The Dead Wife's Handbook

by Hannah Beckerman

‘It’s just seems rather soon. Why the rush?’

  ‘There’s no rush, Celia. We just felt that the time was right. For us.’

  Mum frowns in the face of Max’s phlegmatic response. Harriet, meanwhile, is uncommonly quiet, for reasons I don’t understand. I’d expect her to be leaping to my defence in a situation like this.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling us?’

  Mum sounds combative now, a tonal outfit she’s not used to wearing. Max and Eve glance at one another, either in confusion or complicity, I’m not quite sure. Mum takes it as her cue to continue.

  ‘The only reason I can possibly imagine as to why you’d be wanting to live together so soon is if Eve’s planning to get pregnant. Or maybe she is already?’

  Joan takes in a theatrical breath, Harriet raises a shocked eyebrow, Max hangs his head in resignation and Eve looks calmly ahead. Mum, meanwhile, attempts to hide her own surprise that such an indiscreet accusation could have emanated publicly from her lips.

  ‘I think that’s quite unnecessary, Celia, if you’ll forgive me for saying it. Max and Eve’s private life is just that – private.’

  ‘For goodness sake, there’s no privacy to be discussed. Is there any chance everyone can stop jumping to conclusions and accept the fact that there’s no ulterior motive, that Eve and I simply want to live together?’

  Eve places a calming hand on Max’s arm.

  ‘It’s okay, Max. To be honest I think it’s time we told them anyway.’

  ‘Told us what?’

  Now it’s Joan’s curiosity that’s got the better of her.

  ‘Don’t, baby. There’s no need. Just leave it.’

  Eve shakes her head, and turns to meet the trio of expectant faces, their inquisitiveness suddenly delivering her a room bursting with undivided attention.

  Max’s expression is pained, agitated, the face of a man who’s desperate to keep the worms in the can after it’s already been opened, but who knows it’s a struggle he’s destined not to win.

  I can’t believe she’s going to tell them all, here and now. I feel strangely protective of her, aligned with Max’s desire to prevent a revelation she may later come to regret.

  Eve seems to be the only person in the room who’s retained her composure throughout the whole messy conversation.

  ‘The truth is, if Max and I stay together, which I sincerely hope we will, we won’t be having any children together for the simple reason that I can’t. I had an operation when I was younger and there were some complications – I’d rather not go into the details, if you don’t mind – so childbearing’s not an option for me. Or for us. But that’s fine because Ellie’s amazing and she’s all any family needs. This move is what all three of us want, and it would be great to be doing it with your blessing – with blessings from all of you – if we could.’

  No one speaks. Joan looks annoyed and I wonder whether she’s irked at having been invited late to the confidence party or whether she’s preoccupied with the sudden prospect of only ever having one grandchild. Mum’s face betrays a combination of shame and relief, while Harriet I’m unable to read; if I didn’t know her better I’d say hers was an expression of sympathy, but I know that’s unlikely. Perhaps I’m misreading sympathy for boredom.

  It strikes me that this is a decisive moment in the lives of the five people inadvertently trapped together in the cabin-sized kitchen, with Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ providing a suitably inappropriate soundtrack to their silence. This is the moment they can choose to embrace Eve’s adversities and welcome her into the fold, in spite of their own insecurities and anxieties. Or it could be the perfect opportunity to beat Eve with the confessional stick she’s just handed them and reject her conclusively.

  Against every bet I’d have made had I been offered one before arriving here this evening, I find myself championing the former.

  It’s Mum who finally breaks the silence, in a voice that’s been transformed from accusation to atonement.

  ‘I’m really very sorry to hear that, Eve. That must be dreadful for you. If I’d known, of course, I’d never have been so tactless.’

  Before Eve has to respond, Joan jumps in, determined not to be outdone in the sympathy stakes.

  ‘That’s so awful for you, love. I wish you’d confided in me earlier. It’s a terrible thing, infertility, but you’re obviously coping with it very well.’

