Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  ‘Why must I?’

  ‘Because you must.’

  He scratched his head.

  ‘But I don’t,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t know why it happens, just that sometimes it does. It’s an intermittent thing. It doesn’t happen for everyone and, like I told you, seeing and hearing are two different things. Even though she’s seen you doesn’t mean she’ll ever be able to hear you.’ He paused a second. ‘And I should warn you it won’t last forever.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you won’t be here forever.’

  ‘Where will I be?’

  George sighed heavily like a teacher losing patience with a child that doesn’t listen. ‘The other dimension.’

  ‘Where Gran lives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why does Matthew live there?’

  George looked puzzled – or was he just bored? ‘Your son has no issues to be resolved.’

  I nodded. How could he have any issues when he had never been born? He hadn’t had to wait in this holding place. George and I reverted back to the silence we had shared for most of the night.

  I rested my head on the back of the sofa and looked at the ceiling while George surveyed the entire room.

  ‘Did you really choose this colour?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said indignantly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Is this how you imagined it would look?’

  I did as George was doing. By the time my eyes were resting on the third pistachio-coloured wall I could see what George meant and I laughed out loud.

  ‘What are you laughing at, Mummy?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Naomi stood in the doorway with one small hand holding onto the door handle, the other one clutching the teddy bear that dangled by her side. The light behind her formed a halo around her body.

  ‘Naomi,’ I finally managed to say.

  ‘I told Daddy I’d seen you.’ She had moved from the doorway to stand in front of me. Her eyes flitted over me. ‘I was right.’

  ‘Oh …’ I didn’t know what to say. I turned to George for inspiration but there was none forthcoming.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Naomi asked. It hadn’t occurred to me that she could see both of us.

  ‘He …’ I finally had the chance to speak to my child and no words would form.

  ‘I’m George.’ He waved the fingers of his right hand.

  ‘Hello, George, I’m Naomi. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  I felt great pride in Naomi’s politeness.

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased that we finally get a chance to talk.’

  ‘Are you Mummy’s friend?’ she asked in a very manner of fact sort of way.

  ‘Well, I don’t know if …’

  ‘Yes,’ I interrupted. ‘George is my friend.’

  Naomi climbed up onto the sofa and sat in between us. ‘What were you laughing about?’ she asked.

  ‘We were laughing,’ I said the words slowly, trying to remember, ‘about the wallpaper.’

  She looked around and at each of us in turn. Her girly giggles were music to my ears.

  ‘It looks like mushy peas,’ Naomi said through her laughter.

  ‘It looks like frogs,’ George joined in.

  ‘Hey,’ I said defensively.’ I picked that colour.’ I smiled at the two happy faces then admitted, ‘You’re right it’s awful. I can’t imagine why Daddy put it on the walls.’

  Naomi suddenly became more serious. ‘Daddy said you lived in Heaven now,’ she said.

  ‘I know, sweetheart, I heard him.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Live in Heaven.’

  I looked at George and found he was looking at the floor. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Were you bad?’

  ‘I don’t understand, darling,’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, were you bad and that’s why you don’t live in Heaven?’

  The idea surprised me. ‘I don’t know,’ I looked at George again and this time he was looking at me. ‘Was I bad, George?’

  His body shook as he chuckled. ‘No, you weren’t bad.’

  ‘So why isn’t Mummy in Heaven?’

  He scratched his head. ‘That’s a very grown-up question for a young lady.’ He shuffled forward in his seat until his head was close to hers. ‘It’s just that your mummy needs to do some things before she goes to Heaven.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Just things,’ he smiled and tilted his head to one side.

  ‘Oh.’ Naomi accepted the answer with a nod.

  The sound of buzzing made the three of us look towards the ceiling. The alarm clock was louder these days, probably because Marc had trouble rousing himself in the morning.

  ‘Daddy’s up,’ Naomi said excitedly. ‘I’ll go and get him.’ She started to climb from the perch on which she sat.

  I put my hand out. ‘No, darling.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, furrowing her brow.

  I didn’t have to answer because Marc, realising his daughter wasn’t where she should have been, had come to look for her. He appeared at the still-open doorway, tying the belt of his robe and running his hand through his hair.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ he asked in a sleepy voice.

  She twisted her face to look at him and I noticed the ever so slight nod of her head towards where I sat.

  ‘Come on, let’s make breakfast.’ He was already making his way to the kitchen.

  She turned back to me. ‘Daddy can’t see you, can he, Mummy?’

  ‘How come, Naomi can see me but Marc can’t?’ I asked the words slowly.

  George shrugged slightly, which he did a lot. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He did that a lot too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  It had been almost a week since Naomi had found George and me in the living room.

  ‘Here and there.’

  ‘I thought you’d be here when I got home from school,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I said softly. ‘I wanted to be.’

  ‘Then why weren’t you?’ She was sitting on the window seat that Marc had built for her last summer. She looked through the window onto the garden. I squirmed on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I had to be somewhere else.’

