Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  ‘It’s not you.’ I tried to smile back. ‘I never was the top of the class. My science teacher used to have a hell of a job explaining things to me.’

  I heard him laugh. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Where’s my gran?’

  ‘Here,’ he said and I was about to protest before he added, ‘but in a different dimension.’

  ‘What do you mean a different dimension?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ he said, ‘but that’s how it was explained to me.’ George took out a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. ‘Look, I’m no scientist, so I don’t understand how these things work either. All I know is that when you first come here you are met by someone.’ He pointed to himself. ‘That person is sent to help you.’

  ‘Why didn’t Gran greet me?’

  ‘She’s not a Greeter.’

  But she knows me.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘I thought you’d be met by someone who knew you.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ He laughed as he pinched the end of his cigarette.

  I wasn’t sure why I had thought that… Hollywood, I guess.

  ‘Anyway, the new arrival,’ he pointed to me, ‘has to stay here while they prepare to make the final journey.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘The other place. During their – your time here you’ll have the opportunity to resolve any outstanding issues.’

  ‘What are these issues you keep going on about?’

  George scratched his forehead and then the line along his head where his hair parted. ‘You were taken suddenly,’ he said. ‘You didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or finish things the way you should have. We all have outstanding issues. When yours are resolved that will be the time to move on and go to where your gran is.’

  ‘And my son?’

  ‘And your son.’ He looked away.

  ‘When were you going to tell me about him?’

  ‘I wasn’t. Your gran said that she should be the one to tell you.’

  ‘My gran? When did she say that?’

  ‘She came looking for me before you arrived. She had your son and she asked if she could be the one to tell you.’

  ‘She had my son with her.’ I stood up and started to walk. Stopping, I turned and found George’s face inches from my own. He backed off. ‘Why didn’t she bring him with her?’

  George shrugged and fell into step beside me. ‘I’m sure she had her reasons.’

  I grabbed hold of George’s arm. ‘What did he look like?’ I asked.

  ‘He looked like a baby.’ My eyes implored him to tell me more. ‘Blond hair,’ he said, ‘rosy cheeks.’

  I felt torn between my two children.

  I wanted to be with Naomi. I was convinced that she could sense my presence and I was desperate for her to know I hadn’t abandoned her.

  But then there was Matthew, the child I’d never even held.

  ‘What will my issues be?’ I asked.

  ‘Can’t say for sure,’ George said as he looked at the ground. ‘They’re your issues.’

  I felt like he was holding out on me.

  ‘Can’t you give me a clue?’

  He looked up from the floor. ‘Think about the bench,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  The bench? What did he …?

  ‘Of course,’ I whispered as the penny dropped. ‘Things I should have said and done.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Marc stood in front of my open wardrobe and looked inside. I stood at one shoulder and George at his other.

  ‘Do it,’ I whispered. ‘It has to be done.’

  With dismay, I watched him close the doors and leave the room.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ I asked. ‘It needs doing.’

  ‘Does it need doing now?’ George moved closer to me.

  I looked into his eyes but couldn’t hold the gaze. ‘It needs doing.’ I repeated.

  ‘He’s not ready.’

  It was a couple of weeks after my funeral when Naomi went back to school. She held Marc’s hand tightly as they walked together through the gates. I could see that Marc was talking to her all the time but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. As they walked through the crowd everyone had a word for them.

  ‘Good to see you back,’ said one of the mothers gathered in the yard.

  ‘If there’s anything we can do,’ another said to Marc.

  Marc nodded his thanks and kept walking.

  ‘These people never knew me,’ I told George. ‘That one there,’ I pointed to the one that had spoken first, ‘has twins in Year 6. She couldn’t pick me out of a police line-up.’

  George laughed. ‘Have you been in many police line-ups?’

  ‘No, have you?’

  ‘That’d be telling.’

  My eyes searched out Marc and Naomi and I was pleased to see he was taking her straight inside. Part of me realised that this made her different from her classmates, who were still outside underneath grey clouds.

  I ran to catch up with them.

  ‘You all right, Naomi?’ asked a blonde girl with pigtails.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Naomi answered, without looking up.

  It broke my heart to see Naomi this way. My bright, lively, noisy daughter. Her beautiful body had been stolen by an invading mouse.

  ‘It’ll take time,’ George said.

  ‘How long?’ I asked.

  He shrugged and shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’

  I watched her in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Will she be the same as she was?’

  ‘No.’

  I was horrified. ‘What?’

  ‘She’ll never be quite the same.’ I could feel George’s arm brushing my shoulder. ‘But eventually she’ll adapt. Children are resilient.’

  I wept inside for the child as lost as I was.

  We stood in the middle of the yard at playtime with children rushing around. But for us, there was only one child that interested us. She was easy to spot. She was the one standing alone close to the door. She was the child that watched but didn’t join in.

  Slowly, I moved through the crowd to my child. Her eyes moved to take in what was happening around her.

