The Dead Wife's Handbook (47 page)

Joan and Ralph are approaching the sofa and I find myself tensing with the anticipation of conflict. It’s very generous of Harriet to invite them to this party every year, but I can’t help thinking that it’s also just a little masochistic; I can’t remember a single occasion when my best friend and my mother-in-law have inhabited the same space without finding myself dragged into a corner by Harriet to placate her fury after Joan’s issued the latest in a string of barbed criticisms. Why she’d keep opening herself up to the inevitability of verbal attack – especially without me there to calm her down afterwards – is beyond me.

Joan’s smiling. Ralph looks a little nervous.

‘Such a lovely party, Harriet. Your best yet, I think. I’ve met such a lot of interesting people – I even got talking to a judge earlier and he was very charming. I mean, what a fascinating job that must be. It’s so kind of you to invite us, we do appreciate it.’

It happens very rarely, but Harriet is stumped for words. She exchanges a bewildered glance with Max, who returns it with a look of amusement. Ralph is beaming – if I’m not mistaken – a little triumphantly.

‘Well … er … that’s very nice of you, Joan. I’m glad you’re having a good time.’

‘Oh, we’re having a lovely time. All this food and champagne too. I think I’ve had four glasses already. It’s gone straight to my head.’

‘Well, there’s plenty more where that came from. Speaking of which, if you’ll excuse me, I’d just better check that supplies don’t need stocking up.’

Harriet makes a tactful exit and Max invites his mum and dad to join him on the sofa.

‘That was nice of you, Mum. I think Harriet really appreciated that.’

‘Yes, well, Max, it is a lovely party. Credit where it’s due, that’s what I always say.’

Max raises a wry smile but manages to curb the multiple responses I’ve no doubt are keen to escape his lips.

‘Why don’t you sit there for a minute, Mum, while Dad gets you a glass of water. I’m just popping to the bathroom and then I’m going to check on Eve quickly.’

As Max slips out of the door, I head over to where Mum and Eve are still chatting intently in the corner.

‘Please don’t apologize and please don’t think any more of it. I do understand how difficult this must be for you, Celia, and I’m sorry if we haven’t been as sensitive to that as we might have been. The last thing any of us want is for you to feel uncomfortable, least of all around Ellie.’

‘That’s very kind of you. I’m not going to deny it’s been hard, but that’s not Max’s fault and it’s certainly not yours, Eve. It’s just that losing a daughter … well, there’s nothing that can ever prepare you for it.’

‘I can’t imagine how terrible it must be. It’s hard enough having been estranged from my parents all these years – I know Max told you I haven’t seen them for a while – but I’m not pretending for a second that’s anything close to what you’ve been through.’

‘I don’t want to be morbid – not tonight of all nights – but I don’t think you ever really acclimatize to your child not being there any more. I suspect there’ll always be moments when I forget and pick up the phone to ring Rachel. Maybe it’s because it was so unexpected, so sudden, that there are so many unsaid thoughts still mulling around in my mind. I think Rachel knew how proud of her I was, I’m sure she did, but I do wish I’d had one last opportunity to tell her.’

You just did, Mum.

‘What’s going on here, then?’

Max joins Mum and Eve, a champagne bottle in his hand, from which he refills both their glasses. Mum looks slightly sheepish.

‘I’ve just been apologizing to Eve for some of the misunderstandings we’ve had recently. I know this isn’t an easy situation for anyone, not least for you two, starting a
new relationship with such a lot of emotional baggage in tow, and I really am very sorry if I’ve created any additional tension. It’s just taken some getting used to, that’s all. I hope you can both forgive me.’

There’s an insecurity in Mum’s tone and it pains me to hear it. I hate seeing her so vulnerable, especially at a party like this. In spite of her resolution to remain on her own after Dad died, I know that she’s always found family gatherings particularly difficult.

Max throws a generous arm around Mum’s shoulders and squeezes her affectionately.

‘There’s absolutely nothing to forgive, Celia. It’s been a strange year for all of us and the important thing is that we’ve got through it with our relationships intact. I’m not sure the same could be said for many other families.’

Mum smiles at him, gratefully and with palpable relief, as he kisses her on the cheek.

