‘Ella, Daddy’s here,’ I say for the umpteenth time, kneeling in front of her so we are face to face. Her lips are chapped and her right hand, which is clenching her Hello Kitty lunchbox, is covered in red felt-tip ink. It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on what.
I gasp as I realize I won’t be able to remind her to use her lip balm or to help her ‘scrub those mucky paws’. Oblivious to my presence, she stares expectantly towards the far end of the playground.
I look at the open door behind Ella, knowing somehow that her teacher, Mrs Afzal, is about to emerge. She does. And she says what I know she’s going to say. ‘Is he still not here, love? You’d better get inside now.’
‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ Ella insists.
‘His watch might need a new battery again,’ I say in sync with my daughter.
How did I know she was going to say that?
‘Why do you think?’ the voice asks me. ‘Dig deep. She’ll be here in a minute.’
Who’ll be here?
Mrs Afzal mentions getting the school office to give me a call. I picture my mobile ringing in the back of the ambulance while they drive away my dead body. I imagine one of the paramedics, my blood still splattered across his green shirt, rooting through my pockets to find it. The panic I feel is strangely familiar. How long before Ella discovers what has happened?
I’m about to follow them inside when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It should surprise me, but it doesn’t. I know that when I turn around, she’ll be there.
‘Who’ll be there?’ the voice asks me.
I don’t know.
I turn, and then I do know.
Seeing her face is the key that opens up my mind, flooding it with memories of now and the future. Memories I shouldn’t have. But I do, because I’ve been here before.
‘Hello, William. Sorry to sneak up on you like that. I, um, I’m—’
‘Lizzie.’
She looks puzzled. ‘Yes … that’s right. How did you know?’
‘You already said.’
Her nose twitches. ‘I did? Oh, right. Anyhow, you’ve probably got a few questions.’
Not as many as you might expect, I think.
I hang around for a short while, watching everyone. The clock’s ticking but I still have a few hours to go. It’s strange being back in my old house again, watching them all grieving for me afresh. It’s my world – and yet it’s not. This time I have to stay detached, an observer. I have no place here.
Everything happens pretty much the same as I remember it, although I’m able to observe more now that I’m not so confused and frustrated. Watching Mum break the news of my death to Ella is even more distressing than the first time I saw it. I was in a haze then, like everyone else is now, which must have cushioned the blow. There’s also the fact that I don’t have long left with her. I’m harshly aware of that. She might not be able to see me now, but I savour every moment I spend with her. If only she didn’t look so sad, so lost.
It breaks my heart all over again, even though I know it’s coming, when she’s sitting in her princess castle and says: ‘I know you’re not dead, Daddy. Please come home soon, so Nana can see that she’s wrong. You promised you’d never leave me and I know you meant it. Please come home, Daddy. I miss you.’
Seeing my father alive again is hard as well. I wish I could talk to him and tell him what he needs to know. He’s in shock, like Mum and Ella. Lauren and Xander too, I suppose, but they’ve not flown over yet. I wonder if they’ll still end up moving here. I hope so. It’ll be good for Ella to have the two of them around.
Everyone knows what’s happened but can’t fully comprehend it. That will last for a while, at least until the funeral. So too will that terrible feeling they’ll have every morning when they slip free from the warm blanket of deep sleep and it dawns on them that the nightmare is real.
I wish I could spare them all of this, but I can’t. It’s part of a process they have to go through. At least they’re not aware of having to go through it for a second time. That’s my burden.
As this awful day draws to a close, I watch Ella go to bed and then I stay with Mum and Dad until they turn in too. I whisper my goodbyes at the foot of their bed before returning to Ella’s room.
So, here we are, I think. This is it: my chance to say goodbye.
Once I’m satisfied that Ella’s in a deep sleep, I kneel at the side of her bed and repeat the procedure as I carried it out before.
I place the open palm of one of my hands on top of the other. I hold them just above Ella’s head, close my eyes and focus on my daughter. I try to blank my mind of everything apart from Ella. I picture her standing there in front of me, eyes twinkling above her gappy smile. I imagine myself ruffling her beautiful blond curls before picking her up for a hug. I think back to some of the best times we’ve spent together, some in a future that no longer exists.
It takes a couple of tries, but I’m not worried. I know it will work eventually. I continue to focus on my daughter, calmly battening down the hatches of my mind until there’s no way anything else can get in there. Then comes that sudden lurching feeling of the world folding in and swallowing me whole. I’m falling.
