Time to Say Goodbye

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Can you zap us outside, please?’ I asked, gesturing towards the closed front door. ‘Dad needs some air.’

  Hardy raised one eyebrow. ‘Really? How so?’

  Maybe it wasn’t the best choice of words, seeing as air was pretty useless to me and Dad these days. We couldn’t breathe it and we couldn’t feel it. Nonetheless, Hardy knew what I meant; he was being obstructive.

  ‘Look at him – he’s breaking up. Please let me take him outside for a few minutes.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not up to something?’

  ‘Like what? I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of me. It should be the other way round. All I want is to have a word with my father outside. I’m just trying to help him.’

  ‘That’s my job, not yours.’

  Dad had slumped against the side of one of the pews. His chin was against his cavernous chest and he’d started sobbing. ‘Come on,’ I said to Hardy. ‘We need to work together. You were human once, right? You’ve been through this. You know how hard it is. Can’t you ease off on us for a minute and show a little compassion?’

  He frowned at me before letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. ‘Fine, but I’ve got my eye on you.’

  Leaning over, he touched both of us on our shoulders and the scene around us changed.

  CHAPTER 34

  NINETY MINUTES LEFT

  We found ourselves on the bench behind the church where I’d chatted with Arthur several times. I looked down at the ice-covered wooden slats beneath us and was glad to be immune to their frosty bite.

  Dad was still in his slumped position. The combination of Lauren’s words and Mum’s silent devastation had broken him.

  ‘Dad, look at me.’

  His face was overrun with sorrow and shame.

  ‘Come on, Dad. You need to talk to me. I know it must have been hard for you in there, but at least Lauren was able to forgive you. That’s good, isn’t it? It’ll help you to move on.’

  ‘I don’t deserve it. She should hate me. You should too. And your mother. She ought to hate me most of all.’

  ‘She doesn’t. She loves you.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to see her like that. She looked so helpless, so lost. And it’s all my fault. I took the coward’s way out, instead of standing up and facing the music. I abandoned them all, even Ella. You must despise me for that. I’m not a real man. That’s the problem. That’s how all of this began. If I’d only fought the urges. Suppressed them.’

  ‘Or you could have just told us. You can’t bury your true nature, Dad. Lies breed more lies; especially the ones you tell yourself.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I was so ashamed and I feared it would rip our family apart. That was the last thing I wanted. I love you all so much.’

  ‘Even Mum?’

  ‘Yes, of course. She’s my wife. You must find this hard to believe, but I love her dearly. I always have. It’s an emotional love, though: a partnership, a friendship. Physically, well … you know the rest. Today obviously wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, I saw you follow him into the church. I hadn’t expected him to be here. It was a shock.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘He, um, came to see Mum and Lauren after you died. He told them about his relationship with you. He even suggested you were going to leave Mum to be with him.’

  Dad put his head in his hands and groaned. ‘Did they believe him – about the leaving bit, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Why? Was it true?’

  ‘No. I’d never have left your mother. Not in a million years.’

  ‘He seemed to believe you would.’

  ‘That’s what he wanted to believe and, well, I suppose I let him think that. It made it easier, although after you died I told him it was over. I wanted to put an end to all the lies, but it was too late. Did your mum know he was going to be at the funeral?’

  ‘I think she may have invited him. She and Lauren certainly talked about it. They were keen to avoid him turning up aggrieved and making a scene.’

  ‘Oh, he’d never do that,’ Dad replied. ‘It’s not his style. Poor Ann, though, having to worry about that on top of everything else. The woman’s a saint. I never deserved her. No wonder she’s struggling so much now. What have I done?’

  ‘Mum will be all right in the end; Ella and Lauren too. They’ll stick together and get through it. Lauren and Xander are going to move here. I heard Xander tell Ella this morning.’

  ‘Really? Wow. I never saw that coming.’

  ‘What’s done is done, Dad. It’s almost your time to pass over.’

  ‘What if I refuse to go? I could stay here, like you, and watch over them. It could be my penance. Why do I deserve to go to Heaven after everything I’ve done?’

  ‘No, Dad. That’s not an option.’

  ‘Why not? It seems to be working for you. We could keep each other company. Or I could relieve you. You could pass over and I could stay. How about that?’

  I shook my head. ‘You staying here is more likely to cause harm than do good, trust me. You need to get your head together ready to pass over. It’s the only way.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m definite. It’s your choice at the end of the day, but everything I’ve learned since my death tells me to advise you to go.’

  ‘No doubts?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ I lied.

  ‘So why are you still here?’

  ‘Like I told you: because of Ella. I’m a special case. Don’t worry about me. That’s under control.’

  He shook his head as if trying to jolt his mind into focus. ‘Right. I guess I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with it.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  We sat together in silence for several minutes. I wasn’t sure what else to say. And then, as the sound of the organ kicking in for another hymn leaked through the nearest stained-glass window, Hardy materialized.

  ‘How are we doing?’ he asked, although I had little doubt that he knew exactly what had been said.

  Dad stood up. ‘I’m fine. I’m ready. Will set me straight.’

