The Dead Wife's Handbook

by Hannah Beckerman

  I know she’s just trying to be sympathetic but I don’t feel that either Max or I really need Eve to point this out for us.

  ‘You being sensitive to that is one of the many reasons you’re so amazing and why I just know you two are going to get along fine. She really likes you. I can tell.’

  ‘Really? Do you think so? I wasn’t sure when she was grilling me earlier whether I was giving her the right answers.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. It may sound like she’s conducting the Spanish Inquisition, but she only ever bombards people with questions like that if she’s actually interested in them. I think it’s fair to say that you’re a bit of a hit.’

  ‘She’s completely adorable, Max. You must be so proud. She’s such a credit to you.’

  ‘Without wanting to sound like a boastful dad, I do think she’s pretty wonderful. But the fact that today is going so well is credit to you, too. I know how concerned you’ve been about this first meeting but you’re doing brilliantly.’

  Eve thanks Max with a lingering kiss into which Max allows himself to be lost, appearing to have little intention of finding himself again in the immediate future.

  I look up to check on Ellie – someone’s got to – and, with a stab of panic, see that she’s halfway up a climbing frame that’s much, much too high for her, a piece of equipment that’s clearly meant for much older children. She’s glued to the spot, her eyes fixed firmly on the sight of her father embracing this interloper, the look on her face one of upset, betrayal, anger, revenge. I’ve never seen a look like it on her before. It’s as though she’s entered an entirely new emotional sphere, with a frame of reference she’s having to learn in record time, and which she’s still such a long way from understanding.

  I turn back towards Max and Eve, willing them with every fibre of my defunct being to tear themselves apart, to look up, to notice the danger Ellie’s in. But they’re too engrossed in one another, too infatuated with their romance, too self-congratulatory about the day’s supposed success, their eyes focussed exclusively and hypnotically on one another.

  I return my gaze to Ellie to find her continuing her ascent now, wilfully and fearlessly climbing to a height she knows is beyond her, that she knows is beyond the realm of safety, that she knows, by rights, someone should stop her from reaching. But there’s no one to prevent her, no one to ensure her safety, no one to give her a reason not to continue.

  I’m shouting now, shouting desperately with every ineffectual decibel I have, shouting at Ellie to stop climbing, imploring her to come back down, beseeching her to return to safety. And I’m shouting at Max, too, begging him to cast his eyes away from Eve, just for a second, pleading with him to register where Ellie is and what’s she’s doing, urging him to remember he has a seven-year-old daughter whose welfare he’s in sole charge of and who’s in the throes of testing his love for her in the most immediate way she can.

  Ellie’s nearly at the top now and she glances towards Max and Eve once more, giving them one final opportunity to acknowledge her, affording them one last chance to redeem themselves, issuing them with the clearest of challenges – if only they’d notice it – to choose her over one other.

  I look to where Ellie’s gaze is directed and am frantic to see that her silent entreaty is as futile as mine. Max and Eve are still locked in a prolonged embrace, still unaware of Ellie’s threat, still terrifyingly oblivious to the impending danger just a few feet away from them.

  As I turn back to Ellie, my eyes reach her just in time to see her left foot slip, her hands thrash above her in a belated attempt to make contact with the iron bars, and her flailing body fall through the air.

  I hear her scream before she hits the ground.

  And then everything goes white.

  I close my eyes, hoping it’s just a trick of the light, willing it to be nothing other than sheer panic that’s caused me to lose sight of her at this most critical moment. But when I open them again, there’s no Ellie to be seen, no playground in view, no sign at all as to what fate may have befallen my daughter. Just this hateful, barren, bleak void, all around.

  I don’t know what to do. I feel like I can’t think, like I can’t move but I can’t stay still, that I have to get back to her even though I know there’s no way I can.

  Whether I close my eyes or open them, all I can see is image upon horrific image, gruesome scenes taking up squatting rights in my mind, refusing to move, however hard I try to evict them.

