Make a Christmas Wish

by Julia Williams

  ‘Adam, you bastard,’ I gasp out. And then I can’t do it any more. I pull myself out of Zandra’s body, and stumble away from the stage, fleeing the theatre among a teeming crowd of ghosts who’ve got bored and given up, heading back down to Underworld.

  Tonight has been an unmitigated disaster, and it’s all my fault.

  Adam

  ‘Adam, you bastard.’

  For the first time I am convinced Livvy is back. It certainly sounds like her, and after her final text to me I shouldn’t be surprised she’s angry. I’m in a state of shock like the rest of the audience. I have no idea what has gone on here tonight, but it’s been terrifying. If this has all been put on by Zandra and her crew, it feels horribly horribly real.

  ‘Livvy,’ I manage to say, ‘I’m so sorry,’ but there’s no response. And then Zandra seems to shudder and take control again, saying, in her normal voice, ‘All of you, out! Show’s over.’

  There’s a ripple and the sound of hissing, and then the curtains stop swaying, the lights go back on and there’s silence. During a nervous pause I can see Zandra is trying to compose herself, and then the audience is clapping wildly. It’s as if none of them want to believe what they’ve just witnessed, they’re all pretending it’s part of the show.

  Zandra is lapping it up, wandering about the stage, taking in the applause.

  ‘I’m sorry about the interruptions,’ she says. ‘We’ve had some very naughty spirits in tonight. But after all, it is Christmas, and even on the Other Side people can still enjoy themselves.’

  There is a roar of approval from the crowd at this. They seem to be swallowing Zandra’s version of events, hook, line and sinker. Emily and I look at one another.

  ‘Are they all blind?’ said Emily. ‘Are we the only ones who think something strange happened here tonight?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ I say as the audience gradually calms down while Zandra is thanking us all for coming and telling us where her road show will be going after Christmas.

  ‘Like anyone in their right mind would want to go through that again,’ I mutter. I certainly don’t. I have never been so spooked by anything in my life before.

  We file out with the crowds, people chatting excitedly about what they’ve seen tonight. As if it were a laugh, a joke. In contrast I feel wrung out and exhausted. If that was Livvy, her anger has hit me hard. What have I done to her? She’s dead, and the thought of her still suffering because of me is horrendous, despite everything that went wrong between us.

  Emily

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Emily said as they left the theatre, ‘but I could use a drink.’

  Adam nodded silently. He had been very quiet since the show finished, and Emily could feel he had gone distant on her. She wished she knew what he was thinking. All she did know was that she’d gone into the theatre a sceptic and come out a believer. First Mum, then Livvy. It was too much of a coincidence. Moreover whatever people were now convincing themselves that they’d just experienced, the flashing lights, the lights dimming, the music playing and the cold breaths on the backs of their necks felt all too real, and from what Emily had read about Zandra her shows were never that gimmicky.

  If this was real, where did that leave them? Joe was right: Livvy clearly wanted to get in touch, but judging by what she had said to Adam, she was pretty angry. Emily knew that Livvy had a right to feel hurt, but a part of her also thought Livvy was being unfair. She had rejected Adam long before Emily had met him. And why couldn’t they have this shot at happiness just because Livvy had died?

  ‘So …’ Emily said cautiously, as Adam knocked back a vodka and tonic really fast (which was worrying in itself, Adam never normally touched spirits), ‘I think we might have to face the fact that we’re actually being haunted. If that wasn’t Livvy I don’t know who else it could have been.’

  Adam didn’t reply. He looked ashen, every bit as bad as he did in those first terrible weeks after Livvy had died. It made Emily angry.

  ‘I know Livvy’s dead and I should feel sorry for her,’ Emily said. ‘But hasn’t she done enough? She caused you so much heartache when she was alive, and now she’s still delivering it in spades from beyond the grave. Why can’t she just let it go?’

  ‘I think’, said Adam, ‘I need another drink.’

  ‘OK.’ Emily touched his hand. ‘It’s not the answer though.’

