Make a Christmas Wish

by Julia Williams

I think I see Malachi in the distance. I really don’t need a lecture from him about bad behaviour so I move closer to Emily and Adam, who are standing outside the Fox and Grapes. It was a favourite of mine and Adam’s in the old days. Please don’t bring her in here, I think. Can’t you find somewhere new?

  ‘Oh look, there’s a band on,’ I hear Emily say. ‘Come on, it could be fun.’

  ‘Anything to take our mind off things,’ says Adam. I am getting the feeling he isn’t quite as keen as Emily on trying to behave as though none of this is happening. Good. I might be able to work on that. I need to exploit any division opening up between them.

  I follow them into the pub. It’s rammed, heaving with people who are enjoying themselves in that slightly desperate, pre-Christmas we’re-all-out-to-have-fun kind of way. The band are great, playing a whole series of covers I like, and they’re good at it, the guitarist in particular. For a while I just stand there and listen, taking it all in. They have a fabulous mix of blues, rock and Christmas favourites. I allow myself to get lost in the music and forget all about Adam and Emily for a while, remembering instead happier days with Adam when we were younger, coming here for Sunday lunch with Joe in a pram, before we knew there was anything wrong with him. We had many good times together, and we were so much in love with one another back then, I can’t believe it’s gone away; it’s just got buried under all the things that came between us over the years. I need to remind Adam why we fell in love in the first place. Then I know everything will be all right.

  I’m perfectly happy until the band begin to play ‘Fairytale of New York’, and Emily and Adam start dancing.

  No!!! How can he? Doesn’t he remember anything? That was our Christmas song. I am so not having that.

  Adam

  To my surprise, Emily and I are having a brilliant time. It’s wonderful to forget for the moment that I am being haunted by my dead wife, and remember that it’s nearly Christmas and I am with Emily who I love very much. I think I fell in love with her that very first time we met in the café and she was so kind to Joe. There’s just something about Emily. Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s kind and funny and sweet, and it wasn’t long before I was completely obsessed. I tried to ignore it, and pretend it wasn’t happening. I’m not a natural-born adulterer, but then one day, after a particularly bad run in with Livvy, I found myself in the bar alone on a Friday night. Emily had been going to meet her friend Lucy, but at the last minute one of the children was ill, and she was also alone. We got chatting and by the end of the evening I was pouring my heart out to her. Emily listened and didn’t judge, and I loved her a little bit more. When it was time to go, I leaned in for a peck on the cheek, and suddenly I was swept up in a feeling I could neither control nor prevent, and began to kiss her with a passion I had forgotten I was capable of. But it was replaced all too soon with feelings of guilt and mortification, which Emily shared. We agreed then and there it couldn’t happen again. God knows we tried to resist the temptation, but we couldn’t keep away from one another. Life at home was so intolerable, I was desperate for the slice of happiness Emily gave me. And still does.

  I’m a little drunk, so when ‘Fairytale of New York’ comes on I grab Emily for a dance, which is unusual for me. Livvy always complained that I needed a bomb under me to do so.

  Emily is singing along, as are the rest of the pub. The mood is merry and festive, just as it should be. I begin to relax a little; the stress of the last few days finally receding.

  And then it happens.

  There’s a bang and a flash from the Christmas tree lights, and they go out, followed by the lights in the pub, one by one. The band stop playing and we hear a sudden explosion from the electric guitar as the fuse pops; the room goes horribly cold.

  There are a few yells and a general air of disquiet, but the landlord yells, ‘Don’t worry, everyone, I’ll get the lights back on in a jiffy.’

  He disappears to the cellar to turn the circuit generator back on, while I give Emily a worried glance. Oh no … I squeeze her hand and try to banish dark thoughts. The landlord is soon back with a load of tea lights. ‘The switches all look OK,’ he says, baffled. I’m not. It’s Livvy, it has to be. He swiftly lights candles, creating a mellow festive mood, and the band start to play again, the guitarist swapping his electric guitar for an acoustic one. They switch to more folksy music, which fits the mood, and people begin to relax again, enjoying the change of pace.

