Make A Christmas Wish: A heartwarming, witty and magical festive treat
Make A Christmas Wish: A heartwarming, witty and magical festive treat
Julia Williams
‘Heartwarming, witty and magical’ SUNA HILARIOUS and JUST-A-LITTLE HEARTBREAKING FESTIVE TREAT for anyone who’s looking for a little bit of MAGIC this CHRISTMAS TIME!Last Christmas, when Livvy was knocked down in the supermarket car park she certainly wasn’t ready to actually be dead! For months now she’s floated on the edge of the afterlife, generally making a nuisance of herself.And she’s not ready to go just yet! She’s furious about the new woman in her husband’s life and she’s worried about her beloved son who doesn’t seem to be adjusting to life without her at all.This Christmas, Livvy is given one last magical chance to make everything right. Will she take it and give her family the perfect Christmas?Perfect for fans of CAROLE MATTHEWS, TRISHA ASHLEY and JENNY COLGAN.
Copyright (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015
Copyright © Julia Williams 2015
Julia Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847563590
Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780007464500
Version: 2016–02–23
Dedication (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
To my fabulous twin, Virginia Moffatt,
my first reader and greatest cheerleader.
About time too xxx
Table of Contents
Cover (#u269dedd2-3008-5c11-b485-e045346b31e5)
Title Page (#uece7b970-cb90-57f6-b033-7075d4913ac9)
Copyright (#u0c4a84d5-4e3a-5370-916f-c6366aff74f2)
Dedication (#u90af37cf-df4e-53fc-97c7-f6108fc56934)
Two Weeks Till Christmas Joe’s Notebook (#u53fc2ee8-1c21-5e29-8da9-06ed33050b8e)
Part One (#ubcb9ffb4-9bd3-5f54-a207-928514e16619)
Christmas Past (#u9743bfaf-9aef-5a6e-9a75-db0c39e1d785)
Christmas Past (#u8c2542ab-c45d-58ef-99aa-bed755db310c)
This Year (#u507b07d1-c686-5e35-b2fc-912426447562)
Chapter One (#ufa2aeddb-b9ab-5c8f-a4b3-a087c3006234)
Chapter Two (#ubb4f9eb0-0e8a-5882-9c9a-718ee28e56bd)
Chapter Three (#ufb8c4507-3b11-5504-828d-dbc117ae3f1d)
Joe’s Notebook (#u210af1ae-a9a7-5f25-9495-862f29f7e500)
Christmas Past (#ue729e83b-5e55-52e8-a265-83e3db62a60e)
Chapter Four (#ua7b929e6-d9e3-5200-8ca1-59040f157308)
Chapter Five (#u60002736-32e0-5463-96f3-166c0e3389a9)
Chapter Six (#u48cf9675-9bc6-510e-9a28-83e6e886607f)
Joe’s Notebook (#uaf2ac0c6-3b02-5ef3-8f96-5a96ee23c4d5)
Christmas Past (#u0c1031a8-ebcb-5072-a3c5-d8f204c643d2)
Chapter Seven (#u9d03fc44-7429-5408-b6da-6d6d9fb9ac64)
Chapter Eight (#u531bc1da-433c-5c52-a5a9-152977078529)
Chapter Nine (#u3b62d30d-8cd3-569a-9707-afe4e00e75b9)
Joe’s Notebook (#u4521d3e2-2612-5e5b-a1c0-0d0f60622cb5)
Christmas Past (#uf6173957-aaa5-52c4-949c-03eec4ba5689)
Chapter Ten (#u8b46e1b7-db9f-5596-a6c1-e1fbb6a9c54f)
Chapter Eleven (#ua3dfe420-0440-599a-950c-35d9d1ea77ec)
Chapter Twelve (#u73dc7fa1-55c6-52d7-87f6-5ce8ff05abf4)
Joe’s Notebook (#ub6010de7-4451-5bdb-bb6f-41c80ba69c6c)
Christmas Past (#u691d2642-4688-5152-9ce3-461c34a9a06b)
Part Two (#ue5de2bfe-ac78-52ec-804e-e6a01e13fe21)
Joe’s Notebook (#uba5328bf-cd7f-572e-a4ad-d8e44d3d67a4)
Chapter Thirteen (#ubfe26ba3-007b-5f37-8586-cc76f8d1a02f)