  What if she’s really badly hurt? What if she’s broken something? What if the something she’s broken is life-threatening? What if her head hit the ground first? What then? What if the thing that’s happened is the thing I really can’t bear to contemplate?

  There’s never been a moment I’ve been more ready to strike a deal – if striking deals is something I can do from here. I’ll do anything, anything at all, I promise, as long as Ellie’s okay. I’ll stop hoping Max’s relationship stalls, I’ll stop wishing Ellie puts the brakes on it for him, I’ll stop bemoaning the brevity of my life. I’ll stop asking for anything more, ever again.

  Whatever you want, whatever I have to give, just take it, please, and make sure Ellie’s okay.

  Chapter 19

  It’s been hours. Long, painful, interminable hours. Hours of worry and anxiety, of frantic plea bargaining with something or someone I’m not sure I even believe in, let alone can see or hear or confirm actually exists.

  I’ve still no news yet. I’m not sure there’s anything worse than waiting for potentially bad news alone, is there? This suspension of time, this absence of knowledge, this anxious isolation are all far less bearable than any physical pain I’ve ever known, even that which brought me here in the first place.

  I don’t think my inscrutable, white world has ever felt so stark before. Or so severe. Or so solitary. It’s never felt so vast, so empty, so far from everyone I know and love. They’re an eternity away and although I’ve known, deep down, since I arrived that what separates us is not just the unpredictable white mist clouding my view, but the division between the active and the passive, between the living and the netherworld, between life and death, it’s only now that I really feel it – painfully, viscerally – as though the knowledge has seared itself on to my broken heart and is burning through whatever solace, whatever consolation, whatever misguided sense of involvement I had left.

  Right now, I’m not sure I even trust that I’ll ever be able to see them again.

  I keep picturing Ellie on top of that climber, the moment of her fall reduced to super-slow motion, every individual frame a horror story in its own right, every sequence taunting me for my failure to have intervened, to have stopped her, to have saved her. Every second a cruel reminder of my impotence.

  What’s the point of a place in this netherworld if it doesn’t come complete with the powers of a guardian angel? If I can’t prevent tragedy? If I can’t do a single thing to protect my little girl from harm?

  Please let her be okay. Please. I’ll never ask for anything again. I promise.

  Something flutters beneath me and, not for first time during recent hours, I allow my hopes to be raised that perhaps this is it, perhaps the clouds are going to clear, perhaps I’m going to be allowed to see her, to see how she is.

  I strain my eyes, determined to focus on what lies beneath, to pierce my way through the white mist, to bring the world into view through sheer force of will and desperation and maternal tenacity, to find my way back to the daughter who needs me.

  And for once the clouds comply and I’m there, I’m back, only the place I’ve arrived is the last place I’d hoped to find her. I’m in a cubicle, a hospital cubicle where Max and Eve are sitting on chairs next to a bed on which my baby girl is lying with her arm in a sling and a face almost as pale as the austere white sheets underneath her.

  ‘How’s your arm feeling now, angel?’

  ‘A bit sore still, especially if I try and move it.’

  ‘We
ll, you know what the answer to that is, then? Just don’t move it! I’m sure it’s going to feel a lot better in the morning, sweetheart. We’re lucky it was only a little sprain and a very minor concussion. I was convinced there for a second, when you were out cold, that something much worse had happened. As that nice doctor said, you’re a very lucky girl not to have done more serious damage. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, going up to the top of such a big climbing frame.’

  Only a sprain and very minor concussion. Thank god. Thank whoever or whatever needs thanking. The relief is exquisite and I want to savour it.

  But she’d been out cold, my little angel. She’d been lying there, on the ground, motionless. Poor Max. I can only imagine the anguish he must have being going through.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

  Max strokes Ellie’s forehead and kisses each of her unslung fingers in turn.

