‘So, Lily,’ Sue says calmly, changing the subject, ‘I think you should contact me when you think you are ready. But don’t be scared, dear,’ she adds, ‘don’t ever be scared. If you want to come back and talk any time, please do.’ I look at her and think about her complete and utter peace with the world. I think it must be because she is so sure that death is not the end. It is sad, that’s for sure, but perhaps not as tragic as it is when you don’t believe.
‘Sue?’ I ask, and she inclines her head in her strange way. ‘The wisps of smoke I told you about … at my funeral. You had two, do you know what they were?’
‘I know who they are.’ She smiles and leans back in her seat as if she has just eaten a satisfyingly good meal. ‘They are my first husband and my first boy, Andrew. The accident.’ She pats her amputated stump. ‘I’ve never seen them since they passed over, but I know they are around me when I need them. The spirit world tells me,’ she says confidently. Then she laughs. ‘They have my leg with them for now, and when it is my turn to go, they can have the rest of me.’
‘Oh.’ I laugh a little too, sort of. ‘I see … What happened?’ But she presses my arm again as she gently leads me to the front door, giving me a look that I don’t understand.
‘What happened is no longer relevant. It’s how we move on that counts.’ She opens the door for us and my dad steps over the threshold to the world outside, looking somehow smaller than he did when he went in. I link arms with him and we leave her, closing the green door behind us until another day.
Climbing into the car, I can see Dad’s hand beginning to get puffy and purple where he smacked it but I try to hide my pure joy at not being expelled from Ben’s body tonight, as I had feared might happen.
I have more time.
We are both silent as Dad drives us home. I think about what Sue said, about being ready, and I try not to entertain the idea of what should happen if I never decide to be ready. I remember what I said to him the night we swapped places, that my whole life was unfinished business. How do I finish living quickly when I’m only fifteen? And why couldn’t she talk to Ben properly? She’s supposed to be a medium, and as his twin sister between us we should have got some sense out of him. Perhaps he isn’t strong enough to come forward … or perhaps I’m preventing him.
I suddenly notice the clock on the dashboard: ten past seven! Mum will be demented, to say the least, that we’re so late.
‘Dad?’ He takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at me. ‘We have to tell Mum. If I’m going to be here for a while, she really ought to know.’
‘I think you’re right,’ he agrees, ‘but you’ll have to be more convincing about Ben. Tell her that he’s in there with you.’ He indicates to pull into our road, and the engine makes a quieter sound as he slows down. I’m almost excited at the thought that in a short while I won’t have to pretend with either of my parents.
‘This is really going to blow her bananas though,’ he says, and we share a nervous glance.
‘Pretty much,’ I agree.
Nathan’s mum held a second bottle of wine in her hands. She had had another bad day. One of the old people at the residential home had grabbed her arm as she walked past. ‘I know your secret,’ she had said with a shaky voice and watery eyes. She’d prised the lady’s gnarled fingers from her grip, telling her that she didn’t have a secret. Her eyes had scanned the other residents and staff to see if anyone had noticed, to see if any other eyes were upon her, questioning her.
But of course she did have a secret and that boy knew it. She’d seen him standing outside her house only the other day, staring through the windows, silently accusing her. She was clinging on to every day, yet every day was proving too hard.
Thankfully everyone at the home was busy in their own way, or in their own heads, or deaf. Rows of comfortable shoes with thick tights or trousers hitched high and almost under armpits lined the edges of the communal room. The elderly residents whiled away their days in comfortable chairs, under crocheted blankets, with rheumy eyes and idle hands. All they knew was that their favourite member of staff, the lady who always brought a touch of loveliness, and colour, and humour, to their shrinking days, had, over the last few weeks, become faded and mechanical.
The kind lady who had once stroked a cheek or held a hand, joking and laughing with them, reminding them that they were still alive, who left a trail of beautiful perfume in the air as she walked around their home, which otherwise smelled of wee and cabbage, was now just another person who got paid to see to their basic needs.
