The Dead Wife's Handbook

by Hannah Beckerman

  Ellie’s staring down at the memory map, fiddling self-consciously with the stick of glue, but the image I’m immersed in now is of Ellie aged five, giggling in bed as we declared our love for one another via a whistle-stop tour of the universe. I loved that bedtime ritual of ours. And I love, too, that she still remembers it so well.

  ‘Why don’t you then, Ellie? There’s nothing to stop you telling your mummy that you love her. Look, here’s a really nice photo of her the day she married your dad. You could say it to her now.’

  Ellie looks unsure.

  ‘Would that be a bit like Mummy talking to me before I was born?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dad told me that when I was still in Mummy’s tummy, she used to talk to me lots and tell me about everything that was going on in the world before I could see it for myself. Would me talking to Mummy now be a bit like that?’

  ‘Yes, I think it’d be just like that. Because Mummy couldn’t see you then, just as you can’t see her now, but it didn’t stop her wanting to tell you things, did it, just as you want to tell her things too?’

  Ellie picks up the photograph Eve has handed her. It’s a portrait of me just moments after the registrar pronounced us husband and wife. I’m beaming, my smile directed away from the camera and upwards, towards something out of frame. That something was Max and I think it was, after the birth of Ellie, the happiest moment of my life.

  Ellie looks at the photo and then at Eve for reassurance, who provides it by way of an encouraging smile and a coaxing nod.

  ‘Mummy, I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and I hope you’re okay and I hope you’re not missing us too much. And I wanted to tell you that I’m going to miss you especially over Christmas and I hope that whatever you’re doing you have a nice time. And what I really wanted to tell you is that I still think about you all the time even though you’re not here any more and I love you lots and lots.’

  I try to dry my cheeks but there’s a steady stream of tears to replace those I wipe away. I never thought I’d hear anyone say that again. And of all the people in the world, there’s no one I’d want to hear it from more than my precious little girl.

  Because I love you too, angel, more than you could ever possibly know. More than I ever knew possible. To infinity and beyond.

  Ellie puts the photograph on to the table, face down, and dabs glue on its reverse before fixing it to the top right hand corner of her memory map.

  ‘Do you think that was okay?’

  ‘I think that was just perfect, Ellie.’

  Ellie looks up, her face calm, her declaration perhaps providing the catharsis she needed.

  ‘I think I’m almost done. Oh, there’s one more thing I want to put on.’

  Ellie rummages around in her special treasures box and eventually extricates a thick pile of yellow Post-it notes.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘They’re drawings Mummy did for me. When I was little I sometimes used to have bad dreams and I’d find it really hard to get to sleep because I was scared about what I’d dream. So every night when Mummy put me to bed, she’d draw me something nice – like an angel or a fairy or a big, smiling sunshine face – and she’d stick it above my bed and tell me it would watch over me while I was sleeping to make sure I didn’t have any nightmares.’

  I had no idea she’d kept all of those. I remember trying to devise a new amiable icon for her every night for about a month until the nightmares disappeared as suddenly and inexplicably as they’d arrived.

  ‘Okay, I’m finished.’

  ‘Right, shall we go and put it up in your room then?’

  Ellie nods and together they carry the collage upstairs and into Ellie’s bedroom.

  ‘What do you think? Shall we prop it up on the mantel-piece and then you’ll be able to see it when you’re lying in bed? Look.’

  They sit on the bed together and Eve puts an arm around Ellie’s shoulders.

  ‘I think your mummy would be proud of that, don’t you? There are some really lovely memories up there.’

  Ellie nods, the half-smile not quite detracting from the sadness in her eyes.

  ‘I know you miss her, Ellie; it’s only natural that you do. And you know that’s fine, don’t you? Because people only have one mummy and that’s what makes someone’s mummy so very special.’

  Eve tries to look into Ellie’s eyes but her face remains downcast.