  I stood beside her and looked down onto the top of her head. I noticed that her parting was crooked. I gave a half laugh at how unimportant that sort of thing was. I crouched until I was on a level with her.

  I had to lean against the rough brick wall to steady myself. I could feel myself shaking and my breathing was short and shallow. There was so much I wanted to say but I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t even know if she would be able to hear me. George had told me that seeing a dead person was one thing, hearing was something totally different. The two things didn’t automatically go together.

  All I knew was that I had to try.

  I opened my mouth and the words came slowly. ‘Naomi,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you but I had no choice. And I haven’t really left, because I’m still here. I can still see you every day like I always did. I can still love you.’ I felt tears forming. ‘I love you, Naomi. I love you now and I’ll love you forever. And I know you will always love me. Just because we live in different places won’t stop me from being your mummy.’

  It felt good to talk to my daughter even if it was one-sided. I had no way of knowing if it was helping her but I knew it was helping me. I paused to sniff back the tears and gather my racing thoughts. ‘I need you to do something for me, Naomi,’ I told her. ‘I need you to be a big girl for me. I need you to look after Daddy for me.’

  Naomi’s head moved and I followed her gaze. She was looking at a group of girls who were talking to each other. I recognised one of them as Amanda, who had been to our house for tea a few times. Amanda was one of Naomi’s best friends, or at least she had been a few weeks ago.

  ‘Why don’t you go and talk to Amanda?’ I suggested, but Naomi didn’t move. ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all
right for you to want to play with your friends.’

  But it was too late and, at the sound of the bell, children formed lines in front of the door. Naomi started to make her way to the back of the line along with her classmates. Not quite at the back of the line was a ginger boy and he took a step back to make room for Naomi. Naomi seemed surprised and she eyed him suspiciously. Cautiously, she moved into the space and I saw her mouth the word ‘Thanks.’

  I too thanked the boy.

  ‘She couldn’t hear me, could she?’ I said sadly as the door to the school closed behind the last of the children.

  George moved his head from side to side in a non-committal motion.

  ‘But I thought … She could see me …’ I said as we walked out of the school gate.

  He didn’t say that he’d warned me this might happen. Instead, he asked. ‘Did you never ignore your mother when you were mad at her?’

  Dad had gone back to work the day after my funeral. ‘No point hanging around,’ he’d said. ‘Moping won’t bring her back.’

  If it could have brought me back my mother would have resurrected me all by herself. She didn’t have a job to take her mind off her loss nor did she have any close friends to comfort her. My mother just had her thoughts.

  George grudgingly told me it had been over a month since my funeral and I hadn’t seen my mother in almost that long. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing now.

  She sat on the edge of the sofa with a china cup and saucer balancing on her knee. Periodically, she lifted the cup to her mouth and took a sip.

  I sat on the arm of the chair to the right of my mother. George sat on the seat of the same chair. We watched in silence. She looked straight ahead and continued to lift the cup to her mouth long after it was empty.

  ‘Were you close?’ George asked.

  I turned to him. ‘She’s my mother.’

  George smiled in that way that I was becoming accustomed to. ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  ‘I’m an only child,’ I said.

  ‘Were there never any other children?’

  ‘No,’ I looked at my mother as I spoke. ‘She had a difficult pregnancy. After I was born the doctors advised that she shouldn’t put herself through it again.’

  ‘Had she wanted more?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Don’t know. I think she would have liked a son but accepted it wasn’t to be. She said it was God’s decision. I think she thought herself lucky to have any children at all.’

  ‘Which parent were you closer to?’

  ‘Dad,’ I said without hesitation.

  ‘Often the way.’

  ‘But I loved her,’ I said defiantly. ‘I do love her.’

  ‘But …?’

  I turned from my mother to George briefly before turning back. ‘She had a hard time accepting that I was grown up,’ I said. ‘There are still days when she treats me like a five-year-old. “Have you done this, Ellen? Why have you done that, Ellen?”’ I spoke without taking my eyes off her. ‘She doesn’t come to my house often but when she does I can feel the scrutiny. She’s looking for specks of dirt on the carpet or a shelf I haven’t dusted. If I make her a cup of tea she’ll hint that it should have been brewed longer. The last time they came to my house for a meal she commented on everything I had made. Too much pepper in the soup, not enough salt in the potatoes …’ I looked at my hands. There was a lump in my throat as I realised I had been talking in the present tense. That was behind me now. ‘It all seems so pointless now.’

  George didn’t let me dwell. ‘Do you think she resented the relationship you had with your father?’

  ‘Yes.’ Once again there was no hesitation.

  I could have spoken about my relationship with my mother for hours but, fortunately for George, the sound of a knock at the door grabbed my attention. My mother looked at her wrist for a watch that wasn’t there. She put the long-empty cup on the table and moved to answer the knock.

  ‘How old is she?’ George asked.

  ‘Not as old as you’d think,’ I replied, shocked by how slowly she moved.

  We heard the front door open.

  ‘Just thought I’d pop in to see how you are.’ It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘How’d you expect?’ my mother asked sourly.

