Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  Marc thought about it for a second. ‘No,’ he said with conviction. ‘I would like to see my daughter.’ Marc turned slowly and followed the policeman to the door. The policeman opened the door and Marc staggered towards it.

  ‘There’s one more thing I need to speak to you about, Mr Reed.’ The man in the white coat pulled something from the pocket. ‘We found this in your wife’s bag.’ He held out the organ donor card I had filled out and signed on my eighteenth birthday, much to my mother’s annoyance.

  It had seemed like a good idea at the time and, while I’m sure it still was, they were my organs and I didn’t like the idea of other people having them. There was plenty of life left in my organs. I had a sensible diet and exercised regularly with the intention of keeping them healthy for a long time. It wasn’t fair that I wasn’t going to get the benefit of it and someone else was going to reap the rewards of all my hard work. It wasn’t fair that I didn’t need them anymore.

  ‘It’s what she wanted,’ Marc croaked, and he was right.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, returning the card to his pocket.

  The door closed and they left the silence behind them. I stared at the door.

  And I started to cry again. God, I cried more on that day than I did on any I’d been alive. Big, hot tears kept falling down my cheeks. I turned around to where I knew George was and let him put his arms around me while I cried into his chest.

  After that particular bout of crying had stopped I pulled myself together, looked around, and wondered how this could be happening to me. I shouldn’t be here in this strange, sterile place. I should be at home with my husband and my daughter. I should be doing normal family things like bathing Naomi and listening to Marc read her a bedtime story. I should be clearing up after tea.

  I had no idea what time it was but I was pretty sure it was way past tea time and I wondered what would happen to the steak and kidney pie I had made that morning. I hoped someone would realise that it was in the fridge before it went off. It would be a shame to waste it because, and I know I’m blowing my own trumpet here, I do make a wicked pie.

  Not any more you don’t, I reminded myself, your pie making days are over.

  I was suddenly light-headed.

  I leaned on George more heavily.

  Oh my God, Marc looked terrible, a shadow of the man I had kissed goodbye that morning. I wondered how he was going to cope without me because I knew, without needing to think about it, that I wouldn’t know where to start if the shoe was on the other foot.

  But the shoe wasn’t on the other foot. I was the one that was dead. He was the one that was going to have to cope. I didn’t know who I felt most sorry for.

  I stared at the window, the one that Marc had seen me through and started to cry … again.

  This ‘life’ sucked. I liked my other one.

  I took a deep breath and asked George the one question that I really did need an answer to. ‘Why me?’

  ‘We all have to die.’

  ‘Yeah, but why now? Why today? Why like this?’

  He held me at a distance and looked into my face. ‘It was your time, Ellen,’ he said gently. ‘We all have a time to be born and a time to die.’ His eyes were the most glorious shade of blue and I hung onto them. ‘There was nothing you could have done about it. It was always going to happen. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d gone straight home instead of deciding to visit your mum after picking Naomi up. Not that you could have done that, because visiting your mum was part of the plan.’

  I wondered how Mum had taken the news.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I almost fell over when I saw my parents and I was glad George was there to hold me up.

  They were clinging to each other and I felt completely helpless. I was the reason they looked the way they did.

  My dad had adopted his default stiff upper lip but as I, with George’s help, moved closer to them I could see the hurt and pain in his eyes. Mum’s upper lip was anything but stiff and she leaned into my dad’s chest and she was shaking as she cried.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mum, I’m OK,’ I said, reaching out a hand but pulling it back before I touched her.

  ‘Oh, Brian,’ she sobbed. ‘My baby.’

  ‘I know Peg,’ he whispered as he kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Why, Brian? Why?’

  There was no answer.

  The despair they felt was there for all to see as they looked at each other. I was their only child and now I was lost to them.

  Dad pulled Mum to him and she rested her head on his chest. She was staring straight at me but I could tell she didn’t see me.

  Like lots of daughters, there had been times when I had been unable to bring myself to talk to my mother. We’d had arguments and not spoken for a few days but I would have given anything to be able to talk to her at that moment. A few seconds would have been enough. I would have done anything to be able to speak to her one last time

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she wailed. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Dad forced her away again so he could look into her eyes. ‘We’re going to go on,’ he said. ‘We’re going to remember our beautiful daughter every day of our lives and we’re going to be grateful that we knew her.’

  ‘But how can I?’ she asked weakly

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dad whispered, pulling her to him again. ‘But you have to find a way.’ He rested his cheek against the top of her head. ‘We have to find a way.’

  I saw Marc appear through the doors at the end of the corridor. He almost staggered towards them. Mum was the first to see him and she pushed herself away from Dad’s chest and wiped her hands over her cheeks.

  When Dad saw him he held out his hand to Marc. It looked like two old friends meeting for lunch, but instead of shaking his hand, Dad pulled Marc to him and held him like a child.

  ‘Oh God, Marc.’ Dad’s voice was muffled as he tightened his grip around my husband.

  Mum watched them from a distance but didn’t move to join them.