  ‘Don’t you know that I of all people understand that?’ Adam said, his voice bitter.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Emily kissed him on the cheek and went to the bar, where she ordered two more shots. She was waiting for the drinks when someone jostled her.

  ‘Oh it’s you,’ she said in surprise. ‘What the hell happened in there?’

  Zandra was standing in front of Emily, with her crew, who all looked like they’d had a heavy night of it already. She turned and paled slightly.

  ‘I need – give me a moment,’ she said. ‘Where are you sitting?’

  ‘Over there.’ Emily pointed to where Adam was staring sadly into space.

  ‘Flying Spirit came through to me after the show. I need to speak to you both,’ said Zandra. ‘I’ll be over in a jiffy.’

  Emily took the drinks back to Adam, who accepted his gratefully.

  ‘I needed that,’ he said. ‘Bloody hell. What an evening.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Zandra was gliding into the seat next to them. Emily noted with amusement that she’d lost her Atlantic twang, and reverted to an Essex drawl. ‘Your wife certainly stirs up trouble.’

  ‘But—’ protested Adam as if part of him still couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

  ‘That wasn’t me tonight,’ said Zandra. ‘Whatever you may think of me, I do have a connection with the Other Side, and no one has caused that much mayhem before. My guide has told me all about your wife.’

  ‘You really think it was Livvy?’

  ‘I do,’ said Zandra. ‘And I sense a soul in more trouble than most. She wants to pass over but can’t. She clearly has unfinished business.’

  Emily glanced at Adam, wondering how well he’d take that.

  ‘It’s true,’ he mumbled. ‘There was – stuff – unresolved when she died.’

  Emily tried not to flinch at that. It would never have been easy for Adam to tell Livvy that he’d wanted to leave her. Then she’d found out and sent Adam a furious text, and then – boom! – a car had hit her and the next thing they knew she was dead. Though he never said as much, Emily knew Adam still blamed himself. If they hadn’t been having an affair, if Livvy hadn’t been upset and been paying more attention, they might eventually have been able to sort everything out in a kinder, more humane way and one that protected Joe. But they had and she wasn’t. No one’s fault; just appalling sodding luck.

  ‘So here you are,’ said Zandra. ‘I have a suggestion. I don’t do this very often, but your Livvy gave me a big headache tonight. I can’t have her disrupting my show again. So I am willing to do a private seance for you, for a small fee, so you can make peace with your wife. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a terrible idea,’ Emily blurted out. Who knew what madness Livvy would inflict on them if she had Adam’s undivided attention? Although … maybe there’d be another opportunity to talk to Mum again.

  ‘What do you think, Adam?’ she asked tentatively.

  Adam looked up bleakly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I owe her that. Let’s do it.’

  Joe’s Notebook

  Dad and Emily are out tonight, which is why I am at Caroline’s.

  It’s good to have a girlfriend.

  Maybe that’s why Dad is with Emily.

  Mum died and he needed a girlfriend.

  I think Mum made Dad sad sometimes.

  He is often sad.

  I don’t like Dad being sad.

  Emily makes him happy.

  This is good.

  If Dad were a star, I think he’d be Polaris. That’s the star that leads you home.
>
  And now Mum’s not here, Dad leads me home.

  I wonder if he can lead her home too?

  Christmas Past

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Malachi appears by my side as I sit on a bench with a thumping headache. You get hangovers when you’re dead? How does that work? Do you also get fat from eating too many cakes?

  ‘Has someone got a guilty conscience?’ says Malachi, leaping up next to me. I swear he’s purring.

  ‘Go away,’ I say grumpily; my head is pounding too much to face this conversation.

  ‘You’re proud of your little display, are you?’ he says.

  ‘It got a bit … out of hand.’

  Malachi snorts.

  ‘Mind you,’ he adds, ‘when DJ Steve gets involved in anything, there’s always trouble.’

  ‘I thought he was one of you lot,’ I say.

  ‘Freelance,’ says Malachi, looking disgusted. ‘He thinks the rules don’t apply to him.’

  ‘So why did you send me to him?’ I say, exasperated.

