After I've Gone

by Linda Green

  I’m in the row behind Sadie, working my way along with a bin bag. I try to make my voice sound casual, even though I know it won’t come out that way.

  ‘I know I said I’ll be there at the start tomorrow, but Lee rang earlier, it was a bit of an emergency.’

  Sadie looks up at me, a half-eaten carton of popcorn in her hand.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘He’s got to go to an awards dinner tomorrow evening; the director who was supposed to go is ill. He said he felt really bad asking but no one else could do it.’

  ‘Why do you have to go too?’

  ‘His company’s got two seats on the Lord Mayor’s table. It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t feel I could say no and I knew you’d understand.’

  My words hang heavily in the air between us. For a moment I’m not sure whether Adrian’s approach is a good one – it feels too much like a threat.

  ‘But you are still coming, right?’

  ‘Yeah, afterwards. It should finish about ten. I’ll get the train over then.’

  Sadie looks doubtful.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Sadie. And tell Maddie I’m sorry too.’

  She nods and stuffs some cups into the bin bag with particular vigour. I think I’d have preferred a mouthful from her rather than this grudging acceptance.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I get it out and look at the two photos Lee has sent: one of a black lace dress with long sleeves and the other of an off-the-shoulder number. I can see a Jigsaw label on the second one. I’ve never even been in there because it looks too expensive. I hold the phone up to Sadie.

  ‘Which one do you think? Lee’s getting me something posh to wear.’

  She turns and frowns at me. ‘Fucking hell, what is this? Is he Richard Gere in Pretty Woman or something?’

  ‘It’s formal evening wear. I let slip that I didn’t have anything.’

  ‘So he’s buying it for you?’

  ‘Not him. The company. He’s putting it on expenses.’

  She raises her eyebrows and scrambles on the floor for some rubbish that’s been left under the seats.

  ‘Which dress then?’ I say.

  ‘I dunno. It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? Why don’t you ask him?’

  I text back that I like them both and he can choose. Sadie goes off to get the Henry vacuum cleaner just as Adrian walks in. He looks at Sadie’s face then at mine.

  ‘Did I balls things up?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I think I did that all by myself.’

  *

  Dad is pulling up outside our house when I get home.

  ‘Hi, love,’ he says, slamming the car door and fumbling in his jacket pocket for the keys. ‘Good night?’

  ‘Yeah, it was OK. You look tired.’

  ‘Busy night. Had some big work party in. Still, better than being quiet.’

  I nod as he lets us into the kitchen. It feels cold; Dad doesn’t like leaving the heating on when we’re both working.

  ‘I’ll make us some hot chocolate, shall I?’ he says.

  ‘Thanks. That would be great.’

  I let him warm the milk before I say anything else, so that he’s a tiny bit distracted.

  ‘Change of plan for tomorrow evening. I’m going to an awards do in Leeds with Lee before I go on to Maddie’s party.’

  ‘Oh. How come?’

  ‘The director that’s supposed to be going is ill. They’ve got two seats on the Lord Mayor’s table. Lee didn’t think it would look good to have a no-show. It’s at the Queens Hotel.’

  Dad whistles as he pours the milk into mugs and stirs briskly. ‘Wow, very posh. So what time does it finish?’

  ‘About ten, he thinks. I’ll get the train over straight afterwards.’

  ‘It’ll nearly be finished by the time you get there.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. Best I could do really.’

  ‘What about Maddie?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. She’ll be with all her college mates anyway. She won’t even notice.’

  Dad raises his eyebrows as he puts the mugs down on the table. ‘It’s a shame to let your friends down, though.’

  ‘I didn’t want to let Lee down either.’

  ‘You’ve only known him five minutes.’

  ‘Yeah, and it’s not going to last much longer if I don’t actually see him at any point.’

  ‘Just make sure your friends are still there for you too, eh?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘They’re the ones you can count on, Jess. Long after the boyfriends have disappeared.’

  ‘Maybe this one won’t disappear, though.’

  ‘You still need friends, Jess. Whether he disappears or not. And if he really cares about you, he’ll understand that.’

  ‘Thanks for the pep talk. Let me know when your radio agony uncle show is going to start.’

  Dad manages a smile. ‘I’m only looking out for you. It’s my job.’

  ‘I know, I know. But you’ve got to trust that I’m old enough to look after myself now.’

  Dad says nothing and gives his hot chocolate a final stir before putting the spoon down on the saucer he has placed between us on the table.

  ‘So have you got to hire something for this posh do tomorrow?’

  ‘No. Lee’s buying me a dress. On company expenses. He says it’s the least they can do.’

  Dad nods slowly. ‘You know I’ll always buy anything you need, Jess.’

  ‘Thanks. He insisted on getting it, though. There is one thing you could help with, mind. I haven’t got any shoes I can wear to something like that. Would you mind if I borrowed Mum’s best pair? I’ll be really careful with them.’

  I see his hand shaking as he brings the mug up to his lips. I feel bad now for asking.

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter,’ I continue. ‘I can nip out and get some on my lunch break tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Borrow them. It’s what she’d have wanted. Can’t have you turning up for the Lord Mayor in DMs, can we?’