  ‘You know I’m not here to try and replace her, don’t you? No one can ever do that because your mummy was unique to you. But I do hope that you and I can become very good friends and that you’ll keep telling me lots of things about her because she sounds really special and I know she must have been because she made you and you’re very special indeed.’

  Ellie surrenders herself into Eve’s arms and their embrace seems to disable time, securing them both in an orbit of hope for the future.

  ‘Thank you for making that with me, Eve. I really like having you around, a lot.’

  Eve laughs and kisses the top of Ellie’s head.

  ‘I can assure you that the feeling’s mutual, pumpkin. Now, do you think we ought to go downstairs and see if the water needs topping up on that Christmas pudding?’

  Ellie hops off the bed and the two of them leave the room, hand in hand.

  I remain in Ellie’s bedroom and take another look at the memory map sitting in pride of place on the mantel-piece. It really is a lovely thing. Ellie’s written captions above some of the items, others she’s left blank, assuming they’re self-explanatory. I spot a photo of the three of us that day we went to the zoo – we must have got a passerby to take it for us, I don’t quite recall – and another – one of my all-time favourites – of Mum, Ellie and me in the garden at Mum’s in Salisbury: three generations of women lined up in the sunshine, beaming against a backdrop of roses in full bloom.

  I feel like I’ve spent so long regretting the brevity of my life, convinced it was too short to be anything other than inconsequential, mourning the ambitions I was never able to fulfil and the successes that were never achieved, but I realize now that’s just one interpretation. It’s the judgement of someone who was bitter and angry and perceiving their glass to be half-empty, deprived of the elixir of life they felt to be rightfully theirs. But there’s another perspective, one that’s just emerging into view through the mist and fog of early mourning. It’s an altogether brighter landscape of a life filled with enduring love and accomplished work and events – both the momentous and the ordinary – that the living will remember until the day they die.

  I look at a photo of Ellie sitting in front of the Christmas tree with Max and me at his parents’ house that last year we had together. She looks so content and carefree and, for the first time since I died, the thought occurs to me that there’s only one obstacle standing in between Ellie and a happy family life, only one thing that needs to be done to ensure she can have the future she needs and deserves. I just don’t know whether I’m ready to do that yet. I don’t know if I’m even capable of it, whether it’s not a maternal sacrifice too far. But if Eve’s able to offer such considerable generosity to me and such great kindness to my daughter and so much love to my husband, I must surely try and find it within myself to reciprocate.

  Chapter 34

  I’m astonished. Happily astonished, but astonished nonetheless. I’ve fantasized that I might be allowed here today but I never really expected it. It’s as if all my Christmases have come at once this year: first Ellie’s birthday, then Max’s and now this – Christmas itself. Well, Harriet’s Christmas Eve drinks, anyway.

  Harriet’s Night Before Christmas party has been an annual event for over a decade. Ever since I moved in with Max, in fact, and she bought her first flat. The guest list is invariably eclectic or random, depending on your point of view; there’s always a smattering of our friends from university, numerous colleagues, a couple of devastatingly handsome men Harriet’s toying with the idea of seducing, he
r close family and then the people she’s always very sweetly described as her extended family: me, Max, Ellie, Connor, my mum, even Joan and Ralph. She always invites them all. This year I’m the only one of them who’s not present. Not visibly, anyway.

  She’s done herself proud with the decorations this year. The Georgian town house in Islington she bought the year I died is designed as if with Christmas parties in mind: majestic ceilings, full-height windows, polished wooden floorboards and restored fireplaces in every room. Tonight the first-floor sitting room is illuminated with transparent fairy lights across the bookshelves, while a department store-sized tree sparkling with gold and silver baubles dominates one corner of the room. The table is glittering with tea lights in frosted glass holders, highlighting the vast platters of food that Harriet has, almost certainly, had delivered from the local deli this afternoon: stuffed vine leaves, mini filo tarts with sun-dried tomatoes, sea bass ceviche, beef carpaccio, plump kalamata olives and a range of cheeses you’d usually only savour in a five-star restaurant or specialized delicatessen. The far end of the table is lined with four separate champagne buckets, each displaying its own bottle of Pol Roger, for which I’ve no doubt there are sufficient replenishments in the fridge. One thing you can never accuse Harriet of is not knowing how to throw a party in style.

