Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  ‘She’s dead.’

  George and I looked at each other. ‘Apparently she can,’ he said.

  They were both looking at Marc but he seemed unaware. I looked at him too. He was looking better. He had regained some of the weight he had lost and his face had lost the grey pallor.

  Watching him was wonderful. Watching him made me feel alive again, which was great for a while but then I would remember and it was like dying all over again.

  Movement to the left of me made me take my eyes away from Marc. Rosie moved slightly on the edge of the desk to expose more thigh.

  ‘Look at that.’ I turned to George and realised I had no need to point Rosie out. His eyes were fixed firmly on her.

  The girls were continuing their whispered conversation.

  ‘How old is he?’ Diane asked.

  ‘Too old for her,’ I found myself shouting as Rosie shook her head.

  ‘Thirtyish,’ she suggested.

  ‘Thirty-five,’ I corrected.

  ‘Really?’ George said.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered with pride. ‘Doesn’t look it.’ I turned my attention back to Rosie. ‘And just how old are you?’

  ‘If he’s thirty that only makes him eight years older than me. That’s OK.’

  ‘Yeah, but you work with him.’ Diane said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I think you’re playing with fire.’ Diane rolled her chair to the right and hit the keyboard of her computer. It appeared that Diane was bored with the conversation and was going to do some work.

  ‘Too right she is.’

  My face was inches from Rosie’s as I gave her the warning.

  ‘Why does it bother you so much?’ George asked.

  ‘Why does what bother me?’

  ‘That girl.’ He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the office building we had just left.

  ‘Which girl?’ I knew exactly what he was talking about but I was not happy acknowledging it.

  ‘I don’t know what she’s called. The one that’s set her cap at Marc.’

  ‘Rosie.’ I made the word sound dirty.

  We’d walked about a hundred yards before he repeated, ‘Why does it bother you?’

  ‘Why do you think?’

  He took a step backwards. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I know it’s stupid.’

  ‘It’s not stupid.’

  I appreciated George’s tone. It wasn’t patronising and I knew he understood.

  ‘She was talking about my husband.’ I stopped and leaned against the wall of a building we were passing. George leant facing me.

  ‘It’s not stupid,’ he repeated.

  ‘Then why do I feel stupid?’

  He shrugged.

  I turned so that it was my back and head that were against the wall. ‘He’ll find someone else, won’t he?’

  ‘Probably.’ George still rested on his shoulder and I could feel him looking at me. ‘But I don’t see it being the girl upstairs.’

  ‘Really?’ I felt cheered by the thought. ‘It’ll be somebody else though, won’t it?’ I said, my cheeriness gone.

  George moved his head down and up.

  ‘I can’t bear it.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ He pushed himself off the wall and shrugged his jacket back into position. ‘Otherwise you and I are going to be here a long time.’ He started to move off.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. I grabbed his arm and forced him to turn around. ‘George?’

  He sighed as he looked over my shoulder to where we’d come from. He pursed his lips and the tip of his tongue poked out. He jerked his head in the direction of Marc’s office as he said, ‘Does that look finished to you?’

  As I watched George walk away, I understood.

  Hours later and I couldn’t get the thought of Marc with another woman out of my mind.

  George and I were in my parents’ house but it was late, well past their bedtime, and the house was quiet. It was also dark and I was happy for that. I was lying on the sofa looking at the ceiling. George was sitting in the chair my dad usually occupied.

  I knew I was being unreasonable. I was dead and Marc was alive. They were the facts and I accepted them. But I still loved Marc. Being dead didn’t make the feelings I’d had when I was alive any less potent. I loved him as much now as I’d ever done.

  ‘It’s so hard,’ I whispered.

  ‘Did you think it would be easy?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it at all,’ I said, turning onto my side. ‘Why would I?’

  George didn’t answer. I could just about make him out in the darkness and I knew he was looking at me.

  ‘What did you mean earlier?’ I asked, lifting myself up onto my elbow.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About us being here a long time.’

  ‘I think you know.’

  He was right.

  ‘I want him to be happy,’ I said without conviction. ‘Really.’ I sat upright. ‘I do.’

  George looked sceptical. ‘If you say so.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I was surprised by the sight of my mother entering the living room. My first thought was that we had been there longer than I realised and it was already morning. A quick glance at the window showed me that wasn’t the case. It was still the middle of the night.

  Mum walked through the room in darkness and went into the kitchen. As she put the light on, a faint beam of light shone into the living room. That beam fell over the clock on the wall. I could just about make out the time – three o’clock. I could also make out that Mum was wearing the dressing gown I had given her last Christmas.

  Mum turned the light off and moved carefully to a chair, carrying a mug of hot liquid. As my eyes adjusted to the light I could follow her progress by the gentle waft of steam that rose from her cup.

  She sat down and took a sip from the mug.

  She took a deep breath. I saw her resting her head against the back of the chair.

  ‘Ellen, I’m sorry.’ Her words echoed in the silence.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said instinctively, without knowing what it was she was apologising for.

  ‘I’ve let you down so badly,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t the mother you deserved.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum.’