‘Well, I’m really looking forward to having the three of you over on Boxing Day. Are you still okay to bring dessert, Eve? Ellie tells me that the Christmas pudding is looking splendid. And that you’ve made a cake as well. You really shouldn’t have but it’s very good of you.’

‘It’s no trouble at all. We’re all really looking forward to it too. Here’s to a lovely Christmas.’

Eve, Max and Mum clink conciliatory glasses. It would seem that this is a night for reparations all round.

Max was right. Not every family would have survived the tragedies, the transitions, the emotional upheavals that my family’s endured over the past two and a half years. I suddenly realize that this is the first time I’ve seen my loved ones harmonious since I died. And instead of
making me feel excluded, it brings me an unexpected sense of peace.

Ellie bounces over to the corner of the room, dragging Connor behind her.

‘Guess what, Dad? Connor says he’s bought me the best Christmas present ever this year. I can’t wait to find out what it is.’

Max looks at his watch.

‘Well, you’re not going to have to wait too much longer, munchkin. It’s only an hour and a half until Christmas Day so we’d better get you home to bed or else Santa might have to give our house a miss this year.’

As Max, Ellie and Eve say their goodbyes, the nether-world decides it’s time for me to leave this particular party too.

It’s been an evening of unpredictable atonements. The social accord which I’d once assumed would upset me with its promise of lives lived contentedly without me has, instead, brought me unexpected tranquillity. I suppose that just goes to show that we never stop surprising ourselves, even long after we’re dead.

As the vision and then the sound of a party still in full swing are swallowed by the gathering clouds, I’m left hoping this isn’t the last of Ellie I’m going to see this Christmas.

Chapter 35

The bright clouds disperse but underneath is complete darkness. I’m disoriented for a few seconds, my eyes needing time to adjust to the dramatic change in light. Eventually I begin to discern outlines of shaded objects in the world beneath me.

I’m inside a building and I can see a small figure walking down a hallway, dragging what must be a heavy load behind them. They reach a door and stop, tentatively, halting for a few seconds, the deep self-conscious breaths betraying the concentration of their producer. I see a hand raised and placed gently on the door, pushing it open slowly, cautiously, until the pathway is clear and they’re free to enter whatever room it was they were searching for.

Suddenly a light snaps on, startling me and temporarily disabling my vision.

‘Happy Christmas, Dad! Happy Christmas, Eve!’

I open my eyes to discover that we’re in my bedroom – what used to be my bedroom – where Max is now emerging from underneath the duvet, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to rouse himself towards wakefulness. Eve is lying next to him, beginning to stir but not quite yet in the land of the conscious. And in the doorway is Ellie, dressed in red pyjamas adorned with miniature snowmen, her face bright with excitement and her hands clasped tightly
around the neck of the bulging pink pillowcase waiting patiently beside her.

I’m here. I’m here with them for the first Christmas since I died. I don’t know who or what I’m supposed to thank for letting me be here today, but thank you, whoever or whatever you are.

‘Happy Christmas, munchkin. You do know it’s only quarter to six, don’t you?’

‘I know. I’ve been awake for ages already and I’ve been really good and stayed in my room till now. I’m only fifteen minutes earlier than when you said I could come in. But look what a big sack of presents I’ve got.’

Ellie summons all her energy and, in one melodramatic heave, hauls the bloated pillowcase in front of her. Eve sits up and kisses Max good morning.

‘Happy Christmas, Ellie. So, are you getting in then?’

Without the need for any further encouragement, Ellie drags her sack of presents round to Max’s side of the bed, scrambles over him as if his body were simply an obstacle to be traversed, locates the almost imperceptible gap between her dad and his girlfriend and slips, feet first, under the duvet. Max smiles and hoists her bounty on to the bed for her.

I watch the three of them under the covers together, Ellie beginning to unwrap one present after another, stocking fillers dominating the top half of the sack as has always been the tradition, Max and Eve both feigning sufficient surprise to suggest they’ve never seen any of the items before, taking it in turns to marvel at novelty bars of soap and TV character-adorned stationery. I find my mind wandering back to the time when I was under that
duvet, when Ellie was opening presents next to me, when I could lean over and touch Max’s bare chest and know that this was just how I’d always hoped domestic life would be.