  Surveying the room, I see Ellie standing by the window playing a game with Connor, which appears to involve him encouraging her to punch him on the arm as hard as she can without him so much as flinching. I suspect there’s a woman he’s got his eye on somewhere and that this dual display of machismo and avuncularity is all part of the seduction strategy. My mum is over by the bookcase, chatting to the person I’d least expect her to be with – Eve. And the hostess herself is seated on a pale grey Conran sofa, deep in conversation with my husband. I haven’t seen Harriet since her revelation after Max’s birthday so I join them first.

  As Max steadies a plate of food on his lap with one hand while drinking from a glass of champagne with the other, I notice that there’s something missing, something that I wasn’t expecting to have been removed so soon, something for which I don’t feel adequately prepared. The third finger of his left hand is emphatically bare. I can just about make out the very faint circle of paler skin where the thick, platinum band had sat confidently for almost a decade, never imagining that it wouldn’t remain there until the day he died.

  A sting of rejection pierces me from the inside out, an attack by the twin forces of envy and betrayal. I very nearly capitulate to them before the ghost of Max’s voice comes back to me, the words with which he reassured Ellie all those months ago repeating themselves gently in my head like a calm, persistent mantra, gradually restoring me to the safe ground of rationality. It’s not about love, that ring, but about commitment, a commitment of which Max was robbed as much as I was the day I inadvertently left him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am. I still don’t know what came over me that day. I hope you know me well enough to know that I’m generally not that insensitive. But those things I said were totally out of order and I’ve felt terrible ever since.’

  As Max puts his glass on the floor, I try not to look at – or think about – that empty finger.

  ‘It’s okay, Max. Really. You’ve apologized, like, a hundred times over the past seven months and it really is forgotten, I promise.’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that it was the last thing you deserved, not least when you’ve been so good to me since Rachel died. It was just really tough, that second anniversary; I felt like there was no way I wasn’t going to upset someone and so I ended up going the whole hog and managing to upset everyone all at the same time.’

  Max smiles at the recollection as if it’s already a distant memory. I suppose, for him at least, a lot has happened since.

  ‘Look, you and I both know that tact and conversational discretion aren’t exactly my forte. I know full well I blundered into that conversation like someone suffering from diplomacy Tourette’s. It was never my place to lecture you like that. I just don’t know when to keep my mouth shut sometimes.’

  Harriet raises a playful eyebrow, as if waiting for Max to contradict her. He declines, with a mischievous smile.

  ‘You had every right to be upset. She was your best friend and you didn’t feel I was honouring her memory sufficiently. Neither of us was on top form that day, I think it’s fair to say.’

  They collude in a moment’s silence, a tacit mutual agreement that this concludes the incident, once and for all.

  ‘To change the subject completely, I’m guessing Eve told you about my failed jaunts to the fertility clinic?’

  Max hesitates for a second before appearing to decide that, after the conflicts and misunderstandings of the past year, the truth is almost certainly better than fiction.

  ‘She did, yes. She was worried about you. I was really sorry to hear it, Harriet. Infertility’s not something I’d ever thought about much before I met Eve. Have there been any developments? Eve said there was one other clinic you were looking into.’

  ‘Funnily enough I got an email from them yesterday. They’ve had a look at my medical records and seem to think the doctor I went to before was unnecessarily pessimistic. I don’t know. The cynic in me says I’m being an idiot and they’re simply speaking to the colour of my money – you’d think I was asking to put down a deposit on a flat the amount they charge. It’s hard not to feel a bit optimistic, though.’

