Things I Should Have Said and Done

by Colette McCormick

  Or was it? I mean, I was still here. I was still wearing the same clothes I had been that morning. My feet were still on the ground. I was still walking around.

  I was still here and maybe Naomi had sensed that.

  Seconds later, Naomi was carefully lifted out of the car and placed onto one of those trolley things that hospitals use. She was just as carefully lifted into the ambulance and Dave climbed in with her. Steve closed the doors, climbed into the cab, and drove away. The siren whooped a couple of times to clear the crowd.

  I hadn’t noticed the second ambulance turn up. They hadn’t arrived to the tune of sirens but they hadn’t needed to, had they?

  They were here for me and what was left of the bloke lying across my bonnet.

  I looked across and saw that the ghost of the remains was still standing where I’d first seen him. He was still looking at himself.

  I moved closer and eventually he lifted his head and looked at me. He tried to say something but couldn’t. He couldn’t look me in the eye either. He watched as they loaded his body into the ambulance and then he turned and walked away.

  Within a couple of minutes, my body was in the back of the ambulance too. It had happened without me realising. I didn’t feel a thing.

  The second ambulance drove away in silence.

  The police officers had turned their attention to the crowd of people that were standing close by. They’d started to ask if anyone had seen what had happened. One woman proved particularly helpful.

  ‘I’d just come out of the bakers,’ she said. ‘I was going to get my bus. I was just standing there,’ she pointed to pavement close to the cars, ‘waiting to cross the road when that red car came racing down the road towards me at a million miles an hour. It’s a good job I hadn’t stepped out,’ she said, ‘or it would’ve been me.’

  For a second I wished it had been, and then reprimanded myself for wishing that on anyone.

  ‘The silver car had just come around the corner,’ she said, pointing at the main road, ‘when the red car came out of the junction and hit it.’ Suddenly she started to cry. ‘The poor girl didn’t have a chance to get out of the way,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t have seen him coming. He just came out of nowhere.’ She rubbed her eyes with a crumpled tissue she’d pulled from her pocket. ‘She wouldn’t have known what hit her.’

  I hadn’t.

  Another witness, a man, coloured in a few of the details of what happened prior to the accident. He said he worked at a pub called The Golden Lion, about a mile away from where the accident had happened. This man, I think he said his name was James but it might have been Jake because he was very softly spoken, said that the man who had been driving the red car had been in The Golden Lion all day.

  ‘He came in just after we opened,’ James said.

  ‘What time did he leave?’ the policeman asked.

  ‘About an hour ago.’

  ‘And was he drinking all that time?’

  ‘Yeah,’ James confirmed. ‘He had three or four pints and then started on the whisky. He’d had a proper skinful. In the end we refused to serve him.’

  ‘But you didn’t think to take his car keys off him?’

  James could only shrug his shoulders.

  ‘Are you sure this is the same man that was in the pub?’ the policewoman chirped in.

  ‘Positive,’ James told her. ‘I don’t know his name but he works just round the corner from us. He comes in a lot. I know his car,’ he said, ‘and they were the clothes that he was wearing.’

  So that’s how it happened.

  I had been minding my own business driving home from Mum’s with Naomi when suddenly a drunk driver had come out of nowhere, hadn’t stopped at a junction, and had hit me; quite literally, right where I was sitting in the driver’s seat.

  The woman had been right; I never had a chance.

  More police arrived and started doing whatever it was that needed to be done after an accident so the two that had been gathering information left them to it. I followed them as they walked back to their car, mainly because I didn’t know what else to do. The male officer was shaking his head. ‘Five seconds either way and it would have been different,’ he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  The policewoman stood with the door open and looked back to the scene of the accident. She nodded slowly and got into the car. A few seconds later they drove away too.

  The crowd had all but dispersed. People had wandered away and only a handful remained.

  I lifted my hands to my head and threaded my fingers into my hair. I closed my eyes and hoped that when I opened them I would find it had all been a bad dream.

  To my eternal disappointment, things were just as I knew they would be. My car was still missing most of the driver’s side, there was still blood and glass on the floor, and I was still dead.

  There was no point closing my eyes again; it wouldn’t change anything. Sometimes you had to face things head on.

  I walked over to where a young policeman was tying blue and white tape between two lampposts. He passed inches away from me as he pulled the tape to a third post and then a fourth to make an enclosure around the cars.

  I wasn’t the only one watching him as he snapped the tape. There was a man standing by the fourth post as the policeman walked away to join a colleague who was directing traffic down a side street. The stranger looked at the car.

  Who was he? I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His clothes were odd and he seemed out of place. Well, not odd as such, but dated. He was clearly a fan of the retro look and he suited it.

  I looked at my car for a minute. I loved that car. I called her Daisy and now she was dead too. This wasn’t like the dent I’d put in the boot when I reversed into the lamppost last year. There would be no repairing her this time. She was as dead as I was.