Chapter Fourteen (#u092da9eb-4634-57b1-b022-0fcc6c724b54)
Chapter Fifteen (#u25b605ee-d7a0-57e0-b6dd-34422ca51b0f)
Joe’s Notebook (#u57bafd95-0ca6-5bb8-a021-adc564355dc5)
Christmas Present (#u994cef4e-4193-5994-babf-cc9b4b5095fc)
Chapter Sixteen (#u21197ba2-aa76-578f-a77a-338a79bef756)
Chapter Seventeen (#ue6a1bdac-a03d-5270-8f8f-f0994ebc32cc)
Chapter Eighteen (#u019fdc0d-897f-531a-a78b-8a1de3e3e601)
Joe’s Notebook (#u4b181317-3ba7-550c-a323-2adb392ab21b)
Christmas Present (#u05eea1c5-4274-567d-922b-db578b12507c)
Chapter Nineteen (#uaff54ef7-4e07-5632-b4ae-3d035da99884)
Chapter Twenty (#ue514794d-6501-5594-b0f6-1a39569aebaf)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u37c21717-38d9-523a-a8ca-b1ef3be192f4)
Joe’s Notebook (#u249157a9-0ef5-512d-b091-e1e83d5df966)
Christmas Present (#u917a514e-e0dd-5cfa-abca-2b840cacfd37)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u13a4a7d4-508c-512c-b348-11d1f94f1546)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u07878bec-3308-55ba-b63c-4a3adb9809a1)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u2484a1ca-7853-55f6-ad6c-74094a2cea00)
Joe’s Notebook (#u126c5145-2a66-5f73-88b7-6137fabfbe5d)
Christmas Present (#ucebc7063-6e8d-5259-a0d5-61ca0dfa6688)
Part Three (#u9cda5650-e273-5f1a-9bd2-541bdbdb35b6)
Christmas Future (#uc2265e18-b55a-51f0-aa6e-5c01f5cc4824)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#uc20eeb0a-05fe-59de-9d9a-3ce4d5e5179f)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u7d755961-756d-5c3a-aa4f-2eb310bf30de)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u3a858ad8-be43-51b6-82eb-0816ad81f158)
Joe’s Notebook (#u0de27a7b-29ab-561c-8976-2a36bb3319da)
Christmas Future (#u032b39fd-951b-5dbc-8163-7c75f16e0c0d)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u0c31bbfe-9c50-58c6-84cf-cab949af2795)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uc6b0e4e3-e014-54c2-a65b-79e099691c80)
Chapter Thirty (#ud856b745-259e-51d1-bfcc-44a3d23d9718)
Joe’s Notebook (#ufaf4b6c9-95b9-5c97-be8c-25d29576dc69)
Christmas Future (#ud409ddb4-dabb-5ef2-ab57-986eb56614da)
Chapter Thirty-One (#udac322c1-d89a-5971-8cba-ef6c8339196f)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#u9e0f510a-e915-52c1-af63-f3d1f34b3c26)
Joe’s Notebook (#ubd236489-9705-502f-aa20-a3b8c878f9d3)
Christmas Future (#u06d1cea5-d2ee-58cc-b5fd-0862c0a54c9d)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u79f95352-713c-5aee-a320-d2644d14ba35)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u69b27a86-16dc-5718-bfcf-3b194b9ba30f)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u9791b501-5f01-5d75-9c37-71f624820aee)
Epilogue (#u5277a7ed-a4bd-5a5c-8ca9-cec92e71caad)
Joe’s Notebook (#u3326ccf9-b1e1-597a-bfa0-db73c6bc2472)
Acknowledgements (#u74be5161-46e5-53d4-8d55-783cce59ca8f)
Keep Reading (#u69fb11f9-5949-520a-8285-7d1996b08e62)
By the Same Author: (#uda2b71ed-3108-5b7a-be33-cf70cbf3af5f)
About the Author (#u56b1c2a7-45ea-52a4-bba6-340109e6e89e)
About the Publisher (#u51e66048-439c-5015-99be-1576693325ab)
Two Weeks till Christmas (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Joe’s Notebook (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
• What makes a mother?