  ‘Where?’

  I know had I still been alive I would have scolded Naomi for speaking to me so rudely. The reality of my situation stopped me from doing so.

  ‘It’s so hard,’ I said, gazing above at the night sky. Thousands of stars glittered through the dark blanket.

  ‘Yes,’ George agreed, ‘it’s almost impossible.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Well, the way I do it is to lie on my back, start at the left, and work my way over to the right.’

  ‘What?’ I looked at him and found he had his head thrown up. He moved it from side to side before lowering it. ‘Causes a stiff neck otherwise.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Have you replaced the nicotine in that cigarette with something stronger?’

  ‘You said it was hard, I agreed and was just giving you the benefit of my experience.’

  ‘Experience at what, exactly?’

  George looked puzzled. ‘Counting stars.’

  ‘Why would I want to count stars? It’s impossible.’

  ‘Almost impossible. You need a clear night and a lot of patience.’

  I gave a laugh.

  ‘When I said it was hard I was talking about Naomi.’

  ‘But you were looking at the stars.’

  ‘Because she’s not here.’ I said as if I was talking to a half-wit.

  George put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. ‘I think it might be easier to count the stars.’

  He started to walk down the deserted street and I followed closely. It didn’t matter which world I was in, I was still afraid of being alone at night.

  ‘She�
��s never spoken to me the way she did earlier.’ I was slightly out of breath as I tried to keep up with him.

  ‘So why did you let her?’

  ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘What would you have done before?’ He gave me a sideways glance.

  ‘I’d have sent her to her room to think about what she’d said. Why, what would you have done?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s not up to me, she’s not my daughter.’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t send her to her room, could I?’ I sounded defensive without realising it.

  ‘No, you couldn’t,’ he said slowly. ‘Not as she was already in her room.’ He tried to make a joke but I wasn’t in the mood. His mood changed too. ‘But you could have done something else.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked sharply.

  ‘She still needs discipline.’

  ‘How exactly would I do that?’

  George stopped walking and turned so suddenly that I almost bumped into him. ‘You’re the parent. You know what would affect her.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Alright,’ George said, in that patient way your grandfather did when he was trying to explain what half a crown was. ‘What used to work won’t work now. You can’t tell Naomi to go to her room because you can’t make her. You have to think of the one thing that will make her stop and think.’

  ‘But I don’t know what that is.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ The left half of his mouth curled in a strange half smile. I shook my head. ‘Tell her you won’t come to see her ever again.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’ He held up the little finger on his right hand and moved it in small circles. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘This, Ellen,’ he exaggerated the circles, ‘is what Naomi is doing.’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ I was indignant.

  ‘She knows your weak spot,’

  ‘What weak spot?’

  ‘All children know their parents’ weak spots.’

  ‘But I’m dead.’

  ‘And yet she can still hurt you.’ He walked away and I had to run to catch up.

  We walked in silence.

  I hadn’t liked the way Naomi had spoken to me and, yes, she had hurt my feelings. I didn’t want that behaviour to become a habit for her. But how could I punish a child who had suffered so much already?

  It was the first time I’d seen where Marc worked. Obviously I’d seen the building, but Marc’s office was on the second floor and not visible from where I parked the car on the rare occasions I had picked him up.

  Marc’s office was open plan and he shared it with three other people.

  I could see Marc at the desk in the back corner of the room. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen in front of him and I could hear fingers tapping a keyboard. Stephen, who had started working for the company on the same day Marc had, sat at the desk to the front of Marc and seemed to be occupied in a similar manner. The desk to Marc’s right was empty but two women stood by the other, looking out of the window.

  George looked around the room like a policeman looking for a clue.

  ‘What does he do?’ George asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘Something with computers and numbers.’

  ‘Do you know these people?’

  ‘I know Stephen. We sat with him and his wife at the Christmas party last year. One of those girls is Diane and the other one is Rosie. I’ve heard Marc mention them but I’ve never met them.’

  ‘What? They don’t like Christmas parties?’

  I laughed. ‘According to Marc they hadn’t fancied spending an evening with their middle-aged colleagues and their middle-aged spouses.’

  ‘But you’re not middle-aged?’

  ‘It’s all relative, I suppose.’

  As the two women moved to their desks I noticed that neither of them could be over twenty-five. The brunette looked the older of the two. She sat sideways to her desk and pretended to be looking through a stack of papers but I saw she was really giving all of her attention to my husband.

  ‘Shouldn’t she be working?’

  I wondered if I sounded as catty as I felt.

  ‘Who?’ George was admiring the younger woman and had to force his eyes away from her.

  ‘Her.’

  ‘She is,’ he said.

  ‘No, she’s not,’ I scoffed. ‘She might think it looks like she’s reading something but she’s looking at Marc.’ The sound of jealousy in my voice surprised me but if George noticed he didn’t mention it.