  After a few seconds the men separated and looked a little embarrassed by their intimacy. Marc ruffled his hair and Dad straightened his tie.

  ‘Margaret.’ I noticed how hoarse Marc’s voice sounded.

  ‘Marc.’ Mum looked at him and saw the truth was written all over his pale face. ‘It’s true, then?’ Mum said.

  Marc lowered his head and stared at the floor. Slowly he lifted it up and nodded. ‘Yeah,’ was all he could manage.

  ‘You’ve seen her? It’s really her?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She looked like she was asleep.’

  ‘She always looked beautiful when she was asleep,’ Mum said with a distance in her voice, like she was remembering something from a long time ago.

  ‘She looked beautiful to me all the time,’ Marc said.

  ‘Have you visited Naomi yet?’ Dad asked.

  ‘No,’ Marc said as he rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes. ‘I went up earlier but the nurses were fussing over getting her ready for bed. I spoke to a doctor and said I’d go back after I’d seen Ellen.’

  ‘How did she look?’ Dad asked.

  Marc threw my dad a look and there was an awkward silence.

  ‘Oh, stop being so bloody stupid, Marc,’ I chastised. ‘He was talking about Naomi, not me, and you know it.’

  Dad looked embarrassed when he realised the way his question had sounded. ‘How’s Naomi?’

  I moved closer so I could hear Marc’s answer.

  He didn’t answer straight away; he seemed lost in his own world. A movement from my dad brought him out of it and Marc took a deep breath as he struggled to gain control of himself. I’d never seen Marc like this before. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘Naomi’s fine, thank God. She’s got concussion so they’re going to want to keep her in for a few days, but considering what she’s been through she’s good.’

  ‘Thank God,’ my dad repeated.

  ‘Why?’

  We were all surpr
ised at my mother’s question.

  ‘Why what?’ Marc asked.

  ‘Why are we thanking God?’ she said, shrugging off my dad’s attempt to put his arm around her.

  ‘That my daughter is safe.’

  ‘And mine is dead,’ Mum said flatly.

  Marc looked at her with a dark shadow over his eyes. He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Your daughter was my wife, Margaret. My wife,’ he repeated as I noticed tears forming in his eyes, ‘and I wish with all my heart that she wasn’t dead but she is.’ He paused as he fought back the tears. ‘She is and I thank God that our,’ he emphasised the word, ‘daughter has come through this relatively unscathed.’

  Marc locked eyes with my mother. She was first to turn away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I thank God that Naomi is alright. It’s just that …’ She broke down and shook with every sob. ‘Marc, my baby …’

  Dad looked embarrassed. ‘Is there anything we can do, Marc?’

  ‘What?’ It was as if he had forgotten Dad was there.

  ‘Can we get you anything?’

  ‘No, no thank you. I’m going to go spend some time with Naomi.’ He was looking around in a confused manner. ‘She might be asleep but I want to be with her.’

  ‘I’d best get Peg home.’

  My mother seemed oblivious to the conversation the men were having about her.

  Marc went one way and my parents went the other.

  I felt emotionally drained, if such a thing is possible in the state I was in, and once they had disappeared I leaned against the wall and let my head rest against it. I could see George out of the corner of my eye and I was glad that I wasn’t alone.

  After a few minutes I sensed someone approaching. I turned my head and saw a familiar figure, a man, walking towards me. There was a woman dressed in a blue trouser suit behind him and calling out but he was ignoring her.

  George was now at my side and the woman spoke directly to him. ‘Keep out of this, George,’ she said sternly. ‘I’ve told him I think it’s a bad idea but he won’t listen. This is between them and we’ll be here to pick up the pieces when it’s finished.’ George and the woman stood together a few yards away and I heard her say, ‘I need another job.’

  I turned my attention back to the familiar figure. It was the man who had killed me.

  Hadn’t he done enough? What more could he possibly want from me? I had nothing to say to him.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked with a croaky voice. I was still leaning against the wall.

  ‘To speak to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  The man was looking at his feet. Then he lifted his head and stared one way then the other. I could see he was distressed but do you know what? I didn’t care. He should feel distressed. He couldn’t be more distressed than I was, anyway.

  ‘Well?’ I prompted

  The man mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The man coughed. ‘To say I’m sorry.’ He was looking into the distance as he spoke but then he turned to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated and I could see it was an effort for him to hold my gaze.

  ‘Not as sorry as I am,’ I said curtly.

  He looked away uncomfortably. I felt the anger rising inside me. After fighting it for a few minutes, the effort was too much.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ I asked. He didn’t answer and I pushed myself to a standing position. My voice rose with every word I spoke. ‘Did you expect me to say it was all right and not to worry about it?’ I moved closer to him and he backed away until he could go no further. ‘Did you expect me to say don’t worry about it because you did me a favour? Did you expect me to say thank you for killing me?’ I screamed the last sentence and I could see tiny beads of spit hit the man in the face. ‘You killed me.’ I poked his chest. ‘You killed me.’ I repeated, before having to turn and stifle a sob.