  The band are halfway through a Corrs song when the door at one end of the bar gusts open and all the candles blow out. This happens several times before the landlord gives up and gets a torch instead. Mutters of unease ripple round the pub, and several people get up to go.

  Desperate to keep his crowd together, the barman shouts ‘Drinks on the house till the lights come back on!’ which is effective. There’s an immediate stampede to the bar, and the waverers are persuaded to stay.

  Emily and I both know what’s happening.

  ‘Bloody Livvy,’ says Emily, ‘what’s she up to?’ and then – oof! – falls straight into me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She pushed me,’ says Emily in indignation. ‘Livvy pushed me.’

  I look around, nervously wondering where Livvy could be. I wish I could see her.

  ‘Livvy, if you’re there, give it a rest, will you? We just wanted a night out.’

  The fire flares up, and there’s another ‘Ow!’ from Emily, and an indignant, ‘She pinched me! I am getting so hacked off with this!’ Then the lights go back up and the band resume playing.

  ‘What the hell are we going to do with her?’ I say.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Week before Christmas

  Adam

  I’m still mulling over what to do on Sunday when Felicity rings me to remind me Joe and I have promised to come to the Festival of Carols at the church where she sings. It’s not really my thing, but Livvy always used to take Joe and he likes going. Now she’s not here, it’s my job. It’s hard being both mum and dad to him, but I am doing my best.

  Joe and I arrive at church in plenty of time. St Mary’s is a large Victorian church, hidden away down a dark alley, surrounded by its graveyard. I used to like walking among the tombstones wondering who all the people were buried there. That’s lost its appeal in the last year.

  The bells are ringing and there’s a brightly lit Christmas tree outside the church, which lifts my spirits. The light flowing from the church porch seems to banish dark thoughts.

  Father Matthew is standing outside in his surplice, greeting people. An avuncular figure, with greying hair, I recognize him from Livvy’s funeral. I don’t know him well, but he was kind to us last year. How kind people are has become my barometer for judging them. So many of them were awkward and didn’t know what to say. I’ve lost touch with a fair few in the last year who hadn’t even bothered to send a card. At times like that you learn who your friends really are.

  ‘Adam, Joe.’ He shakes our hands enthusiastically. ‘Welcome, welcome. Great to see you both.’

  I feel sorry for him if he believes the welcome will make us come back. He knows I’m a dyed-in-the-wool atheist, who doesn’t believe in all that life after death claptrap, as I told him in no uncertain terms last year. But bless him, he tries. I don’t plan on telling him I might be having a bit of a change of heart on that one.

  We go near to the front at Joe’s suggestion, ‘So we can see Granny properly,’ and sit down. ‘Leave a space for Mum,’ he adds.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say, thinking, please, not here too. Joe still doesn’t know we’ve been to the seance or had Zandra round to ours. I haven’t quite found the words to tell him.

  ‘Mum will come,’ says Joe, with a beatific smile on his face. ‘She always comes. She likes the carols.’

  I’m not sure that ghosts who haven’t yet mastered the art of passing over as they should are able to enter churches – something to do with hallowed ground perhaps? – but I let it pass. If it co
mforts Joe to think that Livvy is here, who am I to disillusion him? And if she’s got it in for Emily, I know she’d never ever hurt or upset Joe.

  I forget about it as the service starts. For a non-believer, it’s a bit of an ordeal. It’s very long, with endless Bible readings, from the Angel Gabriel visiting Mary to the final visit from the three Wise Men. The quality of the readers is patchy. The woman who reads the story of the Virgin Birth has such a beautiful voice, I get a lump in my throat. Even for an atheist like me, there’s something touching about the story of the baby born in a stable. But the elderly chap reading the story of the visitation of the shepherds has me nearly nodding off, and I have to fight hard to stop myself giggling when one overdramatic lady reading the bit about Joseph and Mary looking for shelter feels the need to act it out. I like the carols though, and Joe is singing along so lustily (albeit out of tune) that it’s hard not to feel a little Christmassy.