  Hardy eyed me quizzically before turning back to Dad. ‘Good. Things are wrapping up in there. They’ll be out in a minute. Shall we head over to the graveside?’

  ‘Okay. Are you coming, Will?’

  ‘No, I can’t. Sorry. I have to take care of a couple of things.’

  Dad’s face fell. ‘Oh. I guess this is goodbye, then. See you on the other side?’

  He offered me his hand. I took it in a firm grip and then, wondering why we’d shied away from it when he was alive, pulled him into a hug. ‘I love you, Dad.’

  ‘I love you too, son,’ he replied, his voice cracking with emotion. Gripping my shoulders tightly with both hands, he added: ‘Tell Ella I love her too, will you?’

  I nodded and he broke free. He walked a couple of strides, turned to hold up his right hand in a kind of farewell salute and then continued towards the grave, Hardy at his side.

  It wasn’t long before the funeral procession spilled out of the church. The vicar and an altar boy with a large cross led the way, followed by the coffin. It took eight pallbearers, including Xander and Larry, to manage the weight of Dad’s body. Next came Mum, Lauren and Ella, who were supporting each other in a tight huddle.

  Ella glanced up at me as I drew parallel and walked alongside them. ‘Hello, darling,’ I said. ‘I know you can’t answer me now, but blink once if you’re okay.’

  She blinked.

  ‘Good girl. Sorry I had to pop out. Grandad was upset and I had to have a word with him. He’s better now. He’s waiting by the grave. If you want to say anything to him, just whisper it and he’ll hear. He asked me to tell you how much he loves you.’

  A tear raced down Ella’s left cheek. I wished I could wipe it away for her. ‘I have to do something now, sweetheart. I need you to be strong without me.’

  Her face jerk
ed towards me, eyes wide with panic and confusion. I feared for a moment that she was about to blurt something out in front of everyone.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be long,’ I forced myself to say. I blew her a kiss and stopped walking, so the procession – and my daughter – carried on without me. ‘I’ll see you later, yes?’ I called after her.

  Seeing the look of relief on her face as she nodded in agreement – believing my lie – was agony. I faked a smile, but inside I was going to pieces. It was horrendous. How could that be it? How could I slip off without a goodbye?

  No, it’s wrong, I told myself. I know it’s what Lizzie and I agreed, but I can’t do it. I have to tell her.

  As I started back towards my daughter, I felt an arm grab me by the waist. ‘Don’t,’ Lizzie said into my ear. ‘You can’t.’

  The next thing I knew, the two of us were in the school cricket pavilion.

  ‘No!’ I shouted. ‘You have to take me back. I can’t leave Ella with a lie.’

  ‘We talked about this before,’ Lizzie said. ‘I know it’s hard, but it’s the only way. The truth would be too much for her to comprehend. You’d never be able to go ahead with it. Trust me. You’ll see her again. You’ll get your goodbye.’

  ‘But what will happen to her now? How exactly does this third option work? It’s driving me crazy trying to understand.’

  ‘Imagine how hard it would be for Ella to grasp. You have to trust me, William.’

  ‘She’ll definitely be all right?’

  ‘Yes. She won’t remember any of this.’

  ‘Are you sure this reality won’t continue after I’ve gone? I’m struggling with the notion of the whole of existence winding backwards because of me. I couldn’t bear Ella thinking I abandoned her without saying goodbye.’

  ‘There is only one reality. This is it. I’m going to open a window a little way back in your timeline and pop you through. It’s exactly the same reality as the one we’re in now, just earlier; before any of this took place. You’re the only one making the jump. Once you get there, it’s up to you.’

  ‘What about the future you showed me before?’

  ‘That was what would have happened if you’d carried on as you were doing. I simply took you further along the timeline as it was playing out at that moment. It’s kind of the reverse of what I’m about to do now, although then we were only observers. Actually merging your current and past selves is considerably more complicated. There’s only one window – the exact moment that you die – and I have to time it perfectly.’

  ‘Nothing can go wrong?’

  Her nose gave a telltale twitch.

  ‘You have done this before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Listen, this isn’t something that happens often, William. It’s a lifeline very few spirits get offered. I had to argue a good case to get it approved. But don’t worry, I can do it. It’s under control.’

  ‘Sorry, Lizzie. I know I’ve not been very appreciative of everything you’ve done for me. It’s been … so hard letting go. I realize you’ve gone the extra mile – far more than that – and, well, thank you. I mean it.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘You said I’m the only one going back, but you’re coming too, right?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not possible. It’s your window; it will only work for you. I will be there, but not as I am now. I’ll be as I was when we first met.’

  ‘And Arthur? I haven’t had a chance to say goodbye to him.’

  ‘I’m right here, lad,’ Arthur said, appearing next to me.

  I embraced my friend. ‘It’s great to see you. I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry I got you into trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he replied. ‘You’ve nothing to apologize for. It was my choice to help you and I’d do it again in a flash.’

  ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, lad. It’ll be like none of this ever happened, remember.’

  ‘But …’ I thought back to what Lizzie had told me about him putting a brave face on his situation. How he was trapped here forever and she feared for his sanity in the long term. ‘What will you do with yourself?’