  ‘I expect you’d say it doesn’t matter,’ she said with a smile on her face. ‘That’s because you were such a sweet person. You never held grudges. Live and let live, that’s what you used to say. But it does matter. To me, anyway.’

  She lifted the cup to her mouth and took two huge gulps. I winced because the liquid must have been scolding hot. She didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Too late for that now. Can’t go back and send you to ballet class, can I? Can’t take you shopping for your first bra.’

  I was still embarrassed by the memory of being the only girl in PE class wearing a vest instead of a bra. She emptied her mug and put it on the table.

  ‘It’s too late for that now. I promise you, wherever you are, I won’t let you down any more.’ She pushed herself up and balanced on the edge of the chair. Her words were just a whisper in the darkness. ‘I just hope I’ve not left it too late.’

  She got to her feet and walked out of the room. She closed the door softly behind her.

  Naomi eyed my mother warily for a second before running up to her. Naomi threw her arms around my mother’s thighs and squeezed. The left side of Naomi’s face, her eyes closed tightly, was buried in the pleats of my mother’s skirt.

  Naomi’s reaction caught my mother off guard. She looked at the creature that had attached itself to her legs. Her surprise was followed by something else when the faintest smile appeared on her face as she put her hand on the top of my daughter’s head. She held her hand there for a few seconds and stroked the hair gently. Just as gently, she was whispering her granddaughter’s name.

  I wiped away tears I thought I could feel on my cheeks. Aunt Lizzie wiped away tears of her own but my
mother let hers fall untamed.

  Marc, who had let the women into the house, watched from the doorway. His eyes were on his daughter.

  Naomi was mumbling.

  ‘What’s that?’ Aunt Lizzie asked as she bent down to Naomi’s level.

  Naomi said it again but still no-one could hear.

  ‘Can you say it a bit louder, sweetheart?’ Aunt Lizzie laughed. ‘Your auntie’s going a bit deaf in her old age.’

  Naomi adjusted her face so her mouth was clear of the pleats. She was laughing too. ‘You’re not old, Auntie Liz,’ she said. She moved her head back so she could see my mother’s face. ‘I said I missed you, Granny Peg.’

  My mother could only smile.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to see me?’ Still words eluded my mother. Naomi turned her attention to my aunt. ‘Why didn’t Granny Peg come to see me?’

  My aunt chose her words carefully. ‘Granny Peg’s not been well.’

  Simple usually works best.

  Naomi looked up to my mother. ‘Have you been poorly?’ My mother’s smile could not hide her embarrassment. ‘Are you still poorly?’ Naomi persisted.

  Marc moved from his position in the doorway. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said as he disappeared towards the kitchen.

  Naomi finally relinquished her hold on my mother’s thighs and the three of them moved to the sofa. The women sat at either end and Naomi perched herself between them. She pushed herself to the back of the sofa and looked from her grandmother to her great-aunt and back again.

  No-one spoke, not even Naomi. No words, just glances, nervous ones from the adults and curious ones from my child.

  Marc came back with the drinks and still no-one had spoken. He looked at his mother-in-law, then at her sister, and finally his daughter. He wrinkled his nose at her and smiled. If my heart had still been working, the look he gave her would have stopped it.

  ‘Right,’ he tried to sound breezy, ‘if you’ll excuse me I’ve got some work to do. I’ll leave the three of you to catch up.’

  Naomi laughed as she watched him leave the room but still no-one spoke.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ I said impatiently as I walked to the centre of the room. I directed my words at my mother. ‘I thought you wanted to talk to her,’ I said. ‘She’s right beside you, talk to her. Or at least give her a cuddle.’

  ‘Hello,’ Naomi said.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ I said instinctively before returning my attention to my mother. I was about to speak when I realised what had happened. I looked at George and he looked as nervous as I felt.

  Both my mother and her sister were looking at Naomi, who in turn was looking at me.

  ‘Who are you saying hello to, darling?’ Aunt Lizzie asked.

  ‘Where’s George?’ Naomi was looking straight at me. My eyes gave away his location and she turned to look at him. ‘Hello, George,’ she called as she waved her hand.

  Aunt Lizzie and my mother looked where Naomi was looking.

  George waved back to Naomi and mouthed the word ‘hello’.

  The two women looked at each other. Both wore a look of confusion.

  ‘Why are you hiding in the corner, George?’ Naomi asked. George looked embarrassed as everyone looked in his direction.

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ he said.

  My aunt took Naomi’s hand to regain her attention. ‘Is George your friend?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘Not what, pardon,’ my mother said, her old self fighting to emerge.

  Aunt Lizzie threw Mum a look that said that this was not the time to be correcting Naomi’s speech. ‘Is George you’re friend?’ she repeated.

  Naomi thought for a moment before declaring, ‘I know George, but he’s Mummy’s friend.’

  ‘Mummy’s friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘And he’s here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My mother seemed confused and my aunt proceeded cautiously.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There.’ Naomi pointed to the corner of the room. Aunt Lizzie looked directly at George and I was surprised when he waved at her. Naomi laughed.

