the photograph on to the table, face down, and dabs glue on its reverse before fixing it to the top right hand corner of her memory map.

‘Do you think that was okay?’

‘I think that was just perfect, Ellie.’

Ellie looks up, her face calm, her declaration perhaps providing the catharsis she needed.

‘I think I’m almost done. Oh, there’s one more thing I want to put on.’

Ellie rummages around in her special treasures box and eventually extricates a thick pile of yellow Post-it notes.

‘What are they?’

‘They’re drawings Mummy did for me. When I was little I sometimes used to have bad dreams and I’d find it really hard to get to sleep because I was scared about what I’d dream. So every night when Mummy put me to bed, she’d draw me something nice – like an angel or a fairy or
a big, smiling sunshine face – and she’d stick it above my bed and tell me it would watch over me while I was sleeping to make sure I didn’t have any nightmares.’

I had no idea she’d kept all of those. I remember trying to devise a new amiable icon for her every night for about a month until the nightmares disappeared as suddenly and inexplicably as they’d arrived.

‘Okay, I’m finished.’

‘Right, shall we go and put it up in your room then?’

Ellie nods and together they carry the collage upstairs and into Ellie’s bedroom.

‘What do you think? Shall we prop it up on the mantel-piece and then you’ll be able to see it when you’re lying in bed? Look.’

They sit on the bed together and Eve puts an arm around Ellie’s shoulders.

‘I think your mummy would be proud of that, don’t you? There are some really lovely memories up there.’

Ellie nods, the half-smile not quite detracting from the sadness in her eyes.

‘I know you miss her, Ellie; it’s only natural that you do. And you know that’s fine, don’t you? Because people only have one mummy and that’s what makes someone’s mummy so very special.’

Eve tries to look into Ellie’s eyes but her face remains downcast.

‘You know I’m not here to try and replace her, don’t you? No one can ever do that because your mummy was unique to you. But I do hope that you and I can become very good friends and that you’ll keep telling me lots of things about her because she sounds really special and I
know she must have been because she made you and you’re very special indeed.’