Nathan’s mum poured another glass from the second bottle and tried to shut out the penetrating and accusing eyes of the old lady, and the brother of the girl she’d killed. ‘I know what you did,’ he had said, but neither of them could possibly know, she told herself, and she swallowed her thoughts with the dark red and slightly sour liquid. She looked at the clock. Ten past seven. Alex was out and Nathan was at a friend’s house.
She looked into her glass for a solution to her troubled mind. Alex was beginning to notice that she was drinking more than usual, but he wouldn’t know if she had one more glass. It was just for tonight; she was sure tomorrow she wouldn’t have anything at all. As she made her way back to the sofa, the glass jolted from her hand as she sat down, spilling on her skirt and the arm of the beautiful cream sofa, but she didn’t notice.
Then, picking up the remote control, she curled up on the sofa in front of a television programme that she would neither see nor hear.
Nathan’s mum was killing herself softly.
Mum is curled up on the sofa when we finally let ourselves in, a glass of wine in her hand and the television blaring a notch too loud. She can hardly bear to look at us. She’d gone to the effort of cooking tonight and the house smells rich with the juices of chicken and garlic, but a broken dish lies on the kitchen floor amongst the vegetables and chicken pieces that are scattered around, and gravy is splashed up the kitchen cupboards and the door. We look at each other and again our eye widen before our eyes return to take in the view. We stand together in the doorway like two partners in crime, while Mum calls out sarcastically from the living room. ‘Your dinner’s in the kitchen.’
‘Shall we tell her tomorrow?’ Dad whispers, as the weight of Mum’s anger and dejection hangs in the atmosphere, but as difficult as this is, if I’m going to stay for a while, she needs to know. Besides, I’m tired of pretending to be a boy in my own home.
We clear the mess silently and make a snack each, eating in the kitchen, staring at each other. When our plates are empty we take a breath of courage and make our way into the lounge, as if we’re two conspirators going into battle, only we don’t have a strategy. Mum rigidly faces the television as if we are not even there, as we stand pathetically in the centre of the room, clearing our throats and waiting for her to look up.
Dad picks up the remote from the cushion beside her and switches the power off. In a flash she leaps out of her chair, clawing for the remote like a cat snatching at its prey, and her anger is barely contained. ‘Give it back!’ she shouts at him.
‘Calm down, Mum … please?’ I beg her, hating to see her like this, as Dad continues to hold the remote too high for her to reach. Her anger is as bad as the day I came home after taking the day off school last week. She is going ballistic, as if all the emotion from my death is only just below the surface, like when Dad lost it tonight in One Shoe Sue’s house.
When she finally gives up and tries to push past him to get out of the room, he uses his height and weight to block her way, then gently leads her back to the sofa.
‘Mum? Listen, I need to tell you something.’ She turns her face towards me, a single blink causing one fat tear to spill down her cheek. Her expression is one of expectation for the damn good reason that could possibly cause Dad and me to join ranks this evening and think that it was OK to leave her at home alone, cooking for us and waiting for us to not show.
‘Ummm,’ I begin tentatively. ‘We’re late
because we’ve been sorting something out. It’s something that you really need to know … but I just don’t know where to start.’ I take a breath and watch the confusion grow on her face, along with a hint of fear over what this could be about, etching several more years into her face.
‘Well, find somewhere to start,’ she suggests aggressively.
I kneel down next to her and my words come out in a muddle. I tell her what I told Dad and Sue, about Ben’s dream and how I managed to come ‘through’ and that I am actually … Lily. There, I’ve said it. ‘I am Lily.’
I watch a strange activity take place on her face, like a kind of facial dance: confusion followed by complete and utter disgust.
‘How could you?’ she shouts.
‘Well, I don’t really understand it myself … I think it must be because I’m not ready …’
But, out of the blue, she slaps my face.
‘How could you be so insensitive and … and … STUPID?’ Her eyes flick angrily between me and Dad. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ My hand reaches for my face and I hold it against my cheek, and the fact that my own mother did this hurts so much more than the pain. My eyes fill with so many tears that I can’t see anything apart from a merging of colours and for a moment I’m too shocked to blink.
