After I've Gone

by Linda Green

  ‘We’ll go for the Lemon and Jasmine Collins, please,’ he says. The waitress nods. He smiles at her, but not in a lechy way.

  ‘So,’ he says, once we’re left alone. ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘The cinema in the shopping centre,’ I reply, pointing upwards before sharply bringing my hand down as I realise how ridiculous it looks. ‘I’m on the hosting team, which means I do waitressing, a bit on the front desk and whatever else needs doing.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘It’s a job, isn’t it?’ I shrug. ‘And it means I get to watch lots of films. Well, bits of films anyway.’

  ‘They’re very lucky to have you.’

  ‘You can tell my boss that, if you like.’

  ‘Well, if they don’t appreciate you, we’re about to advertise for a receptionist.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s my sort of thing. I can be a bit gobby, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  Lee smiles again. ‘Can’t say I had. Anyway, I’m not going to turn this into a job interview. This evening is strictly for pleasure.’

  I glance down at the menu, mainly to hide the rising colour in my cheeks. What I really fancy is a burger, but I suspect it’s not what someone sophisticated like Lee would go for.

  ‘How about we both go for the deli board?’ says Lee, as if sensing my hesitation. ‘It’s basically a mezze and then we can mix and match.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘You choose the starters, though.’

  ‘OK. It’ll be the garlic mushrooms, though.’

  ‘Are you trying to ward me off?’ He smiles.

  ‘Nope. Just don’t fancy something served in a tin or on a piece of slate and I have no idea what piri-piri sauce is but I don’t like the sound of it.’

  ‘You,’ Lee says, leaning over towards me, ‘are a complete breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Although you won’t be saying that when I’ve eaten the garlic.’

  *

  There is no awkward pause in the conversation. Not for the entire evening. We talk about all sorts of stuff: where you can get the best pizzas in Leeds, crap films, me not owning a brolly and him not being able to ride a bike. By the time we get to the desserts all I can think about is what it would be like to spend the next eighteen months of my life with this guy. And that, even if I do die then, I suspect I will at least die happy.

  ‘So, have I retained my non-arsehole status?’ asks Lee. ‘Or did I turn out to be just as bad as the rest of them?’

  ‘You’re still non-arsehole,’ I say with a smile. ‘What about me? Do you want your flowers back?’

  ‘No, you can keep them,’ he says. ‘Though had you spent the entire evening checking your mobile phone, I’d have said otherwise.’

  I swallow, wondering for a second if he somehow knows what’s been going on.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Just hate it, I think it’s really rude. An ex-girlfriend of mine used to do it all the time. Drove me up the wall.’

  ‘I take it she didn’t last very long?’

  He hesitates before replying. ‘No. Bit of a deal-breaker, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘But what if I needed to check it for work?’

  ‘Yeah, but unless you’re an on-call doctor or something, how many people actually need to do that? Certainly not of an evening, anyway. Most people are just obsessed by what other people are up to or watching stupid videos on Facebook.’

  I clench my hands under the table and try to smile. ‘You’d better not friend me on Facebook then. I’m the one sharing them.’

  ‘Facebook’s on the way out. I’m not even on it anymore. All the kids are on Instagram these days. And next year it’ll be something else. It’s like anything, it keeps moving. You’ve just got to move with it.’

  ‘Now you’re sounding like someone in PR,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry.’ He grins. ‘Anyway, I shouldn’t be telling you what the latest thing is. How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  ‘There you go – you’re ten years younger than me. You should be telling me where it’s at.’

  I shrug, trying not to let him see that I’m shocked he’s thirty-two or think about my dad going apeshit when he finds out. ‘I’m not into following the crowd; I like to do my own thing. Wear what I want, do what I want, say what I want. Not what some blogger or app tells me to.’

  ‘Bit of a free spirit, are we?’

  ‘I just don’t like taking crap from anyone.’

  ‘I had noticed that bit.’ He smiles again.