• A mother cooks
• A mother picks me up from college
• A mother falls asleep in the afternoon
• A mother is always there.
When I was little my mum always told me to look at the brightest star in the sky and make a Christmas wish, and it would come true.
The brightest star in the sky is Polaris: the North Star, the star that guides travellers home.
Tonight I looked through my telescope and made my Christmas wish.
Maybe Polaris can guide my mum and bring her back home.
Then we can be a family again.
Part One (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Christmas Past (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Livvy
I come to in the car park, sitting on the ground, feeling very confused. I remember the car, the kid, and an incredibly painful bang on the head, and lots of people flapping around me, but nothing else. But that must have been hours ago. It’s dark now, and I am alone and I can’t quite remember why I am still here. Did they leave me behind? Why didn’t they take me to hospital? That’s weird. I feel in my pockets for my mobile. I must ring Adam, my husband. He and our son Joe will be so worried. That reminds me, I’m cross with Adam for some reason, but I can’t think why. I can’t find my phone. I must have dropped it when the car hit me.
The. Car. Hit. Me.
I stop for a moment and try and absorb the logic of this. If the car hit me, why am I not hurt? And why am I still here? And why is it dark? – Oh no …
Adam
When I hear my wife is critically ill in hospital I’m standing out at the front of our office having a surreptitious conversation with Emily – I don’t want everyone at work knowing what’s gone on. It doesn’t make me proud to know how secretive I’ve become in the last few months.
‘How did she find out?’ asks Emily in a tense whisper.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘That’s not really the point any more.’
‘This changes everything,’ says Emily.
I sigh. ‘I know. Still, it had to come out some time, but I wish I’d been the one to tell her.’ I don’t know. I’ve wanted to, so many times in the last few months, as my home life has been deteriorating to beyond even what I could possibly have imagined. During that time Emily had become the one beacon of light in my life. But would I have ever found the courage? And then there’s our son Joe of course. What on earth is this going to do to Joe? Guilt and misery lodge uncomfortably in my stomach. We’ve had some rotten Christmases in the past, but this one could be shaping up to be a humdinger.
‘Adam, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ It’s my PA, Marigold. She looks really upset. The words come tumbling out of her so fast I can’t quite take them in. ‘I’m so sorry, Adam, but you have to go to the hospital. There’s been an accident. Livvy’s been badly hurt.’
‘What?’ I’m not sure I’ve heard correctly. ‘Emily, I’ve got to go, Livvy crisis.’
‘You have to go,’ Marigold says frantically. ‘Now. She’s in the hospital.’
I’m ashamed to say that my first thought is that Livvy’s pulling a stunt – her way of getting back at me. But when I finally speak to someone at the hospital, it seems she really has had a bad accident. ‘I’m sorry to tell you she’s in a critical condition, Mr Carmichael,’ says the doctor. ‘I suggest you come immediately.’
I dither about whether to pick Joe up or not. How will he react? But if things are as bad as they say, will Joe forgive me for leaving him behind? So, in the end, I grab him from his sixth-form college, and we get to the hospital to discover that Livvy is in Resus. We’re shown into a family room, which feels ominous. My heart is pounding and I feel really sick. Nobody will tell us anything, but everyone speaks in hushed tones, and I am beginning to fear the worst.
Livvy
I start to remember. It was two weeks until Christmas Day and I was on my way to Lidl to get some Christmas shopping, still staggering from the news I’d just heard. Adam, my lovely husband Adam, had been unfaithful to me. I mean, I knew we had our problems, and I’d felt for a while that he’d been quite distant, but Adam, having an affair? I was reeling with shock, and mad as hell. There I’d been, sorting out a lovely Christmas for us, and he’d been playing away.
As I got out of the car, a part of my brain was still calmly planning our Christmas dinner, while the other part was concentrating on angrily texting Adam: You bastard, how could you? Talk about multitasking. I knew how and why he could of course – I’d given him enough cause over the years.