  ‘Because I thought you at least might behave responsibly,’ says Malachi. ‘Despite the fact you’re not easy material, I do have high hopes that one day you’ll come good.’

  Gee, thanks for that endorsement.

  ‘And who sets the rules anyway?’ I want to know. ‘How do I know you’re right and Steve isn’t?’

  ‘Steve isn’t exactly wrong,’ says Malachi, ‘but his methods are unorthodox and I don’t approve. Everyone needs order, especially when you’re dead. If you’d only listen to me, we’d get this over and done with much sooner.’

  Yawn. Yawn. Yawn.

  ‘At least Adam knows I’m here now,’ I offer.

  ‘There is that,’ says Malachi, ‘but I still don’t think you’re getting it.’

  ‘Getting what?’ I say, frustrated. I’m sick of Malachi talking in riddles.

  ‘You still haven’t faced up to where things went wrong. And it’s no good blaming Adam for everything.’

  ‘He was the one who had an affair,’ I say snappily.

  ‘You really don’t remember, do you?’ Malachi says. ‘Here, let me remind you.’

  It’s Christmas Eve and 8-year-old Joe is in bed. We’ve got Adam’s parents again this year. Adam has begged me to be on my best behaviour. And I’m trying, I really am, but they’re constantly on my case about Joe, like they’re experts or something. Them. The parents who can’t bear to be in the same room as their autistic son.

  I’ve been drinking mulled wine like it’s going out of fashion and have managed to keep a lid on my tongue so far, but I’m relieved when they decide to go to bed early. Somehow although I thought I was completely organized for Christmas, I’ve still got presents to wrap.

  ‘Do you want me to help?’ says Adam. Yeah, right. That’s always been my job. And actually, I can see he’s knackered. Now his parents are in bed, I’m feeling quite jolly, looking forward to sitting by the fire on my own wrapping things up.

  ‘No, no, you go on,’ I say. I settle myself down with a glass of wine and Home Alone. It always puts me in the Christmas mood.

  ‘And you’ll do Joe’s stocking, right?’ says Adam.

  ‘Of course.’ I wave him away, feeling a sudden surge of resentment. When have I ever not done Joe’s stocking?

  The wrapping takes longer than I’d thought it would. The Sellotape is fiddly and I keep tearing the paper. Adam’s mum’s present – a foot spa, all the rage this year – looks like it’s been dragged here by Santa, but it can’t be helped. And Joe won’t care if some of his presents are a bit of an odd shape.

  By 2 a.m. I’m done. I gather the presents up and put them by the tree, but forget I’m still carrying my glass, and accidentally tip red wine on the damned foot spa. Sod. Have to do it again.

  Now I’m having difficulty with Joe’s presents. Which ones were for the stocking again? I can’t remember. I’m sure it will come back to me …

  ‘Livvy, Livvy,’ Adam is shaking me awake. ‘Joe’s up and wondering where Santa is.’

  Oh shit! It’s 5 a.m. and I must have fallen asleep.

  I think I’m still drunk, because I’ve got the giggles, and Adam seems quite cross, which is making me laugh even more.

  ‘Oh go to bed,’ he says in disgust. ‘I’ll sort it.’

  I stagger upstairs, and the next thing I know it’s daylight. Blearily I look at the clock. It’s 10 a.m., and I’m completely alone. I’m also still dressed. Why? Where’s Adam with my Christmas breakfast? Oh.

  The turkey. I sit bolt upright. At this rate Christmas is going to be a disaster.

  I throw some clothes on and fly downstairs to find Adam, his parents and Joe sitting in the kitchen. I can smell the turkey.

  Adam looks exhausted.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ I say. ‘I must have overslept.’

  ‘Yes, you must,’ says Adam, and there’s a strange look in his eye. ‘It’s OK, Mum helped me with the turkey.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m gabbling. I never intended this to happen. Adam’s parents aren’t fond of me and I want so hard to impress them.

  We exchange Christmas greetings, and Joe proudly shows me his stocking presents, and then I breezily take over, as if that was the plan all along.