  Our baked chocolate-chip cookie dough arrives. There are two spoons with it. He passes one to me and waits to let me have the first mouthful.

  ‘Good?’ he asks. I nod, afraid to speak because I suspect I’ve got chocolate all over my teeth.

  He picks up his spoon and tries it. ‘Top choice.’

  ‘Always go for what you would have chosen when you were twelve,’ I tell him.

  ‘You would have gone for garlic mushrooms when you were twelve?’

  ‘Yep. My dad’s a chef. We did garlic from when I was a toddler. He said he didn’t want me to be one of those kids who wouldn’t eat what their parents were having. He’s half Italian,’ I add. ‘It explains a lot.’

  ‘Have you got some sultry Italian surname then?’ asks Lee.

  ‘Nope. It’s Mount. Which was great fun at school. His mum’s Italian, not his dad, so I still got a lousy surname.’

  ‘You got his Mediterranean looks though.’

  ‘Only the eyes. Everything else is from my mum.’

  ‘She must be one beautiful lady then,’ says Lee.

  I look down at the table. ‘She died,’ I say. ‘Seven years ago. Cancer. She was beautiful, though. In every kind of way.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Lee.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  I reach my hand out for my glass but he takes it in his before I get there.

  ‘I mean it. I’m really sorry. I had no idea. That must have been so tough for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, trying hard to keep myself together. ‘I got through it, that’s about all I can say. Still miss her.’

  ‘Are you close to your dad?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so. I still live with him. It hit us both pretty hard.’ I’m not going to say any more than that. I’m surprised that I’ve said this much. I don’t usually, not when I’ve just met someone. Although maybe it’s because I know he’s an important someone. According to my Facebook page, anyway.

  ‘What about your parents?’ I ask, keen to change the subject.

  ‘Divorced,’ he says. ‘Mum still lives in Horsforth, where I grew up. I see her a couple of times a week. She cooks a mean Sunday roast.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  Lee shakes his head. ‘I’ve not really seen him since.’ I want to ask more but I get the sense that Lee doesn’t want to talk about it. I realise he still has hold of my hand. It feels good. It feels right.

  *

  He still has hold of my hand later, when I glance at my watch and see the time.

  ‘Shit!’ I say. ‘I need to go. The last train home is in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’ll get you a taxi if you’d rather,’ Lee says.

  ‘No, honestly, it’s fine. I’ll get the train.’

  Lee gets the bill and pays in cash before I even have the chance to offer half.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘My turn next time.’

  ‘So, you think there’ll be a next time, do you?’ asks Lee, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Yeah. It takes at least two dates to work out if someone’s an arsehole or not, sometimes three. The first time, they’re trying so hard to impress that they might be able to cover it up. On the second, they drop their guard a bit and usually say somethi
ng stupid. And on the third they think they’re in there and all sorts of crap comes out.’

  ‘So it’s kind of a three dates and you’re out process, is it?’

  ‘Possibly. Though not everyone even gets to the third date.’

  ‘I’ll count myself lucky to make it to two then.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the first one. I’d better leg it.’

  ‘Let me walk you to the station.’

  ‘You’ll have to run with me.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  He follows me outside and I start running. A second later I feel his hand slip into mine.

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Usain Bolt has nothing on you.’

  ‘It should be an Olympic sport, you know. The six-minute train dash.’

  We go full pelt down the road and into Leeds station. I can feel my nose start to run and hope to God I won’t be all snotty if he goes to kiss me. We get to the barrier and I fumble in my pocket for the ticket.

  ‘If you can’t find it you can always stay at my place,’ he says. ‘My flat’s just opposite platform 17b.’

  ‘That’s a bit Harry Potter. Do you run through the wall to get to it?’

  ‘Sadly not. I have to go around the long way.’

  I find my ticket and hold it up for him to see. ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Well, the offer’s still there for another time.’ He steps forward and kisses me on the lips. If I have got a snotty nose, he’s too polite to say anything.