  Joan cocks her head to one side and squeezes Eve’s hand as though reacting to news of a terminal illness rather than an inability to procreate.

  ‘It’s fine, really, both of you. I just didn’t want there to be any misconceptions as to why I’m moving in with Max, or about our future together for that matter.’

  Before anyone has a chance to share whatever’s on their mind, Connor saunters in, helps himself to a handful of crisps and bites into a smoked salmon bagel before he clocks that he’s walked into a crowded room in which the tension is almost as resounding as the music outside.

  ‘What have I missed? Bloody hell, what’s wrong with you lot? Did someone die? I thought this was supposed to be a party.’

  Connor throws a slightly drunken arm around Harriet’s shoulder.

  ‘Max and Eve were just telling us about their plans. To live together.’

  There’s an edge to Harriet’s voice, as if she’s passing the argumentative baton to Connor in the expectation that he’ll produce the appropriate indignation for all of them.

  ‘Yeah, I know. It’s great, isn’t it? I’m made up for them. It’s what – only a few weeks away now?’

  Harriet shakes Connor’s arm from her shoulder, firing a look of disbelief in his direction at the same time.

  ‘You knew? And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘It’s not my news, is it? Anyway, you know now. What’s the problem?’

  Harriet glares at him as though the answer to his question should be self-evident.

  ‘And what about Ellie? Does she get a say in all of this?’

  There’s the slightest tremble in Mum’s voice and it’s clear that she hasn’t yet recovered from the unexpected news.

  ‘Boo.’

  Mum jumps and turns to find the subject of her question standing behind her, grinning, a piece of chocolate cake in one hand and Ralph in the other.

  ‘Why is everyone standing in here like party poopers? Come out and dance with me. Some of this music isn’t as rubbish as I thought it was going to be.’

  ‘We were just hearing the news about Eve moving in with you and Daddy.’

  Mum’s tried to keep the pointedness out of her voice, I can tell, but she’s never really mastered the art of neutrality. Perhaps she’s hoping that Ellie will do her obstructive bidding for her.

  Instead, Ellie strides over to Eve and wraps her arms around Eve’s slender hips.

  ‘Yep, it’s going to be great. We’re going to redecorate the whole downstairs and I’m allowed to help choose the colours and Eve’s going to teach me how to make loads of different types of cakes and we might actually remember what days I need to take my PE kit to school. It’s going to be really cool.’

  The silence is articulated by faces that speak a thousand words. There’s victorious satisfaction from Joan, astonishment from Mum and what looks like sadness in the eyes of Harriet. Only Connor presents an expression with no axe to grind.

  ‘You’re right, princess. It’s fantastic news. I can’t imagine for a second why someone as gorgeous and fantastic as you, Eve, would want to move in with my degenerate brother, but he’s certainly one lucky man.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Uncle Connor, or you’ll put Eve off and then she really might not want to come.’

  Eve laughs and lifts Ellie into her arms, the tension broken finally by the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old girl.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, little one. Nothing could put me off moving in with you and Dad. We’re going to have a lovely time.’

  As Ellie throws her arms around Eve’s neck, Mum watches
on, bewildered by her granddaughter’s affection for this woman she barely knows, and it suddenly dawns on me that I’ve probably spent more time in Eve’s company than Mum has.

  ‘You know, I think Ellie’s right. We’ve been kitchen bores for far too long this evening and, given that it’s my party, I think we need to get back out there and enjoy it. Now, my two favourite ladies, who wants to dance with an old man on his fortieth birthday?’

  ‘Yay. Let’s go, Dad.’

  Max, Eve and Ellie dance out of the room, with Joan and Ralph hot on their heels, Joan looking over her shoulder to present Mum with her infamous ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself’ face as a parting gift.

  ‘Bloody hell. That was all a bit heavy for a Saturday night.’

  Harriet punches Connor on his arm, not entirely playfully.

  ‘Yes, well, it could have been avoided if you’d had the common sense to tell me what was going on.’

