The Dead Wife's Handbook

by Hannah Beckerman

  Eve’s faltering response concludes with downcast eyes, as though there’s a danger inherent in meeting anyone’s gaze. It’s the first time I’ve seen even the tiniest crack in her self-assured demeanour.

  ‘What, you mean you don’t see them at all? Ever?’

  It’s clear from Max’s reaction that this is the first he’s heard of any family rift. There’s the tightening of his cheeks and the slight narrowing of his eyes that only someone who knows every nuance of Max’s expressions would immediately detect.

  Eve turns to face Max, composure fully restored.

  ‘It’s just one of those things. We had a silly falling out a few years ago that somehow never got resolved. You know how it is.’

  There’s another weighty silence in which I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking that they don’t, in fact, know how it is at all.

  ‘I’m just … I’m just surprised you hadn’t mentioned it before. That’s all.’

  There’s a hint of accusation in Max’s voice that he’s unable to conceal in spite of his parents’ presence.

  It’s Eve’s turn now to place a reassuring hand on Max’s leg.

  ‘That’s because it’s not a big deal. Really. Can we just drop it?’

  She’s smiling appeasingly, but there’s an imploring undertone in her voice. Max holds her gaze for a few seconds, and I can see him negotiate his way through a minefield of emotions before Joan decides it’s her responsibility to break the tension.

  ‘Well, I’m sure they’d be terribly proud of you, if they knew. I think it’s just lovely, Eve, you doing so well in your job. And it’s lovely to have you here, too, really it is. You’re a real tonic.’

  With those words of treachery, Joan places a hand on top of Eve’s, squeezing it with maternal approval. Eve may be estranged from her own mum but it would appear that Joan’s more than willing to fill the vacancy.

  The two women smile at one another, as if two long-lost friends freshly discovering the soul mate they’ve been searching for.

  Joan’s not quite done yet though.

  ‘You will come back soon, won’t you? Come back whenever you like, the door’s always open. You’re welcome any time.’

  And with that invitation the transition’s complete. They’ve not even reached dessert yet and Eve’s already usurped my place in Joan’s affections.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt this hopeless. Or sad. Or angry. Watching the four of them confiding and smiling and admiring one another in the candlelight, I feel more excluded from Max’s world than I’ve ever done before. Because with every confidence shared, even the difficult ones, and every anecdote revealed, however embarrassing, I can see that my life – the life I had with Max and Ellie – is disappearing from view.

  Life as I knew it is ceasing to exist.

  I close my eyes, suddenly dizzy with an anger that emerges from the shadows of my own grief, and keep them shut tight to stop the fear of falling, even though I know that there’s nowhere for me to fall from, nowhere for me to fall to.

  For the first time since I died I realize that there is something worse than being stuck here on my own; it’s watching the world revolve without me and understanding that I’m no longer a part of it. It’s the painful acknowledgement that the role I had to play during the short time I was alive now seems so very insignificant. I didn’t have an important job or change anyone’s life or earn an impressive amount of money. I didn’t make a name for myself, not even a small name, didn’t reach the top of any pole, greasy or not, didn’t leave behind anything substantial by which to be remembered. I didn’t achieve fame or notoriety, didn’t accomplish any particular goals, did nothing at all out of the ordinary.

  I didn’t, in short, consummate my life.

  Instead, I loved a man who seems to be in the process of replacing me already and I gave birth to a daughter who’ll probably barely remember me by the time she’s my age.

  It’s not much to feel proud of, is it?

  I promised myself, when I first got here, that I wouldn’t become bitter, that I wouldn’t resent the lives of the living, that I’d be grateful for the small mercy of the sporadic access I’d been afforded. I promised myself that I wouldn’t become consumed by a catalogue of accumulated regrets for all that I’d been unable to achieve in my too-short life. But that was then, when I still felt a part of everyone’s lives, if only for the purposes of mourning. Now they’re pushing me to the periphery and who knows where that will take me or where, in the end, it will leave me.