  ‘You entertain your mum and dad,’ I say brightly, when Adam offers to help. ‘You don’t see them very often.’

  But as soon as I’m alone in the kitchen, I feel a slump coming on. There’s a black hole in my memory about last night. Somehow I feel Adam is cross with me, but I can’t think why. I only had one or two drinks, and it is Christmas. That’s what everyone does. Why can’t I have a drink now?

  Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming desire for bubbly. That’s supposed to be good for hangovers. Hair of the dog is what I need. As I chop vegetables and listen to Carols from King’s, soothing though it is, I feel rattled and slightly on edge. It’s not the end of the world that I overslept on Christmas Day, is it? I pour myself a wine glass full of champagne to make myself feel better. It’s never too early to drink on Christmas Day.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Adam comes into the kitchen. He seems furious for some reason. What is wrong with him today?

  I raise my eyes blearily from the kitchen table, where I appear to have been having a little doze. The kitchen is in chaos. Apparently I was cutting crosses in sprouts when I fell asleep. There’s a smell of burning coming from the hob. It must be the potatoes that have boiled dry.

  ‘If you insist on ruining Christmas for me,’ Adam hisses, ‘can you at least think about your son.’

  I have never seen him so angry.

  I try and laugh it off, but suddenly I find I can’t. Instead I start sobbing. It’s Christmas Day and Adam is angry with me, and I just can’t figure out why.

  ‘Christ, Livvy, you’re a disgrace,’ says Adam. ‘Go upstairs and sober up. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.’

  I stumble out of the kitchen, and run into Joe.

  ‘Mum?’ he says uncertainly, and he looks so lost I feel worse than ever.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. Mummy’s not feeling very well,’ I slur. I’m a poor excuse for a mother and a wife. Somewhere in my drunken state I realize I’ve behaved very badly this time, and there’s no coming back from this.

  I’m catapulted back into the present, in shock at what I have seen. Was that how I behaved? I seemed to have blanked it from my memory.

  ‘Oh,’ I say to Malachi in a small voice.

  I had no idea how hideous I could be when I was drunk.

  ‘Oh indeed,’ says Malachi. ‘Now do you see? Your life was a mess before you died, and deep down I know you feel bad about that. You can’t pass over till you’ve put things right with the people you love. That’s why you’re still here.’

  Part Two

  Christmas Present

  Joe’s Notebook

  What is a mum?

  A mum has a drink in the afternoon, but ssh, it’s a secret.

  A mum forgets me sometimes.


  A mum sleeps in the afternoon.

  A mum isn’t always here.

  I remember the notebooks Joe used to leave lying about the place, with his thoughts laid bare. How could I have forgotten them? Each was a knife in the heart, to remind me of how much I’d failed him. No wonder Adam turned to Emily. I wasn’t there for him either.

  If there was only a way back. If only I hadn’t died in that crappy car park. I could show them how truly sorry I am.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ says Malachi. ‘You have to go to Adam and Joe and say you’re truly sorry. I know it’s rough you died before you were ready but it’s time to let go and accept Adam is with Emily and move on.’

  ‘I just can’t do that,’ I say. ‘Adam still cheated on me. It wasn’t all my fault. Besides, I don’t want Emily to have him, I want him for myself.’

  Malachi raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Livvy,’ he says patiently. ‘That’s not the way it works. You’re dead. You don’t get to pick up your old life again. You have to accept it’s over.’

  ‘Isn’t there some way I can do it?’ I ask. ‘David Niven did it in A Matter of Life or Death.’

  ‘That’s a film,’ says Malachi, rolling his eyes.

  ‘But don’t you see?’ I say. ‘This is my second chance. If there was only a way I could start again with Adam, I’d make it work this time.’

  ‘No,’ says Malachi very firmly. ‘That’s never going to happen.’

  I get the feeling there’s something he’s not telling me, but he refuses to be drawn.

  ‘But say I hadn’t died,’ I say. ‘What then? I just can’t believe that this is it, that I don’t get any more chances.’