I was so angry I wasn’t paying attention, so I foolishly stepped into the road in front of a car driven by a 17-year-old learner driver whose dad had taken him to Lidl’s car park to practise safely. The poor lad panicked when he saw me, and accelerated instead of braking. I could see his terrified face staring frantically from the dashboard, as to my horror I realized the car was speeding towards me, and I could do nothing to stop it.
I didn’t feel any pain on impact, but the car hit me side on, spun out of control and crashed into the recycling bins. I flew through the air and landed head first into the trolley man who was collecting stray trolleys abandoned by lazy shoppers. I’d have got away with a few breaks and nothing more if it hadn’t been for the damned trolleys. Unfortunately for me, I received a glancing blow to the head, which resulted in a haematoma.
Just my luck.
I felt a moment of excruciating pain, and then people gathered excitedly around me, and the boy driving the car was wailing loudly, ‘What have I done?’
I could just make out the sounds of sirens in the background before everything faded to darkness. The last sound I heard was the music blaring from the store: ‘SimplyHaving a Wonderful Christmas Time’. Just peachy.
The next thing I knew I was lying on a stretcher and the lights were hurting my eyes. I seemed to be in a vehicle of some kind and we were going at a hell of a lick. I heard a voice saying, ‘Livvy, stay with me,’ before everything faded again.
When I came to I felt as though I was floating in a dreamlike state. I couldn’t quite work out where I was, until I looked down and saw lots of people dressed in blue overalls, wearing face masks and looking grave. They were standing over a body. I was beyond spooked: what the hell was going on?
‘And clear!’ someone said, and a charge went through the body, but nothing happened.
The man holding the defibrillator shook his head and someone said, ‘Time of death: two fifteen p.m.’
Gradually they moved away from the body, unclipping monitors and drips, and suddenly I realized I was looking down at myself.
What just happened? I was thinking. I can’t be … can I? I must be having some kind of strange dream. In a moment Adam and Joe are going to be by my side and I will wake up and everything will be OK.
Adam
Telling Joe I’m off to fetch us a hot drink I go out to the A & E reception desk to ask if there’s any news, but no one can tell me anything. When I’m coming back with a weak hot chocolate for Joe and a tepid coffee for me, I overhear one of the nurses say something about how long they’ve been working on her, and my alarm rises. Oh God, what is happening? One moment I’d been thinking the worst of my problems was facing up to leaving Livvy and now – I seem to be caught in a terrible, unbelievable nightmare. However unhappy we’ve been together, I don’t want anything to happen to Livvy. I feel I am standing on the edge of a swirling abyss, unsure where my future lies.
Guilt, remorse and an overpowering sorrow threaten to overwhelm me but I am trying to hold it together for Joe’s sake. Yet, when he eventually asks, ‘Mum is going to be all right isn’t she?’ I have nothing to offer.
‘I don’t know, Joe,’ I say, sipping my insipid coffee and feeling sick with fear and anxiety. This can’t be happening to Livvy. It just can’t.
But it is. As soon as the nurse comes into the room, I know, without her saying.
I make out the words ‘I’m so sorry,’ but I don’t really hear them, and I’m aware that Joe is rocking back and forth. I try to hug him, but he pushes me away, and then I hear a terrible howl.
It is some moments before I realize it’s coming from me.
Livvy
There is a shout from somewhere, and suddenly I feel as though I have been yanked from the room I am in, and now I am floating in another, smaller white room, where a nurse is sitting down with a shocked-looking Adam and Joe, saying, ‘I am so so sorry.’
Joe is rocking backwards and forwards and I can feel his distress. I try to go to him, but I can’t reach him. I can feel the pain coming from him in waves, pain beyond anything that I have ever felt before, and I find myself howling with him. And then I hear Adam break down and I can see into his jumbled thoughts. One thing stands out very clearly: he is very very sorry and he loves me very much. Whatever else he has done to me, losing me has cost him dear.
Suddenly I am dragged into a long dark tunnel. I am screaming and shouting, ‘Bring me back! I need to go back!’ but to no avail. The darkness overtakes me, and after that there is nothing.