  I smile and kiss him on the cheek before picking up my mug. ‘Thanks. I’ll go up and get them now, if that’s OK? Make sure they fit.’

  He nods. I go upstairs, careful not to slop the hot chocolate on the carpet. I put the mug down on the landing before going into Dad’s room. I know exactly where they are. It still feels weird though: opening the wardrobe, crouching down and reaching to the back. Dad took most of Mum’s things to the charity shop, but there were some he couldn’t bring himself to part with. The things that seemed so much a part of her you couldn’t look at them without seeing her inside them. The clothes are all at one end of the wardrobe in plastic bags. The accessories are in a large box on the floor of the wardrobe.

  I pull it towards me and take the lid off. It’s like opening a giant memory box. I touch the green scarf, remembering the softness of it against my face as a child. The multi-coloured woolly hat smells of Bonfire Night and frozen winter walks. I hold the purple beads in my hands, twisting them, just like she used to, without even realising she was doing it. I put them back and rummage a little further down. The black patent stilettos are at the bottom. She didn’t wear them very often; most of the time she was in sensible flats. But on those rare occasions that called for a bit of glamour, these are what she wore. I remember looking at her reflection in the long mirror in the bedroom as she stood and adjusted the neckline of her purple velvet dress, which is still in the wardrobe. I told her she was beautiful. She smiled at me and said she scrubbed up OK when she had the time. She was beautiful, though. Dad said so too. She was just one of those people who never really believed it.

  I put the lid back on the box and return it to the wardrobe before taking the shoes into my room. I go back to
the landing to get my hot chocolate, and when I return to my room I swear I see her standing there in the shoes, finally admiring her reflection in the mirror.

  Joe Mount  Jess Mount

  29 July 2017

  Burying you on Monday is going to be the hardest day of my life, harder even than when we buried your mum. I have lost the two people I love most in the world. The only thing keeping me going is this little man. Can’t believe this photo was only taken three weeks ago. You were, and would have continued to be, the best mum in the world to Harrison. For those of you asking, he is fine and being looked after by Lee, with the help of Angela. But today he will be coming to see Grandad. And I will give him a special kiss and cuddle from you, Jess. And I’ll make sure your precious boy never forgets you x

  Jess

  Saturday, 30 January 2016

  I stare at the photo of the baby on the screen. He has big blue eyes and slightly surprised eyebrows – although not nearly as surprised as mine at the moment – a tiny button nose and the most beautiful little dimples. On top of his head are some tufts of dark hair. He is beyond adorable. He also looks so much like Lee it’s uncanny. He is Harrison. Presumably the ‘H’ everyone has been talking about. He is my baby. And there, my face squashed next to his, is me. His mum. I look entirely different. I’m obviously tired, with hardly any make-up on, but the way I am looking at my baby . . . That’s not my face at all. It is filled with big, grown-up stuff, things I have not experienced, that I don’t understand. The nearest I can get to it is the way Mum used to look at me, and Dad still does sometimes. It is a look that is full of love and protection, hope and fear, excitement and worry.

  I am not imagining this. Not even my head could conjure this up. It is real. The photo is real, the baby is real. Its chubby little fingers are pulling at my hair. I can practically feel them on me, smell that baby scent against my cheek. He may not exist at the moment, but that doesn’t mean to say he isn’t real. The version of me in the photo doesn’t exist at the moment either – but she will do, in eighteen months’ time.

  The thought of it is enough to make me sit down heavily on my bed. I’m going to have to deal with all that parenting shit and I don’t even feel like a grown-up myself. How am I going to cope with a baby? Clearly, I don’t manage it for long. I look again at the photo. I’m no expert on babies but I’d say he’s a few months old, which means I die shortly after he is born. Maybe it’s to do with post-natal depression. Mum said she had it bad – perhaps it’s genetic? Although I don’t look depressed in the picture. I just look knackered.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes. It’s all too much. A massive part of me wants to carry on believing that this is purely a figment of my overactive imagination. But the truth is here in front of my eyes. I look at the photo of me and Harrison again. Maybe I am mentally unstable, but I know my own baby when I see him.

  I’m not ready for this. Not for any of it. Somehow, in the next eighteen months, I get married, have a baby and die. It’s like my entire life is on fast forward. How am I going to cope with that? Me, the girl who can’t be arsed to get out of bed until 10 a.m. and who has blueberry muffins for breakfast. The girl who jacked in the chance of a career to work at a cinema because it’s a laugh and she gets to see films for free. The girl who cracked up when her mum died; whose dad still wraps her in cotton wool. Maybe I die from the weight of responsibility. This isn’t my life. This isn’t who I am supposed to be.

  I lie back on the bed, sobbing. I want it to stop. I want everything to be normal. I want to wonder when Lee’s going to shag me for the first time and if we’ll go on holiday together in the summer and whether we’ll still be going out at Christmas. That’s what normal girls of my age worry about. I didn’t ask to have my life mapped out in front of me. I don’t want to know the answers; I want to find them out as I go along, like everyone else. I want to stop the ride. My head is spinning and I want to get off. But I don’t know how to.

