Addressing Ella, she added: ‘You’ll be all right on your own with him for a couple of minutes, won’t you?’
Ella nodded.
‘Good girl. If there’s any problem, you just have to press that button and one of the nurses will be over in a flash.’
‘Okay.’
As soon as she’d gone, Dad picked up the pad and pen and started writing. When he passed Ella the note, I moved behind her so I could also see it. If I’d been a cartoon character, my eyes would have stretched out of their sockets as I read the words: Can you see him too?
‘You can see Daddy?’ Ella asked as I gaped at my father.
He nodded, frowning at me before reaching for the pad again. This time he simply wrote: How?
‘How?’ I repeated, still getting my bearings following this unexpected turn of events. ‘How what? How can you see me? How come I’m here?’
He nodded again twice.
I looked to Ella for support. ‘Just tell him, Dad,’ she said.
‘Well. I, um. I’m … a spirit. I found myself like this as soon as I died and I’ve been hanging around ever since. Ella was the only one who could see me until now. The only one I knew about, anyway. It took a lot of effort to get through to her. I never expected it to happen with anyone else. How long have you been able to see me?’
Dad turned back to the notepad and wrote two more words: Since stroke.
‘Really? Wow. You hid that well. I guess the stroke must be something to do with it, then. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?’
Thought gone mad, he wrote in reply.
I laughed. ‘Yeah, I can understand that. He’s not mad, though, is he, Ella?’
‘No. Daddy really is here, Grandad. I’m so happy you can see him too. It’s—’
‘Shh,’ I said as Mum approached with the fresh water. ‘Not in front of Nana.’
It was hard to keep quiet after that, especially as Ella kept looking over at me and grinning, but I was determined to keep things normal in front of Mum. How had I not noticed Dad looking at me before? Had he hidden it that well? Or had I grown so used to being invisible that I’d stumbled blindly past obvious clues?
When it was time for us to go, Dad beckoned Mum over and whispered something into her ear. She didn’t understand him at first and then, after he repeated himself, there was a look of horror on her face. No, Dad, what have you said? I thought, fearing the worst.
‘You want your phone?’
Dad nodded.
‘Your smartphone?’
He nodded again, seeming to miss the pertinence of Mum’s second question.
‘Why? What use will it be if you can’t talk? I thought mobile phones weren’t allowed in hospitals.’
Dad indicated that they were permitted on the ward. He wanted it as a way to communicate: a quicker version of the notepad. A little of the colour returned to Mum’s cheeks once she understood his intention.
As we left I promised to return soon for a one-to-one chat. Dad looked troubled by this, actually recoiling when I approached him, but he gave a short nod of his head in reply.
Back at the car Ella asked Mum, who was still visibly shaken, if she was okay.
‘I’m fine, darling. Don’t worry about me. I should be the one asking how you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your daddy. You seem to be managing so well, but you must be missing him terribly. I know I am. We can talk about it any time you like. It doesn’t have to be now, if you don’t want to, but I’m always here for you. And it doesn’t matter if it makes you upset. That’s normal. It’s not something to be embarrassed about.’
Ella gave me a sideways glance before replying. ‘Thanks, Nana. I’m fine at the moment.’
‘Are you sure, darling?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I mean what I say. Whenever you do want to talk about it, just let me know. Any time you like. And if you don’t want to talk to me, there’s always Auntie Lauren instead. Or we could even arrange for you to talk to someone independent.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A counsellor,’ Mum replied. ‘Do you know what that is?’
‘Someone from the council?’
‘No. That’s different. The kind of counsellor I mean is someone who can help you discuss things you find it hard to talk about. They can help you understand your feelings about difficult things, like losing your dad, so you can come to terms with them.’
‘But I’m all right, Nana. Really.’
‘I know, love. But I’m concerned that you’re bottling things up. You almost seem to be managing too well. Just have a think about what I said, anyway.’
‘Okay.’