  And then as we get up to sing ‘Silent Night’, Joe says, ‘Hi Mum,’ and I suddenly feel as if Livvy is standing right next to me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise – can she really be here? It’s weird but I feel as if she is leaning against me, and she’s not angry, but peaceful, and it comforts me – for a moment, it feels like we are a family again. Together at Christmas, just as it should be. Just as we were so many years ago. I am hit by an overwhelming sense of anguish. By the time we get to the end of ‘Silent Night’, I find that I am crying, for loss and love and things that can’t be regained.

  ‘Livvy,’ I whisper, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Livvy

  I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get into church. I thought I might be held up at the door. But as I walk through the hordes of worshippers pouring in, I see that Reverend Matt is not alone. There’s another older vicar, dressed in old-fashioned garments, standing next to him, who’s just as dead as I am.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he says.

  ‘You mean, I’m allowed in?’ I say dubiously.

  I am desperate to enter the church, but thought I would be stopped at the door. Aren’t there rules about it? Joe and I always went to this service together to hear Mum singing. I love the carols, and I simply want to be near them both.

  ‘Of course you’re allowed in,’ says the vicar. ‘This is the house of God. All are welcome, see?’ He motions to a group of ghosts who are milling around at the back. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.

  ‘But no trouble, eh?’ he adds, as I go inside.

  I have no intention of causing trouble. This isn’t the place for it. Besides I’ve spotted that Adam and Joe are together without Emily, which is perfect. And Mum is there processing down the aisle in her choir gown, like always. For a moment I feel a pang. Mum has done so well, carving a life out for herself since Dad died, and I never told her how proud I was of her. Now that I’m dead, I am beginning to see I took her for granted. Why did I do that? When she was always there, in the background, helping? It’s not just my life I’ve lost, it’s the people in it, and I feel sad and lonely, trapped on the other side, looking in.

  Before I go to sit with Adam and Joe, I cross over to the choir stalls and stand beside Mum. I don’t know whether she’s aware of me, but I draw enormous comfort from her singing ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. I’ve always loved that carol, and listening to Mum makes me feel very peaceful. I tell her she sounds lovely.

  Then I look over to Adam and Joe. They are my everything, and I need to be with them. So I go to take my place next to them, right where I belong.

  I know Joe can feel me, because he grins and says, ‘Hello Mum,’ but Adam I’m not so sure of.

  I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. It may mean nothing to him, but there’s a warmth and tenderness coming from him, and I feel comforted by his nearness. And when I hear him whisper how sorry he is, I know he’s felt me too.

  This is what my life was, and still should be. I can’t bear the thought of Emily taking my place. I sit up. I am damned if I am going to let her. I hadn’t meant to hurt her with that stupid lightbulb. But maybe I can scare her into thinking I want to.

  Emily

  Emily was sitting in her flat wrapping Christmas presents, with a glass of wine in hand and cheesy Christmas music playing, talking on the phone to her dad, who had been down to his local for a port and Stilton tasting.

  ‘I’ve had a lovely evening, Emily,’ he was hiccupping. ‘And you’ll never guess who’s invited me to dinner?’

  ‘No idea,’ laughed Emily. ‘It could be one of any number of mad fools.’

  ‘It’s Sherry Matthews if you must know,’ said Dad. ‘And she’s not mad, but rather lovely.’

  ‘I really don’t want to know, Dad,’ said Emily as she grappled with the Sellotape.

  ‘Mind you,’ he continued, ‘she’s not as lovely as the divine Felicity. You will tell her I was asking after her, won’t you?’

  ‘She’s out of your league, Dad. And I think she can see through your wiles.’

  ‘A man can try,’ sighed Dad, and then added, ‘How’s everything else? No more funny stuff?’

  Emily had been giving him a very edited version of events, partly so as not to worry him, partly so that he didn’t think she’d completely lost it. To her surprise, Dad had been remarkably accepting of the idea that his daughter might be being haunted by her boyfriend’s dead wife.