  I stare down again at my baby son. Even the words sound wrong in my head. I’ve never really thought about having children. It’s always seemed too responsible for me. I leave stuff everywhere. The woman in the lost property office at Leeds Station knows me by my first name. I’ll probably leave my baby on the train. That is the kind of crap mother I will be. I think of my mum, of everything she did for me. How can I possibly live up to that?

  And now I have all this going round in my head instead of thinking about going out with Lee tonight. How can I look him in the eye when I’ve seen our future baby? How can I not tell him that? It’s wrong. The whole thing is wrong and somehow I’ve got to work out how to conduct a relationship with him while watching our future son grow up on Facebook.

  I bring the photo on my phone close to my chest. I know it’s insane, but I want him next to me. I know I should stop looking at it, but it’s too late for that now. I have a baby. I have a responsibility to make sure he’s OK.

  Maybe I can try to work out how I die. Perhaps I can stop it. Maybe it’ll be like Back to the Future and I can change things, alter my own destiny, if I can only manage to get myself in the right place at the right time when lightning strikes. Maybe that’s why I’m being sent this stuff. Perhaps someone from the future is trying to save my life.

  I shake my head at the idea that anyone out there would give a toss and glance at Mum’s shoes on the floor by the wardrobe. She would have known what to do. I could always talk to her about anything. She would have sorted all of this out and made it go away. I miss her today. I miss her more than ever.

  *

  I spend the day at work in a bit of a daze, caught between worrying about the future and looking forward to this evening. Sadie has taken the day off to help get ready for the party and I’m glad of the breathing space, sure I would crack under interrogation if she were to ask me what the matter was.

  As I walk down to the station after work I feel like I’m going on a date with my future. Talk about pressure! It’s a bit of luck I like him, as I don’t know if I could do anything about it if I didn’t. What would happen if I chucked him? Not that I want to. I just wonder if I actually could. And if everything has already been decided, how do I even conduct this relationship? Do I just lie back and think of my wedding day?

  We’ve arranged to meet in front of the station. As I approach, I tell myself to put it all out of my mind. It’s easier said than done though. As soon as I catch sight of Lee, all I can think of is how I will leave him, quite literally, holding the baby after I’ve gone. Would he have anything to do with me if he knew what was going to happen? Maybe it would be kinder to walk straight past him now and spare him from all that.

  Lee smiles and waves at me. I walk towards him, telling myself repeatedly that I have to carry on as if nothing has happened. That I can’t let it spoil this.

  ‘Hello, you,’ he says, kissing me on the lips. ‘Ready to go to the ball?’

  ‘It’s not a ball, is it?’

  ‘No, only kidding.’ The Cinderella reference isn’t lost on me though. I’m standing here in leggings and my DMs and I am about to be transformed into ball-worthy material. Although it has to be said that Lee is an unlikely-looking fairy godmother.

  ‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Because I can’t do ballroom dancing. But I am ready to fill my face for free and whistle and whoop when you go up to get your award.’

  Lee laughs. ‘Are you really going to whistle?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Isn’t that what people do?’

  ‘Nope, they clap politely and try not to look pig-sick that they didn’t win.’

  ‘Like at the Oscars, you mean. Are they going to have a camera on all of the nominees’ faces?’

  ‘I hope not. Anyway, we might not win.’

  ‘You will. They wouldn’t have sat you at the Lord Mayor’s table if you weren’t going to win. He’s not going to be put with a bunch of losers, is he?’

  ‘Le
t’s hope not. Anyway, your outfit awaits. We’d better get back to my place.’

  He takes my hand and we start to walk around the front of the station.

  ‘Shame you can’t just jump over the railings on platform seventeen and three quarters.’

  ‘It’s 17b.’

  ‘Same thing if you’re a Potterhead.’

  ‘Oh God, you haven’t got one of those Deathly Hallows necklaces, have you?’

  ‘Yep. And a tattoo of it.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That would be telling.’

  ‘I’ll have to find out, then. Just don’t flash it at the Lord Mayor before you show me.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘And I’ll make a mental note never to take you to a fancy dress party as I now suspect you’ve got the full Professor McGonagall costume at home.’

  ‘Bellatrix Lestrange, actually. The baddies get all the best outfits. How about you, what would be your fancy dress costume of choice?’

  ‘Han Solo from Star Wars.’

  ‘Is he the one with the lightsaber?’

  ‘No, that was Luke Skywalker. Han Solo is older. Harrison Ford played him.’

  I stare at him. He likes Harrison Ford. The baby we supposedly have in the future is called Harrison. It might simply be a coincidence. Then again, it might not.

  ‘Are you a big fan, then?’

  ‘Yep. I loved all the Star Wars films and all the Indiana Jones movies too. He’s class, sheer class. Even if he is knocking on a bit now.’

  ‘So would you name your kid after him?’

  Lee turns and frowns at me.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you had a son at some point, would you call him Harrison?’

  ‘I dunno. It’s better than Obi-Wan Kenobi, I guess.’

  I nod and smile. This is all actually going to happen. We are going to have a baby boy called Harrison. Lee will probably remind me of this conversation when we’re discussing names. Maybe I should say something now. Something I can remind him of at some point in the future.