  ‘It wasn’t my news to tell. Look, I know it’s probably a bit weird for you both – for you, especially, Celia – but can’t you cut Max some slack? He’s had a pretty rough ride these past couple of years and I for one think it’s great to see him so happy.’

  Mum looks at Connor wearily, and I suspect the tiredness in her eyes has little to do with the late hour.

  ‘I don’t begrudge him happiness, Connor. But you must understand that all these … developments are more difficult for some of us than others to take on board.’

  ‘I know. I understand. It’s difficult for everyone. But tonight’s probably not the best time or place to think about it, is it? Now, who wants to come and dance? Come on, Harriet. I haven’t seen you set foot on the dance floor all evening.’

  ‘You go on. I want to have a quick chat with Celia.’

  Connor raises a wry smile that suggests it doesn’t take a genius to guess what she wants to discuss, and leaves them to it.

  ‘Well, I didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘Oh, Harriet. Me neither. It’s all a bit of a shock. I hadn’t realized quite how fond Ellie is of Eve.’

  ‘I know. Ellie seems to adore her. I always thought that after you and Joan, I was the next favourite woman in her life, but I can see that’s not the case any more.’

  Mum squeezes Harriet’s hand sympathetically but I can see her mind is elsewhere.

  ‘You know, it’s probably terrible of me to admit this, but it’s a bit of a relief, knowing that Max probably won’t have any more children. Ever since Rachel died it’s been gnawing away in the back of my mind: what if Max has more children with someone else, where would that leave Ellie? It wouldn’t be easy for her. I wouldn’t wish Eve’s plight on anyone, but I do think it’s probably the best outcome for Ellie, don’t you?’

  Harriet’s face adopts a look I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, a discomfort that’s out of character for someone who’s rarely phased by any conversation, whatever the topic.

  ‘So you don’t worry about Ellie being an only child, then? Aren’t only children supposed to grow into awful, self-regarding, sociopathic adults?’

  ‘Oh, I think that’s all a myth. Rachel was an only child, after all, and she couldn’t have been more thoughtful and loving.’

  ‘Whereas I’ve got a brother and I’m notoriously selfish. You’re probably right. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you only ever have one child? Did you not want any more?’

  Only Harriet would have the gumption to ask my mum that question. I asked it, of course, plenty of times, but then that was my prerogative.

  ‘I didn’t feel the need for another after Rachel came along. Robert and I loved her so much it felt almost greedy to want more. We were happy, just the three of us. I do remember my mum encouraging me to try for a second. She said we ought to in case anything ever happened to Rachel, as though another child would be a sort of insurance policy.’

  ‘You mean like “an heir and a spare”?’

  Mum smiles ruefully at Harriet’s remark and I know that however long I’m here I’ll never stop feeling guilty for having left her.

  ‘So do you wish now you’d had more than one?’

  ‘I don’t really think about it. There’s no point in dwelling on things, is there? We can’t change the past, after all, and wishing that we could only makes us unhappy.’

  Harriet puts an arm around Mum’s shoulders and I’m grateful to her for performing the gesture I’d so love to fulfil myself.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go back out, shall we? There’s probably not much more of this party left.’

  I follow them into the main room and there, in the middle of the dance floor, is Max, one hand in Ellie’s and the other around Eve’s waist, the three of them dancing together as if it’s the most natural act in the world.

  The sight awakens a memory in me, something I haven’t thought about for ages. It’s the recollection of Max and me dancing with Ellie in our arms when she was a baby, our nightly post-bath, pre-bed ritual. We’d put Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday on the iPod and hold Ellie’s naked body between us, swaying in time to the music, her newly washed skin the softest, smoothest sensation in the world, that pliable flesh which sprang back in surprise every time you squeezed it, irresistible to touch, to stroke, to kiss.

  I remember how happy the three of us were during those cosiest of evenings and, as painful as it is to see myself replaced in the group by its newest member, I’m grateful to them for restoring the memory to me. There’s nothing I’d trade for that precious time, as the day ended in collective affection, when Ellie would often be at her happiest. If it was a choice between living again now and never having had that, I’d take naked baby Ellie in my arms every time.