And here, now, in the car park in the dark, I hear a voice pipe up beside me: ‘And the penny drops …’
I would have jumped out of my skin if I’d had any to jump out of. I look around suspiciously in the dark, but I can’t see anything.
‘Oh my God, I’m—’
‘’Fraid so,’ says the voice cheerily.
‘Dead?’
‘Very,’ says the voice.
This is getting extremely weird.
‘Who are you?’ I say.
‘A friend,’ purrs the voice, which doesn’t exactly reassure me.
I look around me at the empty car park. I can’t quite believe it: I’m still here. I’m still standing. I feel the same. How can I be dead?
‘Common reaction,’ is the response. ‘But sorry, you’ve definitely shuffled off your mortal coil.’
‘Aren’t there supposed to be choirs of angels or something?’ I say. If I have really died, shouldn’t I be entitled to a fanfare of sorts?
‘That’s not quite how it works,’ says the voice smugly.
I’m beginning to dislike its owner intensely.
‘Why am I here, then?’ I ask.
‘Where do I start? You’re still here, because you’re not ready to pass over yet.’
‘What do you mean?’ I am instantly on edge. ‘Why do I get to hang about? If I’m dead, why can’t I just go on to wherever I’m supposed to go in peace?’
‘In the words of the trade, you have unfinished business.’
‘Damn right I have unfinished business,’ I say. ‘This is ridiculous. I have to get back to my husband and son. They need me. I want to talk to someone in charge.’
‘Afraid you’re stuck with me,’ says the voice patiently. ‘And your attitude ought to give you a clue.’
‘What’s wrong with my attitude?’ I say. ‘I’m a nice person. There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Well, for a start, why are you so angry all the time?’
I bristle again. I’ve been carrying my anger around for so long, I can barely remember sometimes what I’m so furious about. It’s the sort of thing Adam has been saying to me for years, and I’ve always thought he was exaggerating. But now I’m here alone in this car park, apparently dead, with a disembodied voice for company, I think perhaps he has a point. There’s a dark pool of fury inside me, something I’ve suppressed for years and one of a number of places I don’t want to go. But I am not going to tell the voice that.
‘Who are you?’ I say instead and, to my astonishment, a mangy-looking black cat wanders up and perches on a bin.
‘Call me Malachi,’ says the cat, stretching out its paws. ‘I’m your spirit guide.’ This is not in the slightest bit reassuring.
I must be delusional. It’s the bang on the head. I’ve fabricated that I’m dead and in a car park talking to a cat. In a moment I’ll wake up in hospital and see Adam and Joe peering worriedly at me and everything will be normal again.
‘Right, this has gone beyond a joke,’ I say. ‘I am going to leave now.’
‘You can try,’ says Malachi, ‘but you won’t get very far. You need to listen to what I say. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can ignore the rules.’
‘I can’t be dead,’ I wail again. ‘This isn’t happening.’
‘Sorry to disappoint, but you’re very very dead. Anyway, in the situation you find yourself in, what’s so odd about talking to a cat? This isn’t who I really am. Just a convenient shape I take on in moments like this. I could be a tramp, but the police would probably move me on. A cat’s more convenient. No one pays much attention to a cat scavenging through the bins at midnight. More to the point, I’m here to help you.’
‘Why?’ I say suspiciously.
‘Because it’s my job,’ says the cat wearily. ‘Though, quite frankly, I’ve had easier material to work with.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ I say, furious again.
‘Well, let’s start with untangling the mess you’ve made of your life.’
‘I haven’t made a mess of my life,’ I protest. ‘I liked my life. I’d really like it back please.’
‘Too late for that,’ says Malachi. ‘But we can put a few things right if you like. We can start with your past.’
‘Suppose I don’t want to,’ I object. I make a point of never looking back and wondering if I could have done things differently. That way madness lies, if you ask me.
‘Fair enough,’ says the cat. ‘But I can’t help you till you want to be helped. If you’re not prepared to listen to me, you’ll be stuck here until you’re ready to move on.’