Down.
Down.
Down.
When it ends and I breathe the cool, damp air into my lungs, I let out a scream of joy. I scrabble to my feet in the dark, breathing the same overpowering fishy smell as last time, and rush out through the tunnel.
I hoped this was where I’d find her again. Sure enough, as I spill out of the darkness on to the toasty, sun-drenched Cornish beach of Ella’s imagination, I see the pink blur of her princess castle in the distance. Looking down at my new outfit – the same chinos and checked shirt as on my last visit to this place – I ditch my trainers and socks and roll up my trouser legs. Then I race towards my destination as fast as my bare feet will carry me.
I’m the happiest I’ve felt in a long, long time. There’s a tough conversation ahead. I know that. But it doesn’t dent my elation, this incredible sense of liberation, because I’m finally sure that I’m doing the right thing. It won’t be easy for Ella to come to terms with my death, but she’ll get there eventually.
I can already picture us embracing outside the tent: me and my precious daughter. As I sprint towards her, I wonder what magic will unfold in this fertile playground of her sleeping mind. I know my stay here will be limited. Before long Ella’s brain will recognize that I don’t belong and I’ll be ejected, like on my last visit. But I plan to make the most of my time here. I’ll use it to prepare her as best as I can for life without me; to make sure she knows how much I love her. I also hope to plant a seed about Dad having a stroke, which might help to change his fate this time around. I don’t know what Ella will remember when she wakes up, but I have to believe that my words will wedge themselves somewhere in her subconscious.
Not that I’ll be staying to find out. My time as an observer is over. As soon as I leave this dreamland, I’ll call Lizzie, take her hand and surrender myself to the pure white light that leads to the other side. I try to imagine what it will be like as I keep running and the pink tent draws closer. How can it be any more perfect than this place?
I hope Alice is waiting for me, like she said she would be; like she has been in my dreams. I hope we can get past what I did to her and love each other again as we did at the start. And I hope Ella will join us there one day – but not until she’s old and grey with a happy life behind her. I hope …
I’m close enough. I can’t hold out any longer. ‘Ella,’ I call. ‘Ella? Are you there?’
Nothing happens for a second and my heart skips a beat. Then I see the door being slowly unzipped from the inside by a little hand. My incredible daughter’s head pops out and she beams a huge grin at me. ‘Daddy!’ she yells, racing out on to the sand in her favourite red and white polka dot swimsuit; jumping into my arms. ‘Oh, Daddy. I knew you’d come.’
What if your fi
rst love was your only love?
An enthralling love story guaranteed to make you laugh, cry and dream upon a star…
Acknowledgements
Various people have played a role in bringing this book to life. It’s been a long road to publication and I wouldn’t have made it without their help.
Thank you first and foremost to my family for believing in me without question. Thanks for reading the earliest of drafts, being there for all my queries and anxieties, and allowing me the freedom to achieve my dream. Claudia, Kirsten, Mum, Dad and Lindsay, you’re all amazing.
Next I must thank my literary agent, Pat Lomax. You’ve been brilliant at guiding me through this process from start to finish. You believed in the book right away. You saw what others didn’t and have been fighting my corner ever since. All your hard work and support is greatly appreciated.
Thank you to the wonderful team at Avon/HarperCollins – particularly Lydia Vassar-Smith, Katy Loftus, Eleanor Dryden and Kate Ellis – who made the editing process a pleasure. I doubt there’s a friendlier place to learn the ropes of being a published author.
Before I had an agent or publisher, a few friends were kind enough to read and give feedback on early drafts of this novel. I’m grateful Mervyn Kay, Tim Smith and Nick Coligan. You’re all stars.
I must also mention Maurice Cohen, Rosie Kaye and Hillary Shaw. Your help was invaluable.
And lastly, thanks to you, the reader. You’re the reason I write.
About the Author
Former journalist S.D. Robertson quit his role as a local newspaper editor to pursue a lifelong ambition of becoming a novelist.
An English graduate from the University of Manchester, he’s also worked as a holiday rep, door-to-door salesman, train cleaner, kitchen porter and mobile phone network engineer.
Over the years Stuart has spent time in France, Holland and Australia, but home these days is back in the UK. He lives in a village near Manchester with his wife and daughter. There’s also his cat, Bernard, who likes to distract him from writing – usually by breaking things.
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF, UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
Time to Say Goodbye Page 27