  I catch myself suddenly, ranting like a madwoman in life’s attic, venting my frustrations to the empty void and open my eyes to discover that I’m back alone in the whiteness. It is, I admit, probably the best place for me right now. I’m not sure I could have tolerated another moment impotently watching over that domestic cosiness and being so painfully aware of my exclusion from it. Because there’s nothing more lonely than passing by a party to which you’re not invited, is there?

  Chapter 15

  Bright yellow light begins to puncture the clouds beneath me in determined bursts, giving way to mottled patches of blue sky, the stark white monotony dispersing with a sense of relief.

  The trees at the end of Mum’s garden are semi-naked, the few remaining leaves a resigned shade of brown as if in acknowledgement of their own impending retirement. Underneath are Mum and Ellie, wrapped snugly in knitted scarves and woolly hats, collecting piles of redundant leaves and coaxing them into the wheelbarrow that’s been on the earth for longer than I was.

  It’s the first time I’ve been home since I died. Home to Mum’s, that is. I don’t know – and have given up speculating – why it’s taken so long for this particular homecoming to occur. But it’s paradoxically both reassuring and unnerving to revisit somewhere so rich in memories for me, memories from when I was Ellie’s age and even younger, memories of standing exactly where Ellie is now but in clothes from a different time and with the experiences of a different era and next to a woman whose face didn’t yet bear the evidence of compound grief.

  ‘Every time I put some in, Nanna, they just keep blowing out again.’

  Mum laughs.

  ‘I know, darling. It’s getting a bit full, isn’t it? Shall we take it over to the compost heap and empty it? It’s probably about time.’

  Mum picks up the handles and begins wheeling the barrow to the other side of the garden, Ellie holding on to one side in pretence of helping to bear the weight.

  ‘You’re not too cold are you, Ellie? Is that hat keeping you nice and warm?’

  ‘I’m not cold at all, Nanna. I love this hat. It’s really snuggly.’

  Mum looks at Ellie, a nostalgic smile lighting her eyes.

  ‘Your mummy always loved that hat. She used to say it made her feel cocooned, as if the wind couldn’t touch her. I didn’t know I still had it until today. Lucky I did or else you wouldn’t have been able to help me out here, would you?’

  Of course. That’s my hat Ellie’s got on. The red-and-white striped one I insisted on wearing even after it was too tight and didn’t fit properly over my ears any more. And now it’s protecting Ellie from the elements, just as it used to protect me.

  ‘Did Mummy like gardening too? It’s much more fun gardening here than at home. Our garden at home is tiny.’

  Ellie screws up her nose in mock disdain.

  ‘Oh, Ellie, you are funny with your silly faces. It’s not a bad size for a London garden, you know. But I can’t pretend I don’t love you gardening here with me. And, yes, Mummy was a very keen gardener too. Right from when she was little. She always used to help me clear the leaves, just like you’re doing now.’

  Ellie beams, pride dancing in her eyes.

  ‘What else did Mummy like doing in the garden?’

  They’re back under the tree now, Ellie scooping handfuls of uncooperative leaves into the barrow, as many escaping from her tiny gloved hands as willingly accepting their fate.

  ‘Well, her
favourite time of year was about now, when we’d clear the leaves and plant the bulbs that would come up in early spring. She loved daffodils best. And tulips. She always got so excited when the first buds would emerge and we’d both try and guess what colour the first flower would be. Her favourites were the deep purple ones.’

  ‘Can I help you plant the bulbs too, Nanna?’

  ‘Of course you can, darling. We may not have time today as Daddy will be here soon to pick you up, but I’ll make sure I save some for you to do next time you come. Maybe we could buy some special tubs just for you that you can look after whenever you’re here. How does that sound?’

  Ellie wraps her arms around Mum’s hips. Mum pulls Ellie tight towards her as if she’d be content never to let her go.

  ‘Look at the time, Ellie. If we’re going to have that hot chocolate before Daddy gets here we should leave the rest of this gardening and head on inside.’