Mum paused before adding: ‘The other thing we need to talk about is, um, what to do with your daddy’s ashes.’
Ella looked at me, next to her in the back of the car, and grimaced. The urn containing my remains had been on the sideboard in the dining room ever since Dad had collected it from the crematorium.
‘I know the idea is a bit creepy,’ I told her, ‘but it’s better to put them somewhere nice than to keep them in the house. That’s what I did with your mummy’s ashes. I scattered them into a lake at a park she loved in London.’
I remembered it well. It had been just before we moved back up north. Mum and Dad had come with me and they stayed with Ella on dry land as I hired a pedal boat and headed out alone into the middle of the lake. It was a warm afternoon in early autumn, the gold-tinged leaves just starting to accept their looming demise. This had been the place where I’d proposed to Alice, here in the middle of the lake on an almost identical boat. I was still in bits, although I’d been doing my best to hold it together in front of the others. As soon as I was alone, the tears started streaming. I pedalled ahead, on and on, averting my eyes whenever I passed another boat. Eventually I found a quiet spot, opened my rucksack and carefully lifted out the urn. I stood on my seat, doing my best to keep my balance, removed the lid and spun it around in the air.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite the moving send-off I’d planned. It was windy that day and there was a gust just as I released my wife’s ashes, meaning half of them ended up back in the boat and all over me. I had bits in my eyes, my mouth and stuck to my sodden cheeks. Frantically, I fought to remove them. Then I used my hands to scoop the rest out of the boat and into the water.
It was what I deserved, I told myself. What right did I have to play the devoted widower after cheating on my pregnant wife? It had only happened once and I’d felt absolute regret ever since. I’d sworn to myself that nothing like that would ever happen again. But why had I allowed it to take place, encouraged it even? A need to prove I still had it, perhaps, in the face of impending parenthood. I’d debated endlessly whether or not to come clean to Alice but concluded it was a bad idea to upset her while pregnant. I’d sworn to myself that I would tell her at a later date, but I never got the chance to see if I had the guts to do it.
Now I was receiving everyone’s pity when all I deserved was their disdain. The truth of the matter was that Alice and I might no longer have been together if she’d known what I’d done.
When I’d finally finished clearing up the ashes, I vowed never to tell another soul what had just happened. ‘Alice,’ I said. ‘I don’t know where you are right now – if you’re even anywhere any more – but I’m so incredibly sorry for what I did to you and for messing this up now. You deserved so much better. All I can promise you is that I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to nurture and protect our daughter. I won’t let you down again.’
Who knew the rest of my life would be so short?
I smiled at Ella, sitting next to me in the car, and thought how proud Alice would have been of her; how much she would have loved her daughter.
‘Where do you think your daddy would have liked his ashes to be scattered?’ Mum asked her.
Ella raised her eyebrows at me.
‘You’re asking me?’ I said, to which she replied with a
tiny nod. ‘Gosh. I haven’t given it any thought. Um … I don’t know. I’m happy for you to choose. Is there somewhere special you can think of?’
‘What about the beach near where we stayed at Cornwall?’
‘Oh, right,’ Mum said. ‘Yes. I’d not thought of that. Wouldn’t you prefer him to be somewhere closer?’
‘That sounds like the perfect place to me, Ella,’ I said, smiling at the memory of our reunion there in her dream. ‘Just make sure it’s a nice calm day.’
‘I’d really like to do it there, Nana. I know Daddy would like it too.’
‘Very well. We might have to wait a bit, though. It’s a long journey.’
CHAPTER 23
FOURTEEN DAYS LEFT
‘How are you, Dad?’
Not bad. Took myself to the loo today. He nodded towards a nearby walking frame before continuing to type. Like a geriatric.
I smiled, leaning forward. ‘All progress is good.’
Dad shrank back into his pillow, eyeing me with caution.
‘You don’t have to be afraid of me,’ I said, pulling away nonetheless. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you.’