  ‘There’s nothing at all to be sorry for, sweetheart. I’m just so relieved you’re okay. You gave us such a fright there, munchkin. When I think about how far you fell …’

  Max’s unfinished sentence trails off into a parallel world of possibilities none of us dare to articulate. There’s an unsteadiness in his voice to accompany the film of salt water that he manages to blink away before Ellie has a chance to notice. I catch Eve watching him, though, and wonder whether any woman could help but fall for a man who weeps for the fate that chose not to befall his daughter today.

  ‘When can we go home, Daddy? It’s really boring here.’

  ‘Hospitals are always boring, I’m afraid, angel. We can leave just as soon as the doctor comes and gives you the all-clear. It shouldn’t be too long now.’

  Max smiles apologetically at Eve. I can’t imagine this was how either of them wanted to spend their inaugural outing together. Ellie notices their silent exchange and I watch her face shift emotional season from boredom to angst.

  ‘Daddy, are you cross with me?’

  Ellie’s voice is hesitant as though not quite convinced it was ready to come out of hiding.

  ‘Why on earth would anyone be cross with you, angel?’

  Ellie hangs her head, whether through embarrassment or fear or guilt it’s impossible to tell.

  ‘For climbing up too high and falling off and ruining the day.’

  Max holds her hand and smiles at her questioningly as though unsure what’s provoked this momentary anxiety.

  ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course we’re not cross with you. It was a nasty accident and no one blames you at all. We were just worried about you, that’s all. But you’re going to be just fine, aren’t you?’

  Ellie nods her head haltingly, seemingly unconvinced by Max’s reassurance.

  ‘You promise you’re not angry?’

  Max smiles at her with that patient, gentle, paternal smile reserved exclusively for Ellie.

  ‘Shall I tell you something, sweetheart? It’s something Mummy used to say after you were born. She said that when you have a child, all of your priorities shift, so that instead of worrying about yourself any more, you spend all your time worrying about this little person instead. And it’s amazing how one little person – like you – can totally take over your whole universe. But you did and you still do. Because as soon as Mummy and I became parents, what we wanted most in the world is for you to be happy and healthy and safe. So if anything bad happens to you, whatever it is, whatever the cause, the only thing I care about is that you get better and that you’re okay. Do you understand?’

  Ellie gazes at Max intently before her face breaks into a tentative smile, as if perhaps only partially understanding Max’s explanation but seemingly in possession of the comfort she was seeking.

  ‘Ellie, what do you think about me going in search of some chocolate? I think we’re all probably in need of a sugar hit. That’s okay, isn’t it, Max?’

  Max nods and smiles in assent, and Eve slips behind the patterned blue polyester curtain, leaving Max and Ellie alone for the first time today that I’ve seen.

  Max looks over his shoulder, as if checking the coast is clear.

  ‘So, what do you think of Eve, then? I know it’s been a strange day but earlier, before your accident, we were having a nice time, weren’t we?’

  Ellie looks contemplative, as though remembering afresh events from just a few hours ago that she’d already persuaded herself to forget.

  ‘She’s okay.’

  The disappointment is legible on Max’s face.

  ‘But she’s been really kind to you, hasn’t she? When she sat with you in the back of the car on the way here – she looked after you really nicely then, didn’t she?’

  I’m not sure what’s more uncomfortable: to witness Max’s desperation that Ellie afford Eve some approbation or to imagine Eve cradling my little girl in her arms en route to the hospital.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And she’s been fun while we’ve been stuck here, hasn’t she? Telling us all those funny stories about some of the naughty things students at her school have done.’

  Ellie nods impassively.

  ‘Daddy? Will Eve always come with us on days out now?’

  Max looks slightly surprised, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

  ‘Of course not, sweetheart. I just wanted you to meet her, that’s all. I mean, it would be nice if sometimes we invited her to do things with us, don’t you think? Because I’d enjoy it and I think she’d enjoy it too. She really likes you, Ellie. She told me earlier. She said you were adorable – her words, not mine.’