  ‘But we haven’t finished yet. I don’t want you to have to do all of this all by yourself.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, darling, but you’ve been extra specially helpful today and there’s really not much more for me to do. Come on, you’ve earned that last piece of cake too, I think.’

  Mum takes Ellie’s mittened hand in her own, as my little girl skips through the back door and into the kitchen.

  ‘Nanna, do you think I should be allowed to have a puppy?’

  Mum closes the fridge door, milk in hand, and eyes Ellie with a look I know all too well; the wry smile that indicates she knows exactly where this conversation is heading and has every intention of treading so incredibly carefully that not a single eggshell is so much as cracked let alone broken.

  ‘Why do you ask that?’

  ‘Well, I really, really want one but Daddy says I can’t have one.’

  ‘And why does he say that?’

  ‘He has this whole, stupid list of reasons. Like, he says that having a dog is a big responsibility and he hasn’t got time to walk it every day even though I said I’d walk it and he wouldn’t have to do anything.’

  Mum adopts her mock serious face, the one that I recognize so well from my own childhood.

  ‘To be fair to Daddy, I don’t think you’d really be able to go out and walk a dog on your own, would you? You’re still a bit young for that, don’t you think?’

  Ellie looks stumped for a second. But only a second.

  ‘Well, it’s not as if Daddy would have to walk it all by himself. I’d go with him. And that would be exercise for me which would be good because Daddy’s always saying that children in London don’t get enough exercise. And he says it’s not fair to leave a dog at home all by itself all day even though it wouldn’t be all day because me and Granny and Grandpa could go and get it and take it back to their house after school. And he says that puppies grow into dogs and that I’m too young to have a dog and that the novelty would wear off and then he’d have to look after it all the time, but he’s wrong, I wouldn’t get bored of it and I would look after it and I am going to be eight next year and that’s not too young to have a puppy, is it?’

  Mum begins to let out a laugh which she tries – and fails – to bury inside a kiss on top of Ellie’s head. Ellie pulls away from her, a scowl corrugating her forehead.

  ‘What are you laughing at, Nanna? It’s not funny that I’m not allowed a dog.’

  ‘I’m not laughing at you, Ellie. I’m laughing because you sound so much like Mummy. Hearing you takes me right back to when she had exactly the same conversation with your grandad all those years ago.’

  ‘Did Mummy want a puppy too?’

  ‘Almost as much as you do, I think. I remember her trying all sorts of things to try and persuade us.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  Ellie’s ears have pricked up and there’s an unmistakeable pique of curiosity in her eyes.

  Mum hesitates for a second, perhaps wondering whether full disclosure is unfair to Max. She starts chuckling to herself in a moment of private reminiscence that clearly isn’t going to do much to assuage Ellie’s interest.

  ‘What, Nanna? What is it? Tell me.’

  ‘Okay then, but you’re not to tell your daddy I told you.’

  Mum’s laughing now, in memory or in mischief I’m not sure, but I’m as intrigued as Ellie by what’s tickled her so much.

  ‘I remember Mummy making a huge collage of all the things we could do if we had a dog. She must have cut out hundreds of pictures from magazines. There were pictures of dogs on beaches and dogs in parks and wet dogs in rivers and warm dogs sleeping in front of fires. It must have taken her hours. Your grandad said it was like a photographic shrine and Mummy insisted that we have it up on the wall here in the kitchen for weeks.’

  Mum’s nostalgic pleasure is infectious now and Ellie catches the bug; she starts giggling too and I watch on, relishing this rare opportunity to see the woman and the child I love most in the world conjoined by laughter.

  ‘And did that make you let her have a puppy?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say it didn’t, darling. But that didn’t stop Mummy coming up with lots of other ideas to try and convince us.’

  ‘What ideas? Go on, tell me, Nanna.’

  Mum smiles at Ellie with a look of playful complicity.

  ‘Only if you promise not to use them with Daddy. Promise?’

  Ellie narrows her eyes in contemplation of the solemn vow she’s about to make.

  ‘I promise to try.’