  I turned and walked away. There was nothing here for me now.

  I wasn’t walking anywhere in particular; I was just walking, getting away from the scene of the crime. I looked in the odd shop window but my eyes were wandering and nothing caught my attention. That was until I looked into the window of the butcher’s shop on Saddler Street.

  It wasn’t the special offer on sirloin steak that caught my attention, though I have to say it was very good. No, it was the reflection of the person standing behind me that made me stop and stare.

  It was the man that had been by the lamppost watching the aftermath of the accident, the one in the retro clothes. He was a couple of feet behind me and he was watching me watching him.

  He couldn’t be looking at me, could he? I was dead and nobody could see me. Or at least no-one living, apart from Naomi, and I didn’t dare hope her reaction had been anything other than a coincidence. So what was he looking at?

  I turned around quickly. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked, more rudely than I meant to but what did that matter? He wouldn’t be able to hear me.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think that’s my job.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He’d answered me. He’d heard me

  ‘You can see me,’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘W …’ I’m not sure what I tried to say because I didn’t get any further than that.

  His hands had been in the pockets of his jeans but he took them out and held his right one out to me. My own hands, which had been on my hips, were now hanging limply by my side but I felt him take hold of my right one and shake it.

  I pulled away. I looked at the hand he had shaken, and then at him, before looking back at my hand. I had felt him.

  ‘I can feel you,’ I said weakly.

  He didn’t answer straight away, but when I looked at him he was looking at me.

  ‘I can feel you,’ I repeated.

  ‘I know.’ We looked at each other.

  ‘Are you dead too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘George,’ he said. ‘Sorry I was a bit late but I’m here to help you
.’

  ‘Help me? I’m beyond help. How could you possibly help me?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know really, keep you company for a bit, answer a few questions, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Answer a few questions?’ Now I was having a conversation with someone I could feel anger building inside me and I could hear it coming out in my voice. ‘OK, I’ve got a question for you. Why am I dead?’

  His voice was calm, ‘You’re dead because some bloke had a bad day, got drunk, and tried driving home.’

  ‘And why is that my fault?’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘So why am I dead?’

  ‘Unlucky, I guess.’

  A thought occurred to me and I looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s your fault, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You apologised, you said you were sorry for being late. You were supposed to stop this from happening.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why apologise?’

  ‘Because my mother brought me up to be polite,’ he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. We stared at each other for a while. He sighed heavily and ran his hand over his hair. ‘I was supposed to get here just as it was happening, but I got held up and by the time I arrived you were running about like a lunatic and I couldn’t keep up with you. And then you were with your little girl and I didn’t want to get in the way … so I waited. I mean, by that time you’d worked out what was happening so it wasn’t like you needed me to tell you.’

  ‘Is that your job, telling people that they’re dead?’

  ‘Well, there’s a bit more to it, but that’s the first thing I’m supposed to do.’

  ‘Nice job.’

  ‘I’ve had better, but there’s not a lot of choice on the Other Side so beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘I thought you sat on clouds and played harps all day?’

  ‘That’s just the angels.’

  Thinking about it now, I can’t believe we were having that conversation. I mean, it felt so natural. I was discussing job opportunities in the afterlife with a dead man who looked like he was on his way to a 1950s-themed party and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He’d said it was his job to answer any questions I had.

  ‘Where’s my daughter?’

  ‘Naomi is on her way to hospital.’

  ‘You know my daughter’s name.’ It was a statement rather than a question but I was surprised by his answer.

  ‘I know everything about you, Ellen.’ He knew my name, which surprised me even more.

  ‘Which hospital have they taken her to?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I don’t know what it’s called,’ he said. ‘I’m not from round here.’

  ‘Then how are we going to find her?’ I could feel a sob coming on.

  He reached out and took hold of my elbow. ‘Don’t worry; we don’t need to know what the hospital’s called.’

  In the blink of an eye we were in a hospital, though I didn’t know which one it was either, not that it mattered as long as it I was the same one that Naomi had been taken to. Surely it had to be. What would be the point in appearing in a hospital that Naomi wasn’t in? Not that it’d be the most pointless thing that had happened that afternoon – that prize went to me being dead.

  I sniffed to hold back the tears and all I could smell was hospital.

  George was at my side, still holding onto my elbow.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right one?’ I sniffed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  I heard a noise and when I turned around I saw Dave the paramedic pushing a trolley. I could see Naomi was on it. I waited for them to come along side of us and then I pulled loose from George’s grip and walked with them. There was no urgency to Dave’s movements, which I thought must be a good sign and he spoke to his patient gently.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he told her. ‘I’ve passed my driving test so you’re perfectly safe.’

  Naomi tilted her head to look at him before resting her head flat again and closing her eyes. She gave no indication that she knew I was there and my heart sank.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep,’ paramedic Dave urged. ‘The doctor’s going to want to talk to you.’