  Harriet smiles drolly and takes a long sip of champagne.

  ‘But that’s great news. Seriously, Harriet, I’m delighted for you.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. At the end of the day, if it doesn’t work out, it’s not like I don’t have a great job and a pretty nice life to keep me occupied. It just feels like something I want to try, at least, and if it works out that would be fantastic but if it doesn’t … well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’

  ‘Any support you need – anything at all – I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you? To be honest, I’ve always thought you were a bit hasty in closing the door on motherhood altogether. I think you’d be a great mum if your relationship with Ellie is anything to go by.’

  ‘Let’s not go jumping the fertility gun just yet. It’s still early days. But I am grateful to you and Rach. I’m not sure I’d have come close to this conclusion if I weren’t so involved in Ellie’s life. And if Rach … well, if what happened to Rach hadn’t made me reassess my priorities. Of course, there’s also you to thank for that final argumentative kick up the butt I needed.’

  ‘I thought we weren’t going to mention that again?’

  ‘Last time, I promise. Now, I probably shouldn’t have taken so long to tell you this, Max, but I do think Eve’s great. Truly. I can see how happy she makes you – I think you’d have to be blind not to – and there’s no disputing the fact that she’s fantastic with Ellie. Just as soon as I’ve got over my rivalry with her in that respect I think she and I are going to be good friends.’

  I can’t help laughing. Harriet and me both on that front.

  ‘Thanks, Harriet. That means a lot. I’d really like us all to be able to hang out together, with or without Ellie. Might we even be making up a grown-up foursome someday soon?’

  Harriet emits a loud, exaggerated groan.

  ‘Fat chance of that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So you’re not seeing anyone at the moment?’

  ‘Nope, there’s not so much as a glimmer of light on that horizon. I barely meet anyone outside of work these days and much as I love my job there’s no way I’d ever date another lawyer – I couldn’t cope with another workaholic in my life. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the pool of eligible men over thirty-five isn’t just dried up and empty, it’s full of last year’s leaves and a couple of dead birds to boot.’

  Max laughs before a mischievous expression lights up his eyes.

  ‘This might be a bit left field, but you know who’s always had t
he hots for you? Connor. Seriously. He’s always really liked you. I don’t really understand why he’s never asked you out. Perhaps he thinks it’s all a bit too close to home. But you could do a lot worse, couldn’t you? You might even help calm him down a bit.’

  ‘Connor? You’re joking, right? I mean, no disrespect or anything and I know I’ve been single a long time but I can’t imagine a worse recipe for dating disaster.’

  ‘Oh, come on. He’s not that bad. Some people would even think he’s a bit of a catch. And at least you’ve known him long enough to know where all the skeletons are buried. What’s so wrong with him?’

  ‘You mean other than the fact that he’s never committed to anyone for longer than a month and even that’s been a struggle on the monogamy front. He’s even more vain than I am and I can’t remember the last time he dated someone who wasn’t just about young enough to be his daughter. No, Max, you’re way off beam with that piece of matchmaking.’

  It takes a few seconds for Max’s laughter to subside sufficiently for him to respond.

  ‘I can’t really argue with any of that. But I do think he’s ready to settle down now. Seriously. He just needs the love of a good woman, Harriet.’

  ‘I think he’s had the love of plenty of good women in his time. Anyway, given where I am on the childbearing front at the moment, I can’t think of anyone less suitable to have a relationship with. I may try to have an actual baby, Max – I don’t need an oversized one in my life too. If I was going to start dating anyone it certainly wouldn’t be someone who’s even more terrified of parenting than I am.’

  ‘I think you might be wrong on that score too, Harriet. I know Connor talks the bachelor talk but I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t wake up to the alarming sound of his own biological clock one day soon. Just look at how fantastic he is with Ellie. As if he wouldn’t make a great dad.’

  All three of us look over to the Christmas tree where Connor is lifting Ellie up to reach the chocolates at the very top.