  ‘There’s more to this world than we know,’ he said wisely. Emily had had no idea her rational dad even thought like that, but he told her he changed his opinion when Mum had died.

  ‘It was like she was trying to get through to me,’ he said. ‘I’d go in our bedroom and smell her favourite scent, and then the first rose came out on her birthday, and I knew it was her saying everything was OK. So now, I think, who knows what goes on? I certainly don’t. Anyway, I hope nothing untoward is occurring.’

  Emily wished he was there so she could have hugged him. It made her feel better, knowing she could talk to someone else about it. She hadn’t dared mention any of this to Lucy, who despite being a good friend would either laugh or tell her she should see a shrink.

  ‘Dad, there’s nothing to worry about really,’ said Emily, omitting to mention what had happened in the pub; there was no point making him fret. ‘I’ll give you a ring before Christmas, if I’m ever lucky enough to catch you in.’

  ‘Love you, sweetheart,’ said Dad and hung up, leaving Emily alone with her pile of presents.

  It was quite restful being away from Adam’s house for a bit. Although Adam had asked Emily to go to carols with him and Joe, she had made her excuses. It was something they probably needed to do together anyway. The last thing she wanted was for Joe to think she was trying to muscle in on Livvy’s place.

  The last few days had been intense to say the least, and Emily was enjoying sitting here belting out the words to ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ at the top of her voice without interruption. Her flat felt cosy and warm, and she was having a serious think about whether she was quite ready to leave it yet. Even without all the Livvy nonsense, she might have had second thoughts. After Graham had left her, Emily had fought hard for her independence. It had been a slog selling the joint house they’d shared in North London and getting a mortgage on this little flat, but Emily had been very happy here. She’d enjoyed living a life beholden to no one but herself. Should she give that freedom up and take on a stepson so soon? Even for Adam? Maybe they should wait a bit longer.

  She was just sticking down the Sellotape on Felicity’s present – a gardening trug and clippers, as Emily knew from Adam she loved her roses – when she heard a bang, making her nearly jump out of her skin. Emily went to the hall, and discovered the front door had blown open. Had she left it on the latch?

  Oh no, surely Livvy wouldn’t come here? Emily was overcome with rage; how dare Livvy enter her private sanctuary?

  There was another bang on the bathroom door and the sound of taps running. Emily flew into the bathroom to turn them off. The mi
rror was steamed up and to her horror she could see words forming on it. Livvy was writing a message.

  LEAVE HIM ALONE. HE’S MINE.

  ‘Oh grow up, Livvy,’ Emily said. ‘He can’t be yours, you’re dead, remember?’

  The door banged behind her, making her start once more. She wiped the message off and then heard yet more banging coming from her bedroom. There was another message in lipstick on her mirror:

  FIND YOUR OWN MAN!

  Emily felt her anger leach away into fear. What was Livvy planning to do? What did she want?

  There were notes now, blowing from the notepad she kept by the phone across the floor, saying:

  LEAVE … HIM … ALONE

  Emily grabbed them and crumpled them in the bin.

  ‘Livvy, you don’t scare me!’ Emily said with a confidence she didn’t feel. She could almost hear Livvy saying, ‘Oh, yeah?’ in her head, because the reality was she was scaring Emily half to death. She was alone in the flat with a very angry ghost who hated her. She could hardly ring 999.

  And then she found another message on the mirror in the lounge.

  I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL YOU DO.

  Shaking with fear, Emily sank to her knees in dismay.

  Oh God. Livvy really wasn’t intending to go away. What was she planning to do?

  Joe’s Notebook

  We went to church with Granny.

  I like to hear the carols.

  Mum likes the carols too.

  That’s why she came to church with us.

  There we were, Mum, Dad and I.

  I think even Dad felt her this time.

  And maybe Granny did too.

  I hope so.

  Granny is often sad about Mum.

  I don’t want Granny to be sad.

  Maybe the carols made her happy tonight.

  I know they made Mum happy.

  That’s good.