‘I refuse to listen to this,’ I say. ‘Any minute now I’m going to wake up and this will have been a horrible nightmare.’
‘Your choice,’ he purrs. ‘You stay here guarding the bins then. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ve got better things to do with my time.’
With a flick of his tail he is gone. And I am left here alone, floating around Lidl’s car park, trapped on the very spot where I died.
Emily
Emily Harris hadn’t been sure whether to go to Livvy Carmichael’s funeral or not. She knew Adam wouldn’t be able to talk to her, but she wanted to support him anyway. She’d tentatively texted him to let him know she’d be there, but he hadn’t texted back. She had no idea what that meant. They’d barely spoken since the awful night when he’d rung her to tell her what had happened. She had no place in this. Adam had to be there for Joe, and Emily knew in her heart that might mean whatever they’d had together could be finished forever. She felt desperately sad that Livvy was dead – no one deserved such an end, not even her rival who had caused Adam untold pain for years. But now Livvy was gone she didn’t know where it left her and Adam. Maybe he was only with her because everything had been so hard for him. Their love might fade away in the fallout from this terrible tragedy. It was shitty and miserable but there was nothing she could do.
Emily crept into the back of the packed church. The mood was sombre, and she felt blacker than she’d ever felt in her life. Poor Livvy. What a godawful thing to have happened. Poor Joe. Poor Adam. Poor bloody everybody.
The organ started to play ‘The Lord’s my Shepherd’, and everyone rose. In a blur, Emily watched Adam, his fair head bowed, looking blankly ahead escorting Joe, his skinny frame hunched and miserable, and a small fair-haired woman, who must be Livvy’s mum, Felicity, as they followed the coffin down the aisle. The three of them clung to each other, for support, and Emily felt more than ever that she had no right to be here. She nearly turned and fled, but Adam glanced up at her as he walked past and gave her a quick and grateful smile. He looked so sombre and sad. Emily wished beyond anything she could be by his side.
The funeral passed in a blur. Felicity got up and read something about Death not being the end in such a dignified manner, Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. She had a sudden terrible memory of her own mother’s funeral, and marvelled at Felicity’s courage. Emily couldn’t do anything but sob that day; to be able to read for your own daughter and not break down took some doing.
Adam also read a passage about love. He didn’t look at the congregation, focusing his attention on getting every word out. Emily could see what it cost him, and longed to be with him to comfort him. And then Joe got up, and said simply. ‘My mum was the best. She looked after me, and now she’s gone. And I miss her.’
There wasn’t a dry eye in the church after that, and the rest of the service was punctuated with people sobbing. After it was over, Emily escaped as quickly as she could. The family were going on to a private burial, and she had no intention of attending the wake.
A crowd of people clustered around Joe, Adam and Felicity, so Emily walked down the path to the road where her car was parked. She’d done what she came to do. Although Emily had thought what she and Adam had was special, Livvy being dead altered things. Her rival was gone, but not in a way anyone would have wanted. Was Adam’s love for her enough to withstand his grief? All Emily could do was wait and see if Adam would come back to her.
As she was unlocking the car door, she heard a shout, ‘Emily, wait.’
It was Adam. The temptation to hug him was immense, but Emily hung back.
‘I just wanted to say thanks,’ he said. ‘It meant a lot that you came.’
‘Of course I came,’ said Emily. ‘How are you bearing up?’
‘Not well,’ said Adam. He looked tired and strained.
‘You’d better get back,’ said Emily uneasily. ‘People might talk.’
‘I’m not sure that matters any more.’
‘You have Joe to think of,’ she pointed out.
‘I know,’ said Adam. ‘Emily, you do understand, don’t you? Joe has to be my priority right now. And – well – the next few months, I might not be able to see you, and I wanted to say it won’t be because I don’t want to.’
‘Oh Adam,’ said Emily. ‘Of course I understand.’
They were both a bit weepy now.
She could see the funeral party breaking up.
‘You have to go, Adam,’ she said. ‘But if you ever need me, you know where I am.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.
‘When you’re ready,’ said Emily. Who knew how easy that would be?
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I know this is a big ask, but please – can you wait for me?’