‘I am, Mum. You have to believe me. I’m not playing a cruel trick.’ Then I do blink and my fingers that are still against my cheek become damp with tears. ‘I really am … Lily.’
Mum tries to get up from the sofa again and I grab her, pulling her back down by the hand.
‘Get … off … me,’ she says deeply between clenched teeth. The way her nostrils flare and the way her staccato words are forced out frightens me.
Suddenly she gasps a little, and she holds both hands in the air with her palms facing me, as if halting any ridiculous notion of what I have just told her. ‘You’re not well, Ben … He’s not well, James. We need to get him a doctor.’ She looks from me to Dad, waiting for him to agree with her, but he doesn’t move. ‘Why are you just standing there? Do something. Ben, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately; we all have, but –’
‘Mum, I’m perfectly sane.’ I look at Dad for support.
‘It’s true, Amelia. I didn’t believe it at first either. It’s a very … unusual thing –’
‘Listen,’ I interrupt desperately, ‘I can tell you things. I … I know that you wore a brown jacket to the hospital the day I died; I know you had sunflowers at my funeral and I know that you had a Chinese takeaway on the weekend … and we ordered a meal for six.’ I sit back, breathing quickly, waiting for her reaction, expecting a flicker of recognition, a flash of joy, a hug. Her reaction comes. Her eyes stare widely at me for a few seconds, then her brow furrows, and an almost musical mixture of perplexed and furious tones play up and down in her voice …
‘Of course you do! You were there, Ben!’
None of us makes a sound for a few seconds as it takes a while for the penny to drop, and Dad, who is now sitting forward on a chair he’s pushed up in front of us both, taps my knee.
‘Ben was there … for all of those. Think of something else.’
‘Oh,’ I say. A small word for such a huge realisation of my own stupidity. ‘Of course, Ben was there … Ummm …’ I think quickly, then speak in rapid-fire sentences in my hurry to get Mum to understand. ‘I know that you went to my room when everyone else was out. I know that you took my hairbrush and ran my hair across your cheek; I know that you smelled my pillow and said you would always love me.’ I pause to catch my breath and to see if any of it is sinking in. Mum sits perfectly still, eyes on me all the time, trying to work out how Ben might know these things, recollecting the moment she had braved going into my room.
‘I know you kissed my glass where the lip balm left the shape of my lips on the edge of the rim.’ As I mention the lip balm, her lips start to quiver and the colour around her nostrils becomes red. ‘You put your hand on my urn and sang a few lines of my funeral song before Uncle Roger interrupted you by calling up the stairs.
‘And I know you told my pillow that you feel guilty for telling me not to spend all my money … because if I couldn’t pay for the bus, you wouldn’t come and get me.’ A little gasp comes out of her mouth, and tears fall down both our faces when I hear myself say that out loud. Still kneeling in front of her, I take my hand away from my cheek and put both my hands on her knees. I didn’t mean it to sound like blame; it just came out that way. She had said she wouldn’t come and get me. Mum’s guilt is laid bare in the room and I did that to her, and I feel bad. She struggles to breathe evenly, as the reason for her torment since my death is exposed. ‘I’m not blaming you, Mum. It was never your fault.’
She stays completely still, staring into her lap. ‘Mum?’ I lean my face towards her. ‘I shouldn’t have spent my money, Mum. It wasn’t your fault.’
She fiddles with her fingers in mine, processing everything.
‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. How could you think you’re Lily? It isn’t possible.’ Every part of my mother’s face shows layers of varying emotions, which I think, if she hadn’t reached for my hands in her lap, might suck her under and never let go. She lets a trail of mucus leave her nose and travel towards her lips unchecked and Dad fumbles about for a tissue. When he can’t find one, I produce a small wad of damp lilac tissues from my pocket and I reach up to wipe her face with them.
I do my absolute best to describe, yet again, how it all happened, my words sounding unbelievable and inadequate. I start from the beginning and describe the man with the ridiculously large forehead and how he handed Mum the tissues when she was crying in the morgue. I describe some of the moments that she’s experienced when neither Ben nor Dad were anywhere around her, and how I watched over our various friends and families and could see everything that was going on in their lives too.