Dad didn’t show any sign of amusement at my feeble attempt at an icebreaker. If anything, it had the opposite effect as he frowned and silently scrutinized me.
‘You don’t believe I’m real yet, do you?’ I said. ‘Even though Ella can see me too.’
I don’t know what to believe.
I read his reply on the screen of his smartphone, which had turned out to be an effective means of communication. For a man of his age, he was pretty adept at using the virtual keyboard, although he avoided many of the texting abbreviations favoured by his younger counterparts. It certainly helped that he was a leftie and had full use of his good hand. But I couldn’t help wondering whether it was all the text messages to his mistress that had made him so speedy.
‘I am really here, Dad,’ I said, pushing that thought to one side. ‘Listen, I had a word with a friend of mine, another spirit, to try to find out what’s going on.’
I was talking about Arthur, of course. I’d managed to get hold of him again last night for a brief chat. I’d been keen to get his take on my father’s sudden ability to see me.
‘Getting through to Ella was really tough,’ I explained to Dad. ‘So you seeing me too – without any of that work – was fantastic, but quite a shock. Anyway, this friend, he reckoned it must be something to do with the way the stroke affected your brain: somehow opening it up to seeing me. He’s no doctor, so he couldn’t give any more detail than that, but he’s been around a while and I trust his opinion. I guess it makes sense. What other explanation is there?’
I was sitting on a plastic chair at the left side of his bed. If I’d had the benefit of a full set of senses, the seat would have no doubt felt warm, having just been vacated by Mum. She’d insisted on cutting Dad’s fingernails and toenails during her visit and I noticed that she’d left her nail scissors behind on his bedside cabinet. I’d accompanied her and Lauren to the hospital this morning with the sole intention of staying to chat with Dad after they left. Now, after waiting patiently for over an hour, I was finally getting my chance.
Dad stared at me for a moment, nodded, and then looked down at his phone. Do you mean any harm to Ella? he typed.
‘Of course not,’ I replied, forcing myself to stay calm despite the affront. ‘She’s my only daughter. I love her more than anything. I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to believe me. I’m here to help; to watch over her.’
So either ghosts are real, he typed. Or I’m in one long, messed-up dream.
‘It’s no dream, Dad. And yeah, this whole thing surprised me too. The first I knew of it was when I found myself staring down at my own battered body after the accident. The official term for us is spirits, though. The word “ghost” has too many negative connotations, apparently.’
Says who?
‘Them up there,’ I replied, gesturing towards the ceiling.
Heaven? he asked.
I nodded.
Why aren’t you there?
‘It’s a long story.’
I’m going nowhere.
‘No, I guess not. Where do I start?’
The crash. Tell me the lot.
‘Very well. I … what’s wrong?’
Dad let the phone slip out of his left hand and on to the bed. He closed his eyes and started shaking his head.
‘What’s the matter, Dad?’
It was a couple of minutes before he finally opened his eyes again and fixed me with a glare. ‘Whaaattheellsgoingon?’ he slurred, his face contorted from the effort of speaking. ‘SSscan’tbereeeeal. Waasapeningtomeee?’
‘Dad, calm down. You’ll draw attention to yourself.’
But it was too late. The ward sister looked across from where she’d been talking to another patient and walked over. It was the same one who’d taken Mum and Lauren into her office the other day. ‘Hello, Tom,’ she said. ‘Everything okay?’
He shook his head angrily and nodded in my direction. ‘Look!’
The sister stared straight through me. ‘Sorry. I don’t understand. What am I supposed to be looking at? What’s got you all worked up?’
‘Dad. Don’t do this,’ I said. ‘I really am here, but if you say anything, she’ll think you’ve lost it. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you need to get a handle on it. Calm down and let me tell you my story.’
I wasn’t that surprised by Dad’s reaction. His initial acceptance, or seeming acceptance, had been out of character. He’d always been a sceptical type, so this was actually more like what I would have expected of him.