  ‘I’ll get by. Keep busy. I’m sure Lizzie will find the odd thing for me to do. She knows where I am.’

  ‘I certainly do,’ she replied.

  ‘But. It’s not fair that—’

  ‘What’s not fair?’ Arthur said. ‘I made my choice. No regrets, remember. And don’t fret about me going cuckoo anytime soon. I’ve lasted this long. Haunting the churchyard is not my style.’

  Lizzie placed a hand on each of our shoulders. ‘It’s time.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Goodbye, lad. Good luck.’

  ‘Goodbye, Arthur. Thanks for everything.’

  He winked and was gone.

  ‘Ready?’ Lizzie asked me.

  ‘I guess so. When I get back, it’ll be the same as last time, right? I just have to make different decisions.’

  ‘Exactly. The key is not to hang around. The less you influence things, the better.’

  ‘What about Dad? Is there anything I can do to stop what happened to him?’

  She shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. The changes you make might be enough to alter your father’s fate. But some things will happen however much you try to stop them – like they’re written in stone.’

  ‘And there’s no way to send me back before my death, so I could stop it from happening?’

  ‘I wish I could, but your death is the window. You can’t beat that.’

  What now? I asked myself, last-minute nerves kicking in. Perhaps I should stay after all. Was going back definitely the right move?

  This was a conversation I’d had with myself countless times since Lizzie had first mentioned the third way. Its chief appeal was the idea of a return to the natural order of things. I’d come to accept that my being here as a spirit and Ella’s ability to interact with me wasn’t healthy. It was a situation I’d created with the best of intentions, but which ultimately wouldn’t be good for either of us. I couldn’t be a proper father to Ella as a spirit. All I’d achieve would be to hold her back in life, making myself bitter and twisted in the process.

  On the other hand, if I passed over here, rather than going back, it would be impossible for Ella to understand. She’d know I’d chosen to abandon her, just like her grandad had. What would that knowledge do to her?

  No, going back was the only solution. I had to seize this opportunity to stop, rewind and let things happen as they should have done in the first place. It still felt terribly unjust for me to die in my mid-thirties; for my little girl to lose her only parent. But who was I to play God and interfere with that? I had to let go. I had to let Ella grieve properly, so she could move on and have a life without me.

  ‘I’ll definitely get to say goodbye to her this way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  Without hesitation, Lizzie moved to stand directly in front of me. She placed her palms on my shoulders and fixed me with a hypnotic gaze. ‘I know it’s been tough, but you’ve made a good choice. All the very best, William.’

  Before I could reply, I felt her hands tighten into a vice-like grip, exerting a sudden intense pressure that pinned me to the spot. She blinked and a blazing beam of white light burst from each of her eyes and into my own, searing through my very essence.

  Then everything as I knew it was no more.

  CHAPTER 35

  I’m standing on the pavement watching two paramedics fight to revive my battered, bloody body. I desperately will them to succeed, even moving closer in the hope I can jump back into my skin at the right moment, but it’s futile. I’m pronounced dead minutes later.

  But I’m still here, I tell myself. What does that make me? And then my thoughts turn to Ella. What will happen to her if I’m dead? She’ll be all alone, abandoned by both of her parents: the very thing I swore she’d never face.

  ‘W
ait! Don’t give up,’ I shout at the paramedics. ‘Don’t stop! I’m still here. You’ve got to keep trying. You don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t fucking give up on me! I’m not dead.’

  I scream my lungs out, begging and pleading with them to try to revive me again, but they can’t hear me. I’m invisible to them and, ironically, to the onlookers gathered at the police cordon – several waving camera phones – keen to catch a glimpse of the dead guy.

  In desperation, I almost try to grab one of the paramedics, but something holds me back. Some part of me knows that a spirit can’t share space with a living person. But how am I so sure?

  ‘Why am I still here?’ I yell at the sky.

  And someone answers me. A voice in my head. Like my own but different. ‘Think. Dig deep. You know why.’

  But I don’t know why and the voice won’t say any more.

  I see the driver who killed me. She’s chain-smoking menthol cigarettes under the watchful eye of a young bobby. She’s telling him what happened. My immediate reaction is to shout at her; to vent my anger and frustration. But then I note the despair in her face. She’s deathly pale and shaking. She knows what she’s done. She has to live with it. That’s punishment enough.

  ‘Have you got the time?’ one police officer asks another.

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  Shit. Home time. Ella. Instinct kicks in and I start to run towards her school.

  The last few stragglers are leaving the school gates by the time I arrive. I rush to the back of the building, where Ella will be waiting, and see her standing there alone, a forlorn look on her face. I feel a strong sense of déjà vu but push it to the back of my mind as I run across the empty yard, waving. ‘Over here, darling! It’s okay. I’m here now.’

  I don’t know what I’m thinking. Why would she see me when no one else has? Watching my six-year-old daughter stare straight through me is quite the reality check.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous,’ the voice from earlier says. ‘Ignoring your gut. That’s denial. You need to think. Dig deep.’