  When I thought I was calm again I turned around, but as our eyes locked I could feel the anger return.

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’ His voice was weak.

  ‘Doesn’t matter whether you meant it or not,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m still dead.’

  ‘I know.’ He looked away. By the time he looked back there were tears running down his face. ‘So am I.’

  I turned away again and took a couple of steps before turning on my heel and spinning back to him. He flinched.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘What?’ I yelled. ‘You accidentally poured God knows how much booze down your neck. Then you accidentally got behind the wheel of your car and accidentally cut my car in half.’ I was screaming and waving my arms around. In any other world I would have been ashamed by my behaviour but now it seemed acceptable.

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No.’ His voice was breaking.

  ‘What did you mean to do?’

  ‘Get home,’ he said. ‘I wanted to get home and tell Gemma I was sorry.’

  His sobs caught me off guard and I watched him struggle.

  ‘I just wanted to tell Gemma I was sorry,’ he repeated. He stared at his feet and took deep breaths. He’d almost regained his composure and looked up. ‘Look, if I could change this I would. Honest. If there was anything I could do to put you back with your family, I would. Trust me I would. But I can’t, so all I can do is apologise.’

  I pondered his words a moment and gestured with my head that he should follow me. Tentatively, he did and we walked a little way up the corridor. We sat on two plastic chairs.

  Neither of us spoke for a minute or two.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked eventually.

  ‘Phil,’ he said. ‘Phil Webber.’ For a second I thought he was going to offer his hand for me to shake and I was glad when he didn’t.

  ‘I’m Ellen,’ I told him.

  ‘I really am sorry, Ellen,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘You said.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘I’m sure it is but it doesn’t change anything, does it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who’s Gemma?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gemma?’

  ‘My wife.’

  I nodded. ‘What were you sorry for?’ It appeared that his killing me made it all right for me to ask.

  He sat back and lifted his head to the ceiling. ‘Everything.’ I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He continued to look at the ceiling as he spoke. ‘I’ve been knocking off this woman at work,’ he explained, ‘Sharon … Sharon Walsh … nice girl.’ He stopped looking at the ceiling and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turned to me. ‘I went into work today. I’m an electrician … was an electrician. Anyway, I went to the office to pick up my work sheet and in with my list of jobs is a message from Sharon saying she needs to talk to me and I’m thinking she’s finally got wind of the fact I’m married and she’s going to tell me to piss off. So, I go to her office. She’s the boss’ secretary,’ he added by way of explanation, ‘and I ask her what she wanted.’ He stopped and stared at his hands. They were shaking violently.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  He spoke slowly. ‘She told me she was pregnant.’

  ‘Oh.’ The noise popped out without me realising it. ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘She says it is.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’ I had lost sight of the absurdity of this conversation.

  ‘Suppose. Why would she lie?’

  ‘What were you going to do?’

  ‘Don’t know. That was what I was trying to figure out.’

  ‘At the pub?’

  He said nothing. He lowered his head into his hands and pulled his hair. He made a noise deep in his chest as he gave one last yank at the little hair he had left before lifti
ng his head and staring at the wall in front of him. ‘She asked me if I was going to marry her …’ He stood up and started to pace. He started to pull on his hair again. ‘Marry her? How can I marry her?’ Then he was pulling at the skin around his nails. I winced as a long piece came away in his hand. ‘I told her why I couldn’t marry her. She called me a liar, said I was a coward who wasn’t prepared to face his responsibilities. So I showed her Gemma’s picture in my wallet. She started crying and screaming and said that could be my sister. I asked her why I would keep a picture of my sister in my wallet.’ He moved his hand over his face. ‘I told her I would face up to my responsibilities, of course I would, but I couldn’t marry her. I could have strung her along,’ he looked at me in desperation, ‘but I didn’t, I came clean. Anyway,’ he was looking out of the window again, ‘the boss came in and wanted to know what the hell was all the fuss about and why wasn’t I rewiring some old biddy’s house. Sharon tells him I’ve knocked her up and won’t marry her.’ I winced. ‘He sent Sharon home in a taxi and told me to bugger off and sort myself out.’

  He puffed out his cheeks and let the air out slowly. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go home because Gemma’s off this week decorating the back bedroom. I couldn’t face her … As soon as the pubs were open I went in. I was only going to have one, a bit of Dutch courage, you know. That’s all I wanted. But I didn’t feel any better after one. Things weren’t any clearer so I had another … and another. Eventually I realised I was going to have to go home.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I wasn’t going to take the car but I didn’t have any money left for a taxi or even the bus and I live over the other side of town. It would have taken me hours to walk home.’ He paused and looked at his hands that were still shaking. ‘I remember getting in the car … then the next thing I know I’m blind and she,’ he used his head to point to the woman in the blue suit, ‘was telling me to stay calm and everything would be alright.’ He sat down again. ‘You know,’ I was surprised when he took my hands in his, ‘I don’t mind that I’m dead. I mean, I’d rather I wasn’t but I brought it on myself. But you …’ Tears fell silently from his eyes. Eyes, I noticed, that were green.