He took a deep breath, blinked several times at me and then turned back to the sister, who was waiting expectantly for an answer. ‘Sallright,’ he said, his twisted lips barely moving. ‘Ssnothing. Sorry.’
‘Are you sure?’
He nodded.
‘Right. You could do with some rest now that your wife and daughter have gone. It’s good to see you talking. You mustn’t shy away from it. The more you work at it, the easier it will get.’
As soon as she’d gone, I jumped straight in with my story, not wanting to give Dad another chance to over-think the situation. I decided not to go into Mum and Lauren’s discovery of his affair, which didn’t seem like a good idea at this stage. I also skipped the bit about my deadline and the dilemma I was facing about whether to stay or go, telling him only that I’d been allowed to remain here because of Ella. I hoped that by going into detail about the things I’d observed as a spirit, such as his mini-stroke and how awful I’d felt seeing him cry at the crematorium, I would help him to believe. He kept quiet throughout, his phone lying untouched at his side.
‘And that brings us up to the present,’ I concluded, ‘with you able to see me, presumably because of the stroke’s effect on your brain.’
There was a long silence after I finished. ‘Are you not going to say anything, Dad?’ I asked eventually. ‘I can leave if you like.’
He was staring into the distance, motionless, as if asleep with his eyes open.
I got up to leave. ‘I get it. You need time. That’s not a problem. I’ll come back with Mum tomorrow.’
I made it as far as the foot of the bed before he finally spoke. ‘Sidown,’ he said just loudly enough for me to hear. I turned back to see him pick up his mobile and start tapping out a message with his thumb. Where did we spend your fourteenth birthday?
‘You still don’t believe me?’ I said. ‘No problem. In Florida. We were on holiday there: me, you, Mum and Lauren. It was the last family holiday we all went on together. We had dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe in Orlando. I ate too much and felt sick afterwards. Anything else?’
What was my name for you as a boy?
‘Scamp. You called me that until I asked you not to. I’d just turned seven and was in infant three at school at the time; I was worried that one of my friends might hear you and make fun of me
. I actually missed it once you stopped, but I was too proud to admit it. What else do you want to know, Dad? I had a blue and white BMX for Christmas when I was eight; it had back-pedal brakes. I was so nervous before my first day at secondary school that I was sick all over the kitchen floor at breakfast. I did it again when I was seventeen and drank too much gin at a party. You were the first person I spoke to after Alice died. You were in the car, on speaker phone, going to pick Mum up from the station. You told me how sorry you were and to “hold it together” until you could get to me; you drove so fast that you picked up two speeding tickets along the way. It’s me, Dad. Honestly.’
There were tears in his eyes as he slowly nodded his head and keyed three words into his phone: I believe you.
CHAPTER 24
We chatted for ages. Dad wanted to know more about my experiences since the accident and what it was like being a spirit. He told me how devastated he’d been by my death and how much he’d missed me. He even spoke a little about the anger and frustration he felt at the effects of his stroke, admitting he feared not making a full recovery. It was probably the longest conversation I’d ever had with him. Even though Dad had to tap his questions or answers into his phone, we made it work. Besides, if Dad had been talking out loud to me, he’d have probably got himself sectioned.
‘Are you going to put that thing down for five minutes to have some food?’ one of the nurses asked him when she brought his dinner over.
‘You go ahead, Dad,’ I said. ‘Your hand could probably do with a rest and it’s important that you eat something to get your strength up. We don’t want you starving now.’
He made a sarcastic gesture towards his large stomach.
‘You know what I mean,’ I replied. I knew from my previous visits that Dad had become very self-conscious about eating and drinking in front of people since the stroke. On top of everything else, he had problems chewing and swallowing; he needed the kind of help I couldn’t offer and tended to make a mess. Knowing how proud he was, I thought it best to leave. ‘I’m going for a quick stroll. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
Time to Say Goodbye Page 18