I’m drawn to thoughts of that last Christmas the three of us spent together, and find that the memories start flooding back without me even having to invoke them, memories that must have been in hiding for the past two and a half years and are only now deeming it sufficiently safe to make an appearance.

I remember Ellie creeping into that very same room, clambering silently on to our bed and awakening us to the realization that it was still only five-fifteen in the morning. I remember us stalling the opening of presents with the suggestion that Max go downstairs first to make coffee for us and hot chocolate for her. I remember Ellie and I snuggling under the duvet together to ward off the cold air yet to be heated by radiators that weren’t due to warm up for another half an hour, entertaining one another with lists of the things we were most looking forward to about the day ahead, hers being the opening of presents and mine the infamous lunch we’d have later at Joan and Ralph’s, a lunch which invariably left everyone vowing not to eat again until the year was officially over. I remember Max coming back upstairs, carrying three steaming mugs on a tray and telling us to get up and look out of the window, and Ellie and me refusing, saying it was too cold, diving further under the duvet and giggling at our own rebelliousness. I remember Max coaxing us, saying we’d regret it if we didn’t, and us finally relenting, hurrying out of bed to brave the frosty air, and opening the curtains to
be greeted by nothing but whiteness, everywhere, as far as we could see, a blanket of purity illuminating the darkness. I remember Ellie’s unadulterated joy as she surveyed that magical winter wonderland, the world as she knew it enveloped by a never-ending carpet of snow and her asking if we could go out, there and then, to build a snowman. I remember Max turning on the radio and us hearing the announcer proclaim it to be an historic snowfall, the deepest settling in a single night on record and the first white Christmas in London for three generations, and us reiterating to Ellie how lucky she was to have witnessed at such a young age what we’d had to wait all this time to see for ourselves. I remember retreating back under the duvet, leaving the curtains open so we could see the blanketed branches of the trees from where we huddled under the warmth of goose down, and Ellie opening her presents, all three of us knowing in our own way that this really was the most special of mornings. I remember the excited glances that Max and I shared as Ellie worked her way through her sack of gifts, knowing that the best was yet to come, and the expression of contagious delight on her face when we finally carried her downstairs to discover the present we hadn’t been able to fit into a pillowcase.

I remember it all as if it were happening right now, as if these feelings belong to the present rather than the past, and it makes me realize how divorced I’ve been from so many of my recollections to date, how I’ve replayed events as if watching a home movie of someone else’s life. But these memories are different. They’re the memories of someone who’s no longer afraid of the emotions that accompany them, however bittersweet those feelings may be.

All this time I’ve been fearful that Eve’s presence in my family’s life would slowly begin to erode not just Max and Ellie’s memories but mine also. Instead her occupancy seems to be reacquainting me with memories I hadn’t even known I’d lost.

Ellie is halfway through her presents now. Abruptly she stops unwrapping a parcel and places a hand on Max’s arm in an incongruously mature gesture.

‘Do you know what would make this morning perfect, Dad? If Mummy was here too and all four of us could be together for Christmas.’

Ellie’s words begin to reverberate insistently in my ears and something shifts in me, something intangible and unknowable, something that emerges from the sleepiest hollow to lift a barrier between myself and my past, a barrier of my own making, of my own mourning. It’s the realization, final and unequivocal, that my part to play in life really is over.

I think about that final Christmas Day again and discover that it’s followed by wave after gentle wave of memories that feel real and visceral and joyful in a way I haven’t experienced since I got here: the memory of Ellie giggling with wonderment on the beach at Hope Cove the first time we showed her the sea, Max and I running in and out of the too-cold water with her in our arms, her chubby knees spilling out of the yellow wetsuit we’d squeezed her fleshy limbs into; the memory of Ellie laughing infectiously as Max pushed her on the playground swing, demanding that he send her higher and higher, proclaiming triumphantly that she could touch the sky; the memory of Max and me boarding a plane with
Ellie for the very first time and her disbelief when we took off that such a cumbersome object really could fly.