  Ellie smiles shyly but I think it’s going to take more than a single compliment to win her over.

  ‘I was thinking actually, munchkin, whether we might ask Eve if she wants to come to your birthday party?’

  Max looks suitably ambivalent about whether or not this is a good idea. I can’t believe he’s even suggesting it. Not so soon, not right now, not after all that’s happened today.

  ‘But she won’t know anyone.’

  ‘That’s true. She could get to know people, though, couldn’t she? There are lots of nice people coming, aren’t there?’

  Ellie withdraws into a temporary introspection. I wish I could let her know that she’s allowed to feel wary about this, that she doesn’t have to agree if she doesn’t want to, that Max is still going to love her even if she doesn’t want his new girlfriend gatecrashing her birthday party.

  ‘But, Daddy, you said we already had a full house for my birthday party and that’s why I was only allowed to invite ten friends.’

  There’s a mischievous sparkle in Ellie’s eyes, discernible only to those who’ve seen it before. Max tightens his lips to hold back the knowing smile.

  ‘You’re right, Ellie, I did. Ten friends is quite a lot, isn’t it?’

  ‘But if you’re allowed to have an extra friend to my party then shouldn’t I be allowed an extra friend too?’

  Ellie looks up at Max, her dark eyes wide with faux-innocence. Max meets her gaze with mock seriousness, befitting the negotiations at play.

  ‘Okay, Ellie. That seems fair to me. If Eve comes to your party then you can bring another friend too. Who will you invite?’

  Ellie’s eyes narrow with contemplation.

  ‘Well, the thing is, I want to invite Lottie but I want to invite Emily too. And ’cos they’re best friends they’ll be sad if they can’t both come.’

  Max is smiling now, complicit in just how deftly he’s being wound around our little girl’s finger.

  ‘So what do you suggest then, munchkin?’

  ‘Well, you always tell me it’s important to play nicely at school and not leave people out. So really I think I should invite Lottie and Emily. Just to be fair.’

  Max can’t hold back the laughter any longer.

  ‘You drive a hard bargain, Ellie Myerson, but you have yourself a deal. Lottie and Emily and Eve are now all duly invited to your birthday party. I just hope we can find a cake big enough for all th
ose guests.’

  I can’t believe it. Of all the people in the world, Eve’s the last person who should be going to Ellie’s birthday party. Even I wasn’t allowed to be there last year. I don’t know how I’m going to cope if the same thing happens this year, if my access doesn’t materialize that day, if I know that Eve is sharing my daughter’s birthday with her while I’m not even allowed to view it silently from afar.

  Ellie celebrates her triumph by sliding off the bed and hugging Max with the one working arm still at her shrewd disposal. As she does so, the blue curtain is pulled back and Eve reappears, bumper-sized block of Dairy Milk in hand and a young female doctor in tow.

  ‘Now, young lady, I don’t remember saying you were ready to get out of bed yet, did I? And you know you have to follow the doctor’s orders when you’re in here, don’t you?’

  Ellie giggles sheepishly and clambers back on to the starched white linen with Max’s help.

  ‘Well, I think you’re all good to go, if you can bear to leave us. Mum and Dad, I suggest an early night and just keep an eye on her for twenty-four hours. Any signs of nausea or dizziness – and certainly if she vomits at all – bring her straight back in. Other than that, Ellie, I suggest you give climbing frames a wide berth for a little while.’

  Mum and Dad. An easy enough mistake to make. But not such an easy one to witness.

  And not, it seems, one that’s raised so much as a flushed cheek on the faces of either my husband or his new girlfriend. Not even Ellie bothers to contradict her.

  As the doctor exits the cubicle, sweeping the curtain closed behind her, my access disappears instantaneously, without so much as the lightest fluctuation of air to warn me that my time here today is up.

  It’s been a torturous few hours, in so many ways, and although I’m unspeakably grateful for the chance to find out that my little girl’s okay, I also can’t help feeling relieved that the day is finally over.