Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  ‘If she loses any more weight,’ he said, ‘she’s going to fade away.’

  For the first time I realised he was right. I was ashamed that I hadn’t noticed it before.

  ‘She is thin,’ George commented.

  But she was beyond thin, she was gaunt.

  We watched as she sat on a chair. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. She held her hands to her eyes and started to weep as she rocked gently back and forth.

  My dad, who had just seen the last of the mourners out, found her like that. He sat on the arm of the chair and put his arm on her shoulder.

  ‘Come on, love,’ he said.

  The weeping had progressed to sobbing and her shoulders locked.

  ‘Oh, Brian,’ she said, throwing herself back in the chair. Dad had to grab the edge of the table to steady himself.

  ‘Your dad’s better off,’ my dad said, ‘you know that.’

  ‘Are you?’ I asked my grandfather’s opinion.

  ‘Probably,’ he said.

  ‘I know he is.’ Mum blew her nose. ‘It’s just that it’s brought everything back.’ The tears flowed effortlessly.

  Aunt Lizzie, who had been in the kitchen washing dishes, appeared at the door briefly before retreating.

  ‘I know,’ Dad said, patting Mum’s hand.

  ‘It’s not five minutes,’ she said, wiping tears away with a crumpled tissue, ‘since we were doing this for Ellen.’

  ‘Seven months,’ my grandfather spoke. ‘It’s been seven months.’ I was surprised to hear it had been so long. ‘You died in April and I died in the middle of November.’

  My grandfather had said he wanted to see a man. ‘Unfinished business,’ he had said. He and Constance had left but I couldn’t tear myself away from my parents’ house. George and I watched my aunt finally leave the kitchen. Uncle Paul was at her shoulder.

  ‘They’re all done now,’ Aunt Lizzie announced.

  Mum looked at her sister and nodded slowly.

  ‘You alright, Lizzie?’ Dad asked.

  Lizzie nodded and wiped her wet hands on her skirt. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just glad it’s all over.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the men agreed in unison.

  ‘And I know Dad’s at peace now. He was ready to go.’ She looked at her sister nervously. ‘Would you like a cup of tea. Peg?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been so busy looking after everyone else I’ll bet you’ve not had anything yourself.’

  Uncle Paul had taken a silent lead from his wife and disappeared to the pub with my dad. My mum and her sister sat on opposite chairs and each rested a cup and saucer on their knees.

  ‘You did well today,’ Aunt Lizzie said.

  Mum forced a smile onto her face.

  My aunt was staring deep into her cup. I think she was searching for the right words. Mum seemed to notice how uncomfortable Aunt Lizzie looked.

  ‘They’re together again at last,’ Mum said, misinterpreting the signs.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, they are.’ Aunt Lizzie put the cup and saucer on the table with purpose. ‘But that’s not what I was thinking about.’ It appeared that she had decided that what needed to be said was going to be said, so she settled on, ‘Peg, I don’t really know how to say this.’

  ‘What?’ Mum’s hand went to her chest. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Aunt Lizzie held her hand out in a gesture that told my mother to calm down. ‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that something happened today at the wake.’

  Aunt Lizzie took a deep breath and locked eyes with my mother. She spoke slowly, as if she was choosing each word carefully.

  ‘I saw Naomi in front of the sofa in the other room. She was talking to someone.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Mum lifted her hand and covered her mouth. ‘I told Marc he should take her to see a doctor but …’

  Aunt Lizzie interrupted her. ‘I believe her.’

  Mum said nothing with her mouth but plenty with her eyes. Aunt Lizzie persisted.

  ‘I do.’ She ran her tongue back and forth over her lips. ‘Naomi had a message for you from Ellen.’

  The silence was deafening.

  My mother couldn’t maintain the eye contact. ‘What did she say?’ Mum croaked.

  ‘She told me that her mummy said I had to make you understand it wasn’t your fault.’

  Mum’s eyes widened. ‘Naomi said that?’

  ‘They were her exact words.’

  ‘You’re making it up,’ Mum dismissed.

  ‘I’m not,’ Aunt Lizzie insisted. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘To make me feel better.’ Mum almost spat the words out. ‘To give me hope.’

  ‘Hope for what?’

  Mum sighed heavily. ‘I want to believe you,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I want to believe you, how much I want to believe that Ellen still exists somewhere. I want to … but I can’t.’ She stood up, collecting her cup and saucer up on the way. ‘I can’t.’

  She walked into the kitchen, leaving my aunt looking deflated.

  ‘We have to make her believe,’ I announced.

  George inhaled deeply on his fake cigarette and said, ‘Yep,’ before exhaling equally fake smoke.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Aunt Lizzie had seemed surprised when Marc rang, and even more so when he asked her to babysit Naomi.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘It’s just that Liam has been on at me for weeks to go out with him for a drink.’ He sounded like he was apologising.

  Having once hated the fact that Marc often spoke on speaker phone when he rang from work, I now loved it because it meant that I could hear both sides of the conversation.