  ‘Where are you taking her?’ I asked, but he didn’t answer. Why would he?

  I watched as Naomi was pushed through another set of doors and into an examination room.

  A doctor and two nurses were already there.

  Naomi lay on the bed in silence as the doctor moved her head first this way then the other. She followed his orders to look to her right then her left without making a sound.

  The doctor mumbled something to her but from where I stood I couldn’t tell what. He was a young man with floppy blond hair and he spoke in a voice that was slow and gentle and I noticed that Naomi looked at him with an expressionless face. That was unusual. Her face was usually so alive. But then I remembered that this was not a usual day.

  Another nurse came into the room and she and the doctor discussed the charts he had been filling in. Their heads were together, only occasionally looking to their patient.

  It was as I was standing away from her thanking God that she was OK that Naomi turned her head to me. She was looking right at me and when she smiled I knew for certain that she had seen me. My hand went to my mouth again to stifle the cry that I knew was about to pop out of it.

  My baby could see me. I didn’t know how it could be possible and it blew every theory I had ever had about life after death out of the water but I knew it was true.

  The doctor placed the clipboard at Naomi’s feet and gave instructions to one of the nurses who took the brake off the trolley and started to push it. Naomi didn’t take her eyes from me until the doors to the examination room had closed behind her.

  Naomi had seen me. I knew she had, I hadn’t imagined it. I stood with my hands clasped together on the top of my head and cried.

  George found me like that.

  ‘Thought I’d better come and find you,’ he said. ‘You’d been here a while.’

  Had I? Maybe. Who knew?

  ‘You OK?’ he asked.

  I grabbed his arm excitedly. ‘She can see me,’ I said, tightening my grip as I spoke. ‘Naomi can see me.’ He didn’t say anything and I realised what he must be thinking. I let go of his arm and stood up straight. ‘It’s true,’ I said with more than a hint of a sulk in my voice. ‘I’m telling you she can see me.’

  ‘Then I’m happy for you.’

  What did that mean?

  I didn’t get chance to ask because he had taken hold of my elbow again. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Your husband’s downstairs.’

  The next thing I knew, we were in the corner of the most sterile room I had ever been in. The walls were painted white and devoid of any decoration. There was a window on one wall with a white blind across it.

  ‘Where are we?’ I looked around the room, moving around George as I did so.

  ‘Morgue,’ he said matter of factly.

  ‘What?’ I stopped moving and looked at him. ‘What do you mean morgue?’

  He gave a little shrug. ‘I mean it’s the morgue.’

  ‘But …’ I was confused. ‘Where are the bodies? There are those slabs and drawer things in a morgue.’

  ‘That’s down the corridor, this is …’

  Just then, the door opened and a man in a white coat entered, accompanied by the policeman who had been at the scene of the accident. There was no sign of his partner. Marc followed them into the room and I started to tremble at the sight of my husband.

  Was it even my husband?

  My husband was strong and tanned and always had a smile on his face. This man was pale and stumbled into the room. He looked around, taking in his surroundings.

  ‘I don’t understand, ‘I thought Ellen would be in here.’

  I wanted to shout to Marc that I was her
e, but I wasn’t the wife he was looking for.

  The man in the white coat moved to the wall with the window on it. ‘Your wife is here,’ he said.

  What? Could he see me? I looked at George and he was shaking his head. He pointed towards the window.

  The three men were standing in front of it. Marc’s head was down and I could see that he was shaking. I wanted to hold him but what would be the point? I wouldn’t be able to support him. All I could do was watch.

  The man in the white coat mumbled something to Marc and he nodded his head very slightly. The man knocked on the window with the knuckles of his right hand and I saw the blinds move aside. Marc lifted his head slowly and he started to shake even more. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the glass

  Curiosity got the better of me and I moved closer. I knew what I was going to see and while I didn’t really want to see ‘it’, well, me, I was pulled towards the window. I felt George try to grab me.

  I stood next to the man in the white coat and looked through the space between him and Marc. On the other side of the window was one of those slabs, and I was on it. A white sheet covered my body but my face was there for all to see. There was a woman in a white coat standing beside me.

  ‘She looks like she’s asleep.’ Marc’s voice was slow and it trembled. I turned towards him and our faces were less than a foot apart.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I agreed before quickly retreating back into the corner.

  ‘Mr Reed.’ It was the policeman but Marc seemed not to hear him. ‘Mr Reed,’ he said again, this time a bit louder. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Reed, but I have to ask. Mr Reed, is that your wife?’

  Marc’s eyes concentrated on my image. ‘She’s …’ He didn’t say what I was. Finally, he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice choked. ‘That’s Ellen.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  I noticed that the policeman had written something in his notebook. The man in the white coat shifted uncomfortably. ‘Would you like to stay here for a while?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ Marc’s eyes were wide and vacant.

  ‘If you like,’ Mr White Coat said cautiously, ‘I could try and arrange for you to spend some time with the body.’