  The door closed with a firmness I doubted was necessary.

  ‘It’ll take time, Peg,’ the woman said as she followed my mother into the room.

  ‘It’s my aunt Lizzie,’ I told George. ‘Mum’s sister.’

  George nodded and I realised there had been no need for an introduction.

  ‘Want a cup of tea?’

  I was pleased to see that despite everything, my mother had not lost her manners. Her sister nodded and Mum went towards the kitchen, taking her used crockery with her.

  Once Mum had gone, Aunt Lizzie looked around the room. I did the same and we took in its disarray together. Lizzie lifted some magazines from the seat of the chair near where my mother had been sitting. She brushed the seat and sat down. I’d never seen my aunt look so nervous and I watched her fidget in her seat.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’ she called into the kitchen.

  There was no response and she remained seated.

  ‘Are they close?’ George leaned over and whispered to my ear.

  ‘Not really,’ I whispered back.

  Eventually, Mum came back carrying a tray, which she set down on the coffee table. She handed a cup and saucer to her sister and offered a plate of biscuits which were declined.

  The women sat in silence.

  ‘Have you been out yet?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘I went to the funeral.’ The frown on Mum’s face was set like concrete.

  ‘I meant since then.’ Lizzie’s was softer.

  ‘Haven’t needed to.’

  There was silence again.

  ‘Brian’s gone back to work?’ Aunt Lizzie was working hard at starting a conversation.

  ‘Yes.’ Mum was staring into her cup. ‘He said he might as well.’ She paused. ‘He behaves like normal. He goes to work, he comes home. It’s as if everything is the way it was before.’

  My aunt was staring at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Peg,’ Lizzie said, putting her cup and saucer down, ‘but you can’t go on like this. You’ve got to pull yourself together.’ My mother didn’t respond. She didn’t shift her gaze or open her mouth. ‘You’re not doing yourself any good staying in the house brooding all day.’ Lizzie leaned forward as she spoke.

  ‘Lost many children, have you?’

  I was horrified, but Lizzie was controlled.

  ‘You know I have.’

  They locked eyes for what seemed like minutes.

  ‘A miscarriage isn’t the same.’ It seemed like Mum was spitting the words.

  ‘It was my child, Peg.’ The calmness in my aunt’s voice couldn’t hide her anger. ‘They were my children … all five of them.’

  ‘But you never knew them.’ I was appalled by my mother. I knew she was grieving but I could find no excuse for the words she was saying.

  ‘So what you never know you never miss, Peg?’ My aunt struggled to hold onto her composure.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Mum put her cup down, her hand shaking. ‘She was all I had … and now she’s gone.’

  I noticed the compassion in my aunt’s eyes as she looked at her sister. ‘You’ve still got your memories.’

  ‘I don’t want my memories.’ We were all surprised to hear my mother scream. ‘I want her … I want my baby back.’ She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  They didn’t speak or look at each other for a long time. Eventually, it was my mother who spoke.

  ‘How could you do it, Lizzie?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Keep trying again and again.’

  ‘I wanted a child.’

  ‘But how could you put yourself through it knowing what had happened before?’

  ‘I wanted a child,’ she repeated.


  Silence again.

  ‘You come to terms with it,’ Lizzie said, her voice quiet and slow. ‘You realise that things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. You have to move on.’ She looked at my mother. ‘Life has to go on, Peg.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re alive.’

  ‘Ellen’s not.’ The sobs that racked my mother’s body were painful to watch. She shook with each one.

  ‘Mum, don’t cry,’ I said, my hand outstretched to her.

  ‘She needs to.’ I felt George’s arm around my shoulder and I leaned into him. I was glad he was there.

  Aunt Lizzie knelt in front of my mother. Their hands were joined together, knuckles white with the force of their grasp.

  ‘I miss her so much,’ Mum sobbed.

  ‘I know you do, Peg.’ Lizzie smoothed her sister’s hair. ‘But you’ll see her again one day.’

  My mother stopped crying and stared at her sister with a look that scared me. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said.

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘That I’ll see her again.’ She was breathing heavily. ‘If I thought that by being dead I’d see her again I’d go in that kitchen and slit my throat with the bread knife.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say that.’ Lizzie seemed shocked by Mum’s outburst.

  ‘I mean it, Lizzie.’ She pulled her hands free. ‘Ellen always said that once you were gone you were gone and she was right.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m not. She’s gone.’

  ‘But only from this world.’

  Mum pushed herself away from her sister. ‘What other world is there?’

  ‘This one, Mum.’ I moved towards her. ‘There’s this one.’ But of course, she could not hear me.

  ‘I get great comfort from knowing that my babies are in a better place,’ Lizzie said as she pushed herself to her feet.

  ‘Well, I get no comfort from knowing my baby is dead.’

  My aunt looked at her sister with sad eyes.

  ‘How’s Naomi?’ she asked.

  Mum shrugged. ‘All right, I think. Marc was talking about taking her back to school this week.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’ll do her good to get back into a routine.’