  ‘Tell you what,’ my aunt said. ‘If you like, bring Naomi to my house and she can stay here. That way you and Liam can make a night of it.’ Marc started to make reluctant noises. ‘Go on,’ she insisted, ‘give yourself a night off.’

  ‘OK,’ he conceded, ‘that’d be great. Can I bring her round about seven?’

  ‘Bring her whenever you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Naomi had packed clean underwear, her toothbrush, and Jaspar into her tiny suitcase, which she carried into the spare bedroom at my Aunt Lizzie’s house. She placed Jaspar on the pillow, left the case on a chair, and skipped back downstairs, where there was a glass of orange juice and a plate of biscuits waiting for her. Aunt Lizzie used to do the same for me when I was a child and I smiled.

  ‘Just like old times,’ I whispered to George.

  Aunt Lizzie took a drink from the cup she was holding and studied Naomi over its rim.

  ‘Do you remember what you said to me last week, Naomi?’ she asked. ‘You said I had to make Granny Peg understand.’

  ‘Yes,’ Naomi replied in a matter of fact way.

  ‘Why did you say that?’

  Naomi furrowed her brow and a crease formed between her eyes. ‘Because Mummy told me to tell you.’

  My aunt caught her breath and put the cup to her lips again. Maybe there was something stronger than tea in there.

  ‘I do see her,’ Naomi said. Naomi’s eyes sat wide. ‘Granny Peg doesn’t believe me, but it’s true, honest … I’m not making it up.’

  Aunt Lizzie’s eyes were compassionate as she reached out her hand to my daughter. ‘I don’t think you’re making it up,’ she said.

  Naomi had fallen asleep almost as soon as Aunt Lizzie had finished the story she had been reading. With my daughter tucked up safely in bed, my thoughts turned to my husband.

  ‘Can we go and see Marc?’ I asked.

  ‘If you like,’ George said, ‘but why do you want to?’

  He had never asked why I wanted to see Marc before but I knew this time was different. I would see … what would I see? I didn’t know, but I knew I wanted to see it.

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ George said as he prepared to do whatever it was he did that moved us around so quickly.

  Marc and
Liam sat at a table close to the bar. Marc was playing with a beer mat, turning it and tapping it on the table.

  ‘You OK?’ Liam asked.

  Marc looked at him blankly for a second then forced a smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, just relax.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Marc shook his shoulders and threw the beer mat onto the table. He picked up the pint he had barely touched and took a drink. The froth formed a moustache on his upper lip and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  ‘That looks good,’ I heard George say and when I looked at him I saw he was gazing lustfully at Marc’s glass. He was holding his substitute cigarette between his thumb and middle finger and moved it towards his lips. ‘There are days, when I’d sell my soul for a real pint and a proper ciggie.’

  I couldn’t help laughing, but the best George could manage was a smile.

  Four pints later, Marc was finally starting to relax. He was also starting to talk, which I suspect had been Liam’s plan all along.

  George leaned on the bar sniffing up the fumes while I stood closer to the table Marc and Liam sat at.

  ‘I know people think I should be getting over it,’ Marc said, his pint halfway between the table and his mouth. He took a sip and I moved closer. ‘But … oh, I don’t know.’ He started to play with the beer mat again. ‘Do you know,’ he said with a sigh, ‘even though I think about her every day …’ Marc struggled to find the right words. Eventually, he lifted his head and looked into the space behind Liam. ‘Sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like.’

  I looked at George and wished I wasn’t there.

  I was thoroughly miserable and George let me wallow as we sat together. The pub had long since closed and the landlord gone to bed. Marc and Liam had been amongst the last to leave and had both walked out on unsteady legs.

  ‘He said he couldn’t remember me,’ I said.

  George screwed his mouth to the side. ‘That’s not exactly what he said.’ The look I gave him must have been aggressive because he held his hands up defensively. ‘I’m sorry,’ George said, ‘but he didn’t’

  ‘What did he say then?’ I challenged.

  ‘He said that sometimes he couldn’t remember what you looked like.’

  ‘So he’s forgetting me.’ I knew it sounded like an accusation.

  ‘No.’ George sighed and tapped his fingers on the table. ‘He just hasn’t seen you for nearly nine months.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten what he looks like.’

  George lifted his head and looked into my eyes. ‘You’ve seen him almost every day.’

  ‘How could he forget me so soon?’ I asked, losing the battle with the tears.

  I don’t know how long I cried for but George let me do it for as long as was necessary. He did nothing and said nothing.

  Eventually, the tears stopped and I wiped the last of them away with my fingertips. I sniffed and coughed.

  George watched me.

  I felt self-conscious.

  George continued to watch me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  George put his head back and took a deep breath.

  ‘You’ve got to let go,’ he said, lowering his head to face me.

  ‘Let go of what?’

  ‘Him.’

  ‘How can I?’ I asked weakly.

  ‘Because you have to. You have no choice. You’re dead and he isn’t.’

  I knew tears were forming again. I could feel them grow and well up in my eyes but I didn’t have the strength to fight them.

  I cried because I knew George was right.