‘You used to watch all the supernatural stuff on television, Mum,’ I remind her. ‘You believe in life after death. Why should my death be any different?’
‘I’ve been waiting desperately for a sign from Lily but nothing ever happened. I’ve been hoping so hard for something, anything, that would tell me that she’s OK … but nothing.’
‘Well, here I am, and I’d say I’m a pretty big sign, Mum. It is me. I have come back through Ben … he is letting me.’
‘How is he letting you?’ Mum peers at me with a look of pure incomprehension.
‘He’s kind of … stepped aside. He’s still here …’ I add hastily, tapping myself to indicate that the Ben she can see is still here as well, but trying to hide the fact that actually he isn’t.
‘So … he is here too?’ she clarifies.
Dad and I shoot a look at each other.
‘Yes, but he’s allowing me to use him … for a while … sort of.’
Mum rubs at the swollen veins on her temples as if a massive headache is pounding through her head. ‘So what are you saying? That you’ll keep switching places?’ she asks. It occurs to me that for Mum, if I could use my brother’s body as some sort of visitors lounge, it would mean never having to say goodbye.
‘I don’t really know, Mum. I don’t think so. I don’t know how long I’m here for, but I’m here now.’
The room goes quiet and no one moves. I can see Mum turning this information over in her head, trying to make sense of it.
‘Then … tell me … what was the surprise present that Lily was going to get you for your birthday?’
‘The surprise present I was going to get Ben was a sport multi day,’ I reply.
Mum nods slowly, still thinking hard, in case I couldn’t keep the surprise to myself and had already told Ben.
‘What boots did you try on before buying the purple Converse shoes?’
This is easy. ‘A really high pair of pink heels with a little bow on the back … You said they were too high.’
‘What’s your bra size?’
‘
34B,’ I answer, looking down at Ben’s chest. ‘Well, it was.’
I suddenly think of something that is so obvious, I have no idea why it didn’t occur to me before. ‘Wait there,’ I order them both and try to unravel my legs from my kneeling position. The pins and needles work their way up my feet as I attempt to run from the room and up the stairs. Rummaging in my bedroom I find what I’m looking for, abandoned months ago for a far more interesting teenage life, and as I slowly walk down the stairs towards my waiting, expectant parents I begin to play.
My brother’s lips take a moment to adjust against my flute, but finally I sort them out, and the haunting notes of their favourite classical piece, ‘Stranger on the Shore’, float around me and into the room where my parents are sitting. When I appear in the doorway, still playing, I almost struggle to keep going. They are both sitting and facing me with a look I can’t even describe. It’s like the deepest joy, the saddest pain and the pure amazement of new birth all in one.
Ben wasn’t musical, he was sporty. Ben couldn’t play the flute, he couldn’t blow a single note, and here I am, making soft music come from beyond the grave and turning melancholy into a strangely beautiful thing.
I almost get to the end before I drop to my knees again in front of my mother, and look her in the face, imploring her to find me as I’d asked Dad to do on Sunday night. She stares for a long time; the clock on the shelf ticking away the seconds slowly, and heavily, and inevitably. Her brain tries to ignore the face of her son, the body of a boy, the instinct of a mother reaching through these windows of the soul to the daughter I am within. ‘There is life after death,’ I whisper and I know she can now see what Dad sees in my eyes, and what I can see, when I look carefully at Ben in the mirror, like a river running clear exposing the green moss beneath.
I am here.
Mum starts shaking, shoulders, knees, teeth and hands, like a physical earthquake within her own body. She continues to look closely at me as if I’m looking up from just below the watery surface of a lake. Her face moves closer to mine, until we’re staring only inches apart through these windows, like we used to do when I was a very young child. We try not to blink and therefore break the spell, but the spell is not broken; I am here. Suddenly Mum leans towards me, her arms reaching round me and pulling me to her. Squeezing me tighter and tighter. Squashing me back inside her empty heart.
Sunflowers in February Page 23