  ‘Well I suppose that’ll have to do. I remember Mummy making lots of promises about all the things she’d do around the house if we got her a dog. She said she’d always do all the washing-up and regularly clean the car and tidy her bedroom without ever being asked. But we knew all those were too good to be true. And then I remember her persuading a friend to bring her dog to our house in the hope it would show Grandad how nice it would be if we had our own.’

  ‘And did Grandad like it?’

  Mum’s laughing so much now she can’t answer Ellie straight away.

  ‘Well, not really. You see, it was quite a wet day and suddenly this enormous, damp Irish setter was lolloping through our house, leaving muddy footprints all over the carpet. Grandad was chasing it and trying to grab hold of its collar but he wasn’t very experienced with dogs and he just couldn’t get hold of it. I’ll never forget the sight of him chasing after that dog, the pair of them bounding around this kitchen. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘So what happened? Did Grandad catch it?’

  ‘Well, as it rampaged back through the hallway its tail was wagging so fast that it knocked over the hall table with your Grandad’s precious collection of National Trust magazines on it. The look on his face as they all clattered to the floor. Your Grandad didn’t get cross very often but he was definitely quite cross that day.’

  I’d forgotten about that little escapade with my friend’s dog. Charlotte, she was called. My friend, that is, not the dog. I can’t remember the dog’s name. But I do remember the telling-off Dad gave me after Charlotte and her dog had finally been escorted from the house, and the gloomy realization that my plan had well and truly backfired.

  ‘So did Grandad not let Mummy have a puppy either? Why are daddies so mean?’

  ‘Oh, your daddy’s not mean, darling. You’re very lucky to have such a lovely daddy. And your Grandad wasn’t mean either. Your daddy’s right, dogs are a lot of work. Maybe once you’re a bit older Daddy will change his mind.’

  ‘Did Grandad change his mind?’

  A fleeting shadow of sadness darkens the happiness in Mum’s eyes, too brief and too well-camouflaged for Ellie to notice, but not discreet enough to be hidden from me.

  ‘Let’s go into the sitting room to eat your cake, darling. I’ll bring in your hot chocolate. It’s much cosier in there with the fire on.’

  Ellie scampers out of the room carrying her slab of heavily iced cake on a plate large enough for dinner. Mum clear
ly hasn’t stopped fretting about crumbs on the sofa in the last thirty years.

  ‘So did Mummy ever have a puppy?’

  Consternation settles on Mum’s face. I don’t know how she’s going to answer Ellie truthfully without upsetting her. It looks like she doesn’t either.

  Mum draws Ellie towards her on the sofa, wrapping her arms around my little girl’s innocent shoulders.

  ‘She didn’t, no. She stopped being quite so keen for one after a little while. And then she got interested in other things and well – you know – she grew up and a puppy wasn’t at the top of her wish list any more.’

  The best fibs are often concealed with a peppering of the truth. It’s true that I grew up – too fast, overnight almost – but it wasn’t that I became interested in other things. It was that I became distracted by aspects of life that really ought to have been beyond my single-digit years; by funerals and grief and possessively guarding my one remaining parent. So the prospect of a puppy really did seem like the last thing any of us needed. And yet we’d come so close. My tenth birthday, Dad had said, when my badgering and cajoling and persistence had finally got the better of him. It was a promise I’m sure he wouldn’t have broken.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to stop wanting a puppy, however old I get and however long I have to wait. Even if I have to wait till I’m grown up and have a house of my own.’

  Ellie chomps into her cake with determined gusto while still encased in Mum’s arms, leaving the two of them in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘So when she really wanted a puppy and was doing all those things, how old was Mummy then?’

  ‘Well, she’d have been about your age, I think. Maybe a little bit older, but not much.’

  Ellie looks thoughtful, munching away in her own little world for a few seconds.

  ‘Nanna? What was Mummy like when she was my age?’

  Mum releases Ellie to face her on the sofa, studying her intently as if seeing something there for the first time.

  ‘She was a gorgeous little girl. Just like you are.’