  ‘What?’ Aunt Lizzie asked. Apparently my mother didn’t feel the need to correct her sister’s speech.

  ‘He’s waving at you, Auntie Liz,’ Naomi told her.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He was but he’s stopped now.’

  Aunt Lizzie nodded.

  ‘George is funny,’ Naomi leaned towards her to share this as if it was a secret.

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why is George funny? What does he do that’s funny?’

  Naomi had to think for a moment. ‘He doesn’t do anything really, he’s just funny. He looks funny,’ she said finally. George pulled a face and Naomi giggled. ‘And he wears funny clothes.’ George looked down at what he was wearing and Naomi laughed some more.

  My mother managed to find her voice but her words came slowly. ‘You said he was Mummy’s friend.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him. I knew all your mummy’s friends.’

  ‘He’s her new friend.’ Naomi’s answers came naturally.

  ‘Her new friend?’

  ‘Yes, he’s always with her.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s always with her?’

  Naomi seemed confused. ‘He’s always with her,’ she said again.

  ‘And you say he’s here now?’

  ‘Yes, he’s over there.’ She pointed once more to the corner of the room.

  ‘And your mummy?’ my mother asked, her eyes, darting around the room.

  ‘There.’ Naomi pointed directly at me.

  My mother looked but did not see.

  ‘Can I have a word with you, Marc?’ my mother said under her breath.

  I knew my mother would not be able to leave the house without having ‘a word’ with Marc.

  ‘Course.’

  ‘How long has Naomi been like this?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know,’ she said cautiously, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

  ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ he said, shaking his head.

  My mother looked around to make sure she couldn’t be overheard. She needn’t have worried because Naomi and Aunt Lizzie had their heads together and were sharing a secret of their own. Just to be certain, my mother turned her back to the pair. ‘Naomi says she can see Ellen,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Marc squawked. ‘I thought she was over that.’

  ‘Over it?’

  Marc waved the question away. ‘What else did Naomi say?’

  My mother took a deep breath. ‘Naomi says there’s a man called George with her.’

  ‘George who?’

  ‘I don’t know, just George. Apparently he looks after her on the other side.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why does she need looking after?’

  Did my husband sound jealous?

  My mother shook her head. ‘I don’t know and I don’t think that’s the issue.’ They stared at each other. ‘The point is, Naomi thinks she can see her mother.’

  Marc looked over my mother’s shoulder to where Naomi was trying to pick up Aunt Lizzie’s huge handbag. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise. Haven’t you noticed anything?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘not recently.’

  Marc sat in the corner of the sofa and rested his feet on the middle seat. Naomi nestled against his chest. He stroked her hair and I sensed that he was waiting for the right moment.

  ‘I miss her too, you know,’ he said softly. ‘And I know you do.’ Naomi made no response and he continued tentatively. ‘Sometimes I wish I could talk to her. Well, more than sometimes, all the time. Every day I wish I could talk to her. I wish I could ask her how to plait your hair.’ Marc looked straight ahead as he spoke. He was looking at me. ‘I
wish I could ask her how to iron the pleats in your school skirt. I wish I could ask her what she used to do to make spaghetti taste the way you like it.’

  I wondered why those three things still bothered him so much.

  Naomi lifted her head. ‘Granny Peg told you, didn’t she?’

  Marc nodded. ‘Yes, darling, she did.’

  ‘She doesn’t believe me, does she?’

  ‘Well …’ Marc was evasive.

  ‘And you don’t either.’ She put her head back on his chest. ‘I’m not lying, Daddy.’ Naomi’s voice was low, barely above a whisper.

  Marc looked like he was trying to find something to say but failing. He stroked the top of her head. ‘I didn’t say you were,’ he said sadly. ‘I just wish I could see her too.’

  He closed his eyes.

  Marc sat in the pistachio room with only a small lamp for illumination. Two fingers of whisky sat in the glass he held in his hand.

  ‘Oh, Ellen,’ he said as he looked into his glass. The sound of my name startled me. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘About what?’ I asked.

  He took a large drink from the glass and threw his head back. He closed his eyes and I noticed how tired he looked.

  ‘She says she can see you,’ He took another mouthful of whisky and swallowed. ‘Why can she see you?’ he asked with his eyes still closed. ‘Why can’t I see you? Why do you come to see her and not me? Do you really have a friend called George?’ He opened his eyes and focused on his glass. He laughed.

  George and I exchanged a look that told me he didn’t know why Marc was laughing either. Marc emptied his glass and stretched for the bottle to refill it. He’d never really been much of a drinker .

  ‘Can’t believe you’ve got another bloke already,’ he said as he poured more whisky into his glass.

  He would never know how much that hurt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘She thinks she can see her.’

  ‘Who?’ Dad folded the newspaper he had been reading.

  ‘She thinks she can see her,’ my mother repeated.

  ‘Who thinks they can see who?’ He put the newspaper on the table.

  ‘Whom,’ my mother corrected and Dad shrugged his acceptance. ‘Naomi thinks she can see Ellen.’