Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s done now.’ I said.

  Suddenly I found myself with my arms around this man who was responsible for my being dead, rocking him gently.

  We stood at the door of Naomi’s room and watched her. She looked tiny as she lay in the hospital bed and stared out of the window to her left. In her arms she held Jasper, the green teddy bear Marc had bought for her on the day she was born.

  I heard the sound of footsteps along the corridor and I trod on George’s foot as I stood back to let Marc pass. His eyes got a little of their brightness back when he saw our daughter. Seconds later I had to step back again to let another man pass. This time it was a grey-haired doctor, who looked at charts as he walked.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Reed.’ The doctor took a stethoscope from around his neck. ‘Everything is fine.’ He popped the earpieces into position and the flat end against Naomi’s chest. ‘My my,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard a healthier heartbeat in my whole life.’ Naomi started to smile, but stopped herself. ‘Would you like to hear it too?’ Naomi said nothing but didn’t object as the doctor took the earpieces from his own ears and placed them in hers.

  ‘I’m James Moran.’ The doctor held out his hand to my husband.

  ‘Marc Reed.’ The handshake was brief but firm.

  ‘You have a fine daughter, Mr Reed.’

  Marc nodded.

  ‘And a lucky one.’

  ‘Will she be all right?’ Marc whispered.

  Dr. Moran looked towards my daughter, who was staring at the ceiling. ‘Physically, your daughter is fine. There’s barely a scratch on her.’

  ‘And emotionally?’ Marc looked at Naomi as he asked the question.

  ‘Only time will tell. In my experience, children are resilient. They have a way of dealing with this sort of thing.’

  ‘Has she asked where her mother is?’

  Marc’s question took me by surprise and I leaned forward to hear the doctor’s answer.

  Dr Moran looked grave for a moment.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Dr Moran blew out a deep breath. ‘Nothing is wrong as such,’ he said. ‘In fact, one could say it is a normal response. It’s certainly a common one.’

  ‘What is?’ I asked the question along with Marc.

  ‘Naomi hasn’t spoken since she was brought here,’ he said

  Both Marc and I were silent.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s the body’s way of giving Naomi time to come to terms with what has happened. I would have been more surprised if this hadn’t happened. She’s been through a lot.’

  ‘How long will it last?’

  ‘As long as it takes.’

  Everyone looked at the child on the bed.

  ‘I’m going to need that back,’ Dr Moran said, holding out his hand. Naomi unplugged the stethoscope from her ears and held it out to him. ‘I’ve got other patients to see but I’ll be back soon, Naomi.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Moran.’ Now it was Marc’s turn to offer his hand.

  ‘If you want some advice, Mr Reed,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘just act as if this is normal.’

  Marc nodded and turned towards the bed, forcing a smile onto his face.

  I watched the doctor leave the room and was surprised to see a dark-haired girl of about nine skip after him. I hadn’t noticed her but she must have been standing in the corner of the room all the time.

  She waved her hand and I instinctively waved back. I tried to ask who she was but I couldn’t get the words to form. Then she was gone.

  Marc moved towards the bed. He sat by Naomi’s head and they looked at each other. ‘Hello, Munchkin,’ he said, trying to force a smile.

  Naomi just looked at him. He stroked her hair and brushed his thumb along her cheek.

  ‘I am so pleased to see you.’ He emphasised each word.

  There was sadness and relief in the way he looked at her.

  ‘Who was that little girl with the doctor?’ I whispered.

  ‘Mary,’ George whispered back. ‘She died twenty years ago when she was eight years old.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  George stayed at a distance as I walked beside Marc through the hospital car park. I thought that we must look like a couple of ordinary people who had visited a sick relative, until I remembered that anybody watching would only have seen one person. Only one of us was ‘real’ and that thought felt like a knife being pushed deep into my chest, a long, cold knife that pierced my soul. It was like realising I was dead all over again.

  I walked with Marc anyway.

  His hands were stuffed deep into his trouser pockets and he kept his head down. Normally, Marc had to slow his pace so I could keep up with him. This time it was the other way round.

  ‘I’m sorry, Marc,’ I told him, but I didn’t know why.

  Marc took me by surprise when he stopped walking.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked automatically. But then it occurred to me that he might be responding to my question. Had he heard me? Oh God, had my husband just heard his recently dead wife tell him she was sorry? No, surely that was too much to hope for.

  But he had reacted to something.

  He let his head fall back as far as it could so his face was to the sky. I couldn’t see his eyes but suspected they were closed. I could see his chest heaving up and down under the white cotton of his shirt and he puffed his cheeks out with every breath. He was struggling to control an emotion he didn’t understand. Eventually he let out an extra-long breath and lowered his head.

  ‘Come on, Marc,’ I urged him.

  He slowly shook his head before continuing his slow walk to the end of the deserted car park. The only other person about was a man sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He looked in our direction and moved his head in a brief acknowledgement.

  I felt like my heart was breaking.