  I moved my eyes from her to Marc, who seemed oblivious to the scrutiny he was under. Maybe he did feel her eyes on him because he looked in her direction. She looked away quickly and I detected a hint of a smile on her lips as she shared a look with the blonde.

  Stephen swivelled his chair and looked towards the brunette’s desk. ‘Any chance of that report?’ he asked.

  ‘Keep you hair on, Stevie.’ She laughed at her own joke.

  Stephen looked bored in a ‘haven’t heard that said to a bald bloke before’ sort of way. ‘I need it by lunch time, Rosie.’

  So she was Rosie.

  George and I sat on Naomi’s bed and waited for her to come home from school. I had thought about what George had said and he was right. I might be dead, but I was still Naomi’s mother.

  We didn’t have to wait long before we heard the sound of voices. The closing of the front door was quickly followed by Naomi’s footsteps climbing the stairs.

  I shuffled nervously and waited for my daughter to come in. She did, but not before I heard her shout, ‘Can I have some sketti?’ to Nancy, who would be going into the kitchen to prepare Naomi some food. Nancy was the sixteen-year-old daughter of our next-door neighbour. Marc had hired her to pick Naomi up from school and look after her until he got home. She had apparently worked out that the secret to making Spaghetti Hoops taste the way Naomi liked them was to add a handful of grated cheese.

  Naomi came in swinging her school bag. Her surprise at seeing us was obvious and she dropped her bag on the floor. The look was replaced by a smile and she ran the short distance between us.

  ‘Mummy, where’ve you been?’ she asked. ‘I thought you weren’t coming back.’

  I glanced at George and he threw me the faintest of smiles.

  ‘You didn’t seem too pleased to see me last time we were here.’ She looked puzzled. ‘You sat looking out of the window,’ I reminded her.

  She lowered her head and looked at her hands. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did, Naomi,’ I said quietly. ‘And I think you know that you did.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘You hurt me very much,’ I told her.

  ‘But you hurt me too,’ she said quietly.

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  She paused and I could tell that she was thinking of what to say.

  ‘You went away,’ she whispered.

  ‘I didn’t.’ Now it was my time for denial.

  ‘You did, Mummy,’ she insisted. ‘You went away and then you came back and I thought you’d come back for ever.’ Her eyes were huge as they looked into mine. ‘Then you went away again.’

  I could feel tears forming behind my eyes. ‘I didn’t want to go away, Naomi.’ I said defensively.

  ‘But you did.’

  ‘I know I did but it wasn’t my fault.’

  Naomi screwed up her nose in the way that she always did when she was thinking.

  ‘Why didn’t you take me with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ I said lamely.

  There was more silence.

  ‘It was horrible.’ Naomi’s voice was barely audible. She held her head down as if it were too heavy for her neck.

  ‘What was?’ I coaxed.

  She lifted her head slowly until our eyes were joined once more. ‘The car came straight at us,’ she said slowly. ‘It didn’t stop like it was supposed to. He was driving too fast.’ Her words came slowly a
nd her eyes looked at a point somewhere over my shoulder. ‘Then he hit us.’ The tempo of her speech increased. ‘I pulled my legs up because I thought that he was going to hit them … but he didn’t, he just hit you.’ Her eyes were moist as they looked into mine. ‘He hit you, Mummy. You were bleeding. I shouted at you. I shouted “wake up” but you didn’t.’

  I didn’t know if the tears I was wiping away were real or not but I wiped them anyway.

  ‘And then I heard you shouting my name,’ Naomi continued, her words slower now. ‘I didn’t understand because you were asleep and you were bleeding but I could hear you shouting.’ Her eyes flitted from me to George and back again. ‘And then I saw you standing with him.’ It sounded like she was accusing George of stealing me.

  ‘George came to look after me,’ I explained.

  ‘And I knew you were dead,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why you couldn’t go with your mummy,’ George intervened. ‘It wasn’t your time.’

  ‘Why was it Mummy’s time?’

  ‘I don’t know. We don’t make those decisions.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘There’s a man in Heaven who makes those decisions.’

  ‘Do you mean God?’ she asked eagerly.

  George laughed. ‘Yeah, I think that’s what they call him.’

  ‘Then I hate Him.’

  George stopped laughing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I’d half expected to see my mum in the kitchen making my dad’s tea. In all the years they’d been married, they had always eaten within five minutes of my dad getting home from work. I checked the clock and saw that dad was due home in less than half an hour and yet the kitchen was empty.

  We found my mother in the living room. I barely recognised her. She looked much worse than the last time I had seen her.

  One of the things about Mum that used to make me laugh was that she always wore make-up. She had always got up early to ‘put her face on’. I had rarely seen her in her natural state before. She looked like an old woman, years older than she actually was.

  Her clothes were equally shocking. I would never have imagined that my mother even owned a pair of jogging trousers.

  ‘My God, what’s wrong?’ I realised how stupid the question was before I had finished asking it.