  ‘Now go on,’ he says, smiling as we pull apart. ‘Before you miss your train.’

  I smile and nod and hurry through the barrier. I run up the escalator and down the other side just as the Manchester Victoria train pulls into the platform.

  I find a seat next to the window. My phone buzzes. I pick it up.

  I don’t know about you but I’m still getting my breath back. X

  *

  ‘Good night?’ asks Dad, when I arrive back. It’s nearly midnight. I thought he’d be in bed by now.

  ‘Yeah. Great, thanks. Turns out Lord Voldemort’s quite nice in real life.’

  He smiles. ‘And what about Lee? Would I like him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think you would.’

  ‘That’s OK, then. I’ll head up to bed.’

  ‘You didn’t need to wait up, you know. I’m a big girl now.’

  Dad turns to look at me. ‘You never stop worrying, Jess. That’s the thing you learn about being a parent. However old your children get, you never stop worrying.’

  Joe Mount

  14 July 2017 • Mytholmroyd, United Kingdom

  For all those asking, I’ll post details of Jess’s funeral arrangements as soon as they have been made. We’ve just got to wait until the coroner has finished his investigations. Apparently it’s routine when there’s been a sudden death. Thank you all for the sympathy cards and messages of condolence and lovely tributes to Jess. Nothing can ease my pain right now but it’s good to know you all care and that Jess meant so much to so many people.

  Jess

  Thursday, 14 January 2016

  I am glad my death is sudden. Mum told me once that her greatest pain wasn’t physical; it was seeing our pain as we witnessed her slow, agonising demise. At least with a sudden death, everyone will be spared that. It’s just the shock they will have to contend with. Shock that is apparent in every comment I have read so far.

  I think again about what type of accident it might be. I remember once at primary school, when we were doing paint-blowing pictures, I sucked instead of blew. The paint was red. I nearly gave the teacher a heart attack when she turned around and saw the scarlet liquid dripping from my mouth. It will be something stupid like that, I am pretty sure of it. I just hope they don’t put it on my gravestone. Here lies Jess Mount, who died a really stupid death.

  I sit up in bed and shake my head, realising that I’m buying into this crap. It’s what they want, I know that. But when you read a post from your dad, talking about your funeral arrangements, it is hard not to take it seriously. Very seriously indeed.

  It occurs to me that it might not have been an accident. I could have meant it. Committed suicide. That could be why the coroner is involved. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do it, though. Even if I had the reason. And if I’m still going out with Lee in a year, I don’t see how I could possibly feel suicidal.

  I allow a smile to creep over my face, remembering how good it felt to be holding hands with him as we ran for the train last night. There is going to be a second date. I know that much. And, if I am to believe what I’m reading, which I don’t, there are going to be a hell of a lot of other dates too. Until the point where I get run over by a bus or something.

  Actually, I’ll probably fall down that gap between the train and the platform. How fitting that would be for the girl who spent her entire life running for trains. It would be messy, though. And public. And I wouldn’t like it to be either of those things.

  I sigh and get up off the bed. I look at my phone, charging on the chest of drawers, but I am determined not to touch it. I need to stop reading the posts. There’s probably some way they can tell if I’m actually clicking on them and reading them. If I don’t read them or complain or report it, they’ll get bored of it in the end and pick on someone else. I can’t imagine that whoever is doing this is going to keep it up much longer.

  I certainly hope not. Because the thought of having Dr fucking Who sending me post-death reports from the future for the rest of my days is enough to send me round the bend.

  *

  ‘Well?’ says Sadie, as soon as I arrive at the station.

  ‘It was good,’ I reply, trying hard to keep the grin off my face.

  ‘How good? On a scale of one to ten.’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe a nine.’

  ‘I take it he paid then.’

  ‘He was a complete gentleman.’

  ‘You mean he didn’t offer to shag you?’