  I suspected that the hospital’s visiting hours had been over a long time because Marc’s car was the only one left and, as we approached it, instinct sent me to the passenger side where Marc would normally have opened the door for me. That didn’t happen this time. Why would it? I wasn’t there. And the knife was pushed a bit deeper.

  Marc started the car and I thought our moment had passed but then George was at my side and once again he put his hand on my elbow.

  We were sitting in the back of Marc’s car as he drove away from the hospital and I looked into his eyes through the rear-view mirror. Periodically he would look in the mirror right back at me but I knew all he saw was the traffic behind.

  I wished that he could see me. I wished that he would notice me and smile at me the way he used to, but that was then and this was now and the two moments were a world apart.

  I rested my head on the back of the seat, letting it drop to one side. It was raining and the window was covered in tiny drops of water that danced as the car moved. The street light shining through the drops created a rainbow effect against the darkness outside and on any other day I would have found it beautiful. Today it just made me sad.

  Why was this happening to me? This time yesterday everything was different. This time yesterday I had a normal life. This time yesterday I was alive.

  Why wasn’t I alive?

  It was because some random person I had never met in my life had driven his car into mine at precisely the wrong moment. Like the policeman had said, five seconds and it would have been different. But no, he had hit me at that precise second. Even so, I had a problem accepting it was an accident.

  I mean, if he hadn’t been in the pub he wouldn’t have been drunk and probably wouldn’t even have been on the road. He would certainly have had more control of the car. Going back even further, if he hadn’t been having an affair with the girl at work, she wouldn’t be pregnant and he wouldn’t have spent all day in the pub. Or if he’d not got the job he wouldn’t have met the girl in the office to start the affair in the first place. If �
�� I stopped the train of thought before I sent myself insane. How far was I going to go back? If Phil had never been born?

  If Phil Webber had never been born would that have meant I would still be alive? George had said it had been ‘my time’ so maybe I would have died anyway. I’d never know.

  While I’d been thinking about the futility of my situation, my eyes hadn’t really taken in what was passing me by. The night and the lights had just been a blur but suddenly I realised that something was wrong.

  For the second time that day I didn’t know where I was. I forced myself into an upright position and looked around trying to locate some landmark.

  When the ornate Victorian Town Hall passed by I knew where we were.

  The car slowed and pulled to a stop.

  We were back in Silver Street.

  Marc sat in the car and looked at the police markings. They were all that remained of the accident I had died in. Both cars and their residual debris had been removed, leaving white markings on the ground and a bollard leaning at a forty-five degree angle.

  He sat for a while with his head resting on the glass. Then he slowly opened the door and got out. He staggered to the spot the police had marked. I watched from the car and sensed George watching too.

  Marc stood for a while looking at the ground. His head was low and his shoulders hunched. Then he crouched. He put his hand on the road with his palm flat to the floor. After a minute he lifted his hand and put it to his mouth. I think he kissed it but I couldn’t say for sure. He continued to crouch with his head bowed for several minutes. I watched him through the rain-streaked windows as the heavy rain bounced off him without him noticing.

  I watched until Marc stood up. He turned slowly and, with his head still hung low, walked back to the car.

  His hands were resting at the top of the steering wheel and he lowered his head onto them. He was soaked and as he leaned forward, droplets of water fell from his hair and into his lap. I inched towards him from my position on the back seat but there was nothing I could do to relieve his misery. It made my own misery all the more difficult to bear.

  I felt so useless.

  His shoulders were shaking and I knew he was crying again.

  So was I. I lay my face against the head rest of the passenger seat and wept for what had happened and for what I had been forced to leave behind. I felt George’s hand on my shoulder which gave me a little comfort.

  Eventually, Marc’s tears stopped and he sat up, using the palms of his hands to dry his face. He sniffed hard and pinched the end of his nose before lacing his fingers through his hair.

  He sat for a while staring ahead and after a final look, he started the engine and pulled away.

  He drove the long way home.

  The house was in darkness as Marc pulled the car into the driveway.

  When was the last time he had come home to an empty house? Naomi and I had always met him at the door when he came home from work. Not tonight, nor any other night.

  He struggled to get the key in the lock but eventually he managed and opened the door. He walked in and I snuck in before he closed the door behind him.

  George was already there.

  So there I was – standing in the hallway I had left only a few hours earlier. Marc hadn’t switched on the light but I could make out his shape against the glass of the window he was standing beside.

  He looked lost.

  He fumbled on the wall to his left and eventually managed to switch on the light.

  I said ‘Oh God,’ and lifted my hands to my mouth, biting my thumbs as I saw, close up and fully illuminated, the desperation etched over his face.

  I hopped onto the bottom step as he passed me on his way to the living room. He didn’t bother with the light this time and heard him fall into the chair nearest the door.

  I followed him into the room and stood behind the chair he was sitting in. I know it’s a cliché, but I finally understood the meaning of the saying ‘so close yet so far away’.

  He sat in the darkness and I stood behind him feeling numb.

  It was only after he had sat for a long time that he finally leaned over and switched on a lamp. He sat for a few more minutes before he picked up the phone.