  I wonder whether this evening is a test for the dead as much as it is for the living. Is there a decision for me, too, as I watch friends and relatives accept Eve into the family fold, a decision about where I’m going to pitch my virtual tent? Am I going to stay out in the cold, bitter and resentful, as excluded emotionally as I am physically, consigning myself to yet more isolation, loneliness and regret? Or do I follow the lead of the living, accept the irreversibility of my absence and appreciate Eve for all that she brings? Because what more could I hope for, after all, than to share Max and Ellie with someone who loves them, cares for them and wants to restore happiness to their lives?

  A song blasting from the speakers summons me from my reverie. It’s one of Max’s unexpected favourites: ‘Never Forget’ by Take That. The room erupts into collective celebration, fifty or so guests shouting rather than singing the chorus in unison, arms waving drunkenly in the air, the odd lighter swung above dizzy heads for nostalgic effect. Even Connor and Harriet are joining in, dancing and laughing together with the euphoria of an evening spent in the company of decade-old friends. I’ve never listened to the lyrics properly before, but now that I do it feels as though the song was written for me, for me right here, right now.

  I hover alone in the corner, watching in isolation as the living enjoy the life that’s still theirs to lead, seeing Max and Eve and Ellie jumping together in time to the chorus, knowing for sure now that this is all someone else’s dream.

  Chapter 30

  The last remaining guests have just left, nudged gently and tipsily through the door by Max and Eve, who’ve been trying to clear the room for the best part of half an hour. The clock on the wall tells me it’s twenty past one. It’s been a long night already.

  It’s been a strange night too, lingering in the shadows, an invisible gatecrasher to my husband’s landmark birthday party. I should be used to it by now, being suspended on the outside looking in; it’s all I’ve done for the past two and a half years and I’m well acquainted with the heartache and loneliness and envy that accompany the role. But tonight was different. Tonight felt different.

  Ever since I died I’ve witnessed conflict and upset and grief as the people I’ve left behind find their own pace at which to adapt to the changes effected by my absence. But tonight I looked on as sec
rets were shared and confessions entrusted, and in place of the implosion I’d anticipated there was, instead, a quiet cooperation.

  I watched Harriet and Eve dancing together to Girls Aloud, heard Mum chatting with Max as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, saw Ellie flitting among the guests, the prettiest of social butterflies.

  If this was the night when everyone’s love for Max and Ellie was put to the test then they all seem to have passed with flying colours. It feels like there’s only one person remaining who’s yet to prove themself.

  I take myself into the kitchenette where Harriet and Eve are washing plates and glasses. Max is standing aside, Ellie asleep in his arms.

  ‘Max, why don’t you go and sit down with Ellie? You’re not much use here anyway with Ellie asleep on you. Harriet and I can clear up – if you don’t mind, Harriet?’

  ‘Not at all. God knows when my cab might deign to make an appearance. Go on, you might as well make the most of it being your birthday, Max – there aren’t many days I’d offer to do your washing up for you.’

  Max kisses Eve and leaves with Ellie slumbering in his arms. Harriet and Eve work silently for a few minutes, Harriet washing and Eve drying, and I wonder whether this is the first time the two of them have ever been in a room on their own together.

  ‘So, it turns out you and I may have more in common than we imagined.’

  It’s Harriet who’s broken the silence.

  ‘Oh, really? What’s that?’

  I’m intrigued. There aren’t many women I know who seemingly have less in common than my best friend and the new love of my husband’s life.

  ‘I’m sure Max told you about the row he and I had a few months back. The one on Rach’s second anniversary?’

  Eve blushes lightly but just enough to confirm Harriet’s presumption.

  ‘He didn’t go into detail but I got the gist, yes.’

  ‘Well, it clarified something I’d been mulling over for a while. Since Rach died, actually. It got me thinking that perhaps Max was right and my life has been a bit self-absorbed. And that maybe it was worth thinking about the whole procreation thing before it’s too late.’