  ‘He said I could stay the night if I wanted to.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘Come on, I’m not that bad. Not on a first date.’

  ‘Like that’s ever bothered you before.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.’

  ‘He snogged you though, right?’

  ‘Might have.’

  ‘Marks out of ten.’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘Two nines from the girl who never gives tens! Bloody hell, I’d better go and buy a hat.’

  ‘Piss off. It’s early days. He’s got plenty of chances to screw up yet. So have I, for that matter.’

  I say it because it’s the sort of thing I usually say. But even as I do, I’m thinking about what Sadie said on Facebook. About me falling hard for Lee because I didn’t think anybody loved me.

  ‘When you seeing him next, then?’

  ‘He said he’d text.’

  ‘They all say that.’

  ‘He will do.’

  ‘How come you’re so sure?’

  ‘He just will.’

  We board the Leeds train. The second carriage, as usual. Sadie never says anything about it now. Occasionally, when it’s busy and we have to get on one of the end carriages, she looks at me to see if I’m OK, but she never says anything. She knows better than that.

  My phone beeps with a message. I get it out and see Lee’s name on the screen. I only dared put it in my phone on the way home last night. I click on it.

  When can I see you again? How about a lunchtime rendezvous if you’re working lates now. Friday?

  ‘What did I tell you?’ I say to Sadie.

  She whistles. ‘Impressive. He’s a keeper.’

  I text back: Friday’s good. About 12.30pm. I start work at 2

  He replies quickly: Great. Same place at 12.30 t
hen. Looking forward to it X

  I put the phone back in my pocket.

  ‘So?’ asks Sadie.

  ‘Friday lunchtime.’

  ‘Keen.’

  ‘Seems so.’

  ‘Great. It’s good to see you with a smile on your face. I take it all that other stuff’s stopped? You know, the Facebook thing.’

  I hesitate. I want to tell her, but it’ll probably be the same as last time and she won’t be able to see the posts. And I don’t want her to give me that concerned look again. I’ve seen enough of those to last a lifetime.

  ‘Yeah.’ I sigh. ‘All back to normal.’

  *

  Nina is the one who tells me. If I could have selected anyone to be the bearer of bad news, she would have been last but one on my list, narrowly behind Professor Umbridge.

  ‘Have you heard about Alan Rickman?’ she asks as we pass in the kitchen.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘He’s dead. In real life, I mean, not as Snape at the hands of Voldemort.’

  I stare at her, not wanting to believe what I am hearing.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s on the BBC news website and everything. Cancer, apparently. Only in his sixties. Who’ll be next, eh? They’re all popping their clogs this week.’

  She makes it sound like some game of celebrity deaths bingo. I put down the plate I am holding and turn to leave the kitchen.

  ‘Oi!’ calls Nina. ‘Don’t leave me on my own. We’ve got loads of tables to clear out there.’

  I’m not listening. I’m heading straight for the toilets. She has no idea, of course, how much he meant to me. I worshipped him when I was a teenager. Snape was easily the best character in Harry Potter, and Alan Rickman was Snape, he brought him to life perfectly – his flaws, his secrets, his internal conflicts. I watched the first five films with Mum. I can still remember how hard it was to watch Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince without her. I knew that she would have loved it almost as much as I did.

  I go into the cubicle and begin to cry. I hadn’t even known he was ill. Not that it would have made it any easier. It’s just a shock, that’s all. Mum dying, Alan Rickman dying and now me supposedly dying, it’s all come as a terrible shock. I get my phone out of my pocket and go to the BBC news website. There are quotes from J. K. Rowling and Daniel Radcliffe. They say exactly what you would expect them to say: he was a brilliant actor, a lovely guy, a friend for life. I go onto Facebook. My wall is full of tributes to him. I scroll through and share a couple of the good ones. I do a Google search for the scene I am looking for, the one from the very first potions lesson, copy the link and post it with the word ‘Always’ above it.