  Marc has no siblings and not many close friends but Liam was one of the few he did have. They had been friends since they were at school together and Liam had been best man at our wedding.

  I watched Marc punch Liam’s number into the keypad. His eyes moved around the room as he waited for his call to be answered.

  ‘Liam.’ Marc sat forward in the armchair and with his elbow on his knee and rested his head in the heel of his hand. ‘It’s Ellen …’ His mouth was opening and closing but no words came out. ‘She’s dead,’ he said.

  I heard the knock on the door and without thinking went to answer it. I’d walked a few steps before I gave myself a metaphorical slap across the face for being so stupid.

  ‘Liam’s here,’ I said.

  Maybe Marc hadn’t heard the knock or maybe he’d chosen to ignore it, but either way he didn’t move from his chair. I looked to George for help. He touched the handle and the door opened. Liam had a surprised look on his face and as he came in he looked behind the door as if to question how it had opened. He closed it gently but firmly behind him.

  He moved towards the only room with a light on.

  Marc?’ he said. ‘It’s me, are you in …?’

  Liam didn’t even try to hide the shock on his face as he looked at Marc, who was sitting in the chair and staring straight ahead.

  ‘Jesus, Marc. What’s happened?’

  Marc didn’t move a muscle, not even to blink as far as I could see.

  At first Liam looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he moved nervously to the end of the sofa and sat down.

  Liam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his fingers through his hair and joined his hands and let them fall and hang in the space between his knees. He ran his tongue over his lips. All the while he looked at his friend who just stared into the space ahead.

  Without thinking, I moved away to give them privacy and I joined George in the corner of the room. It seemed like he’d already had my idea. I held my breath as we watched the men.

  There was a long period of silence where the only sound was the clock ticking. Or was that my heart beating?

  Liam looked uncomfortable. I’d heard the conversation he’d had with Marc and knew it had ended as soon as Marc had said ‘She’s dead.’ Either Liam had hung up and raced here at that point or Marc had shut down and not said any more. I wasn’t sure which. Either way, Liam was in the dark about the exact nature of the problem. He started to probe that darkness a bit.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said cautiously. ‘What did you mean …?’

  Liam didn’t finish because Marc shifted his head. He was facing Liam now, allowing Liam to see properly for the first time the full horror of what he was going through.

  ‘She’s dead, Liam.’ He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I could see his lip trembling as he spoke. ‘Ellen’s dead.’

  Liam’s head moved to the side and he shook it ever so slightly. His mouth tried to form a word but then he changed his mind and looked for another. Eventually he settled on, ‘What happened?’

  Marc didn’t reply immediately and Liam didn’t press him. He watched Marc’s suffering from a few feet away although by the look on Liam’s face I’d say the distance felt much greater. Liam obviously didn’t know what to do.

  They sat in silence, Liam leaning forward and Marc sitting back. They sat like that for a long time before Marc spoke.

  ‘She’d picked Naomi up from school.’ Marc’s voice, though barely above a whisper echoed through the silence. He looked at Liam before turning away. When he turned back, his eyes were angry. ‘He was drunk, Liam.’ Marc struggled with the words. ‘The police said the bastard was drunk.’

  Liam’s eyes widened. His
mouth moved into the position to make a ‘W’ sound but never got any further.

  Marc took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘She never stood a chance,’ he said. His eyes were drawn to the photograph that sat beside the telephone. It showed us on our wedding day, happy and smiling. ‘She never stood a chance. They said he came out of nowhere and she never …’

  I didn’t know if he was planning on saying ‘stood a chance’ or ‘knew a thing’ but either would have been true.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Liam’s words were almost lost as he ran his hand over his mouth. ‘Mate, I am so sorry.’

  I felt like an outsider, as if I was watching two actors playing out a scene, but instead of sitting in the audience I was on the stage with them.

  ‘I identified her.’ There was a pathetic note to Marc’s voice. He looked up from his clasped hands. ‘They said they could arrange for me to spend time with the body but I said no .’ He blew out a breath. ‘I couldn’t do it,’ he said slowly. ‘I couldn’t look at her, not laid on a cold slab like a piece of meat. I didn’t want to see my wife like that.’

  Liam nodded his head.

  I could feel myself shaking and once again George steadied me. ‘Maybe we should go,’ he whispered in my ear but I shook my head. It was uncomfortable but it felt like I had to be there. To tell you the truth, I’d been a bit upset that Marc hadn’t wanted to spend some time with me … with my body. It made me feel like, I don’t know, like he didn’t care. I knew in my heart that wasn’t the case but I needed to see how he was feeling. I could see he was barely holding things together.

  When Liam stood up and moved slowly towards us I could see how distraught he was too. There were no tears, and I wouldn’t have expected there to be, but shock was painted over his face. Though he had started out as Marc’s friend, over the years we had become friends too. He stood inches from me as he collected two glasses and a half full bottle of whisky from the table in the corner before moving slowly back to his seat and pouring two fingers of the liquid into each glass. He put the bottle on the floor by his feet and handed one of the glasses to Marc.