  We stayed in the pub for most of the night. George seemed to be enjoying the sights and smells that he apparently missed so much and for my part it was as good a place as any to think.

  I had thought in silence for much of the night and when George sat down beside me I was surprised to see the early morning glow of approaching dawn.

  ‘You all right?’ George asked.

  I forced myself to nod but I don’t think I convinced either of us.

  He watched me for a moment and asked. ‘Do you remember Barry Hutton?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘OK.’ George nodded slowly. ‘And he was …?’ He held his head to one side.

  ‘An ex-boyfriend.’ I said the words slowly and couldn’t help a smile from spreading across my lips.

  ‘Well, he was a bit more than that, wasn’t he?’ George said with a smile.

  He was my ex-fiancé.’

  ‘That’s right,’ George nodded. He leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. After a moment he pushed himself upright. ‘What colour was his hair?’

  ‘Blond,’ I said without hesitation.

  George moved his head from side to side and crinkled his lips together. ‘You say blond, I’d say mousy,’ he smiled, ‘but what’s in a couple of shades? What colour were his eyes?’

  ‘Green.’

  ‘Hazel,’ George corrected.

  ‘How tall was he?’

  I had to think about that. ‘Five foot eleven?’ I suggested.

  ‘He was more like five foot nine,’ George said with a chuckle. He stood up and started to walk around the table where I sat. He was like a television detective interrogating a suspect. ‘What did his tattoo say?’

  I winced at the memory. ‘Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Incorrect,’ George said. ‘“Mother and Father”.’

  I stood up too and stopped his movement. ‘Why all the questions?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you loved him.’

  I sat back in my seat.

  I had loved Barry. I had loved him with all my heart from the moment I met him when I was eighteen. And he loved me back. For two years we were inseparable.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ I said with bravado.

  ‘But you still enjoy his memory.’

  I didn’t like to admit that I did.

  ‘They were good times.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Did it really say “Mother and Father”?’

  George nodded.

  ‘Are you sure his hair wasn’t dark blond?’

  George gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He let his shoulders fall back into position. ‘What matters is the way that his memory makes you feel.’

  His memory did make me feel good. They had been happy times.

  ‘Do you remember how you felt when he told you he was going to live in Canada and marry the girl he’d met there on holiday?’

  I didn’t say anything but George appeared to be waiting for an answer. ‘I was devastated,’ I said.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I begged him to stay with me.’

  ‘What was the last thing he told you?’

  ‘He said he was sorry to hurt me but he had no choice. He said that he had to go.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What were the very last words he said to you?’

  ‘He told me to be happy.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘Did you have a good time at Auntie Lizzie’s?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Naomi had no idea how good it made me feel to see her smile. ‘She read me a story and did the voices and everything’

  ‘Yes, I saw,’ I said laughing. ‘I thought her Billy Goat Gruff was very good.’ Naomi was staring at me. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘I didn’t see you,’ she said.

  She looked puzzled.

  ‘I have been with you lots of times when you didn’t see me,’ I told her.

  ‘How?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.

  ‘How?’ she asked George.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Do you know,’ he said leaning forward, ‘I don’t know either. I think it must have something to do with science.’

  ‘Science?’ She made a face.

  George laughed. ‘Most things are down to science. And, as I left school when I was fourteen, I don’t know much about science.�
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  ‘I’m good at science,’ Naomi announced and I shared her pride.

  ‘Naomi,’ I said, trying to get her mind off science and other things concerned with why she hadn’t seen me. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need you to give Granny Peg a message.’

  ‘Like the one I gave Auntie Liz?’ she said excitedly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘just like that.’

  Naomi seemed excited and I had to make sure she was paying attention.

  ‘I need you to tell her it doesn’t matter about the ballet lessons.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about the ballet lessons,’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Will she remember that she told Lizzie about the ballet lessons?’ George asked after we had left.

  ‘Hope so,’ I said, ‘because I won’t be able to tell her the bra didn’t matter.’

  I told Naomi to ask Marc if she could ring her grandmother just before bedtime. George and I sat in my parents’ living room and waited for the phone to ring. I was pleased to see that my mother seemed more like her old self. She had ditched the jogging bottoms and baggy T-shirt in favour of a blouse and skirt.

  The television was on but neither of them were watching. Dad was reading the sports section of the evening paper and Mum was doing a crossword.

  I looked at the clock and gauged when Naomi would ring. Marc seemed to have stuck to the routine that had been established before my death and, that being the case, the phone should ring at any minute.

  Although I was expecting it, I still jumped. Dad reached over and picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Oh hello, sweetheart, I’m very well, thank you, how are you? That’s good.’ He mouthed the word ‘Naomi’ to my mother. ‘Granny Peg? Yes, sweetheart, she’s here … All right, night night.’

  He handed the phone to my mother.

  ‘Naomi?’ She sounded surprised. ‘Is everything all right?’ Mum listened to Naomi and her eyes started to move around the room nervously. Her hand went to her mouth.

  Dad had gone back to reading the paper, but noticing my mother’s reaction he put the paper down. ‘Peg, what’s wrong?’ he whispered.