With that he was gone, and Emily got in her car and drove home, wondering if she’d ever see him again, but hoping more than she’d ever hoped before that she would.
Livvy
I spend a long time in a foggy blur, not entirely sure where the days, nights and months go to, but unable to reach out to anyone I love, to at least see if they’re doing OK. I get the odd vague impulse – round the time of my funeral, I can feel Joe’s distress, and occasionally I sense that Adam is trying to talk to me from somewhere, but it’s like a broken radio wave, it comes to me from such a distance, I am not even sure it is him. In the midst of the fog I feel a terrible pain and sense of loss. There’s something I should be doing, but I don’t know what it is.
And then …
On a winter’s night when a storm is raging in my car park, suddenly I can hear Joe in my head. I can feel his confusion clamouring in my brain.
‘So is Emily my new mum, Dad?’ he asks.
Who the hell is Emily? And why is Adam looking for a new mum for Joe?
‘Over my dead body,’ I snarl, and suddenly it’s as if a whirlwind has torn me from the car park.
What the—? I’m standing in my front room, with no clue how I got there. I am stunned but delighted. Finally I’m out of that damned car park. Then I look around me and see Adam, Joe, and a pretty dark-haired woman I don’t know, but vaguely recognize, decorating the Christmas tree.
A strange woman in my house. With Adam. And Joe. What on earth is going on?
Christmas Past (#ulink_753b6e1a-7994-5a25-9419-b8838313cdad)
Livid doesn’t cover it. I hurl myself at the dark-haired woman in MY front room in a fury.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I yell. ‘What are you doing here? In my house, in my life?’
I want her to be terrified. I want her to react. But all that happens is the woman shivers, and says, ‘That’s odd. I just felt someone walking over my grave.’
Crap, I can’t even haunt people properly. All I want is for Adam and Joe to see me, to know I’m there, to want me back, the way I want them back.
‘Oh quit feeling sorry for yourself.’ Malachi hasn’t gone away. Oh good. ‘If you’d not turned your back on me a year ago all this would be sorted by now. They do need you and you need them, but possibly not in the way you think.’
‘What do you mean?’ Why does Malachi have to talk in riddles?
‘You have things to sort out, things to put right.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I’d blush with fury if I could.
‘You really don’t know?’ says Malachi. ‘Here, let me show you …’
With a jolt, I’m awake. With a living breathing human body. I’d forgotten how good it is, to feel and see and taste and smell. Wait. I remember this. I look around me. I’m sitting in a hospital bed, watching my newborn baby asleep in his cot. A sudden rush of love – hormones? – flows through me. Here is my baby at last, after all the false starts. My miracle baby.
But where is Adam? We’ve waited so long for this baby, been through so much, and he’s not here.
Then I remember. I’ve gone into early labour and Adam’s abroad. He thought we had time. We both did, but I’ve ended up giving birth alone, among strangers, in this unforgiving place. The midwives have been kind, but overworked, and Mum is away visiting friends, and can’t get here till tomorrow. I have never felt so lonely. And now I’m lying on a hospital bed, and my baby is waking up and I can’t reach him. Because of my epidural I can’t get out of bed. I’m tired and hungry and sad and overwhelmed. This is not how it was meant to be. How can I be sad on the happiest day of my life?
When the baby starts to cry, I don’t know what to do. I ring the buzzer but no one comes. I’m here on my own with a crying baby, and I feel like crying too. And I know it’s unfair of me, butI’m very angry with Adam. But then, miraculously, Adam is here. He’s dropped everything and flown home as soon as he could, just to be by my side. He’s so happy about the baby, and so pleased to see me, I forget my anger, and bury it deep. Nothing matters now but us and our new son.
And then I’m back in the future, where I’m dead, and talking to a mangy black cat. I can still feel the anger burning in the back of my throat. I’ve been angry with Adam so long, I’d forgotten when and where it began. Was it really then? The day that Joe was born?
I stare disconsolately at Adam and Joe and their new friend.
‘So what do I do now?’ I say.
‘First,’ says Malachi, ‘you need to get their attention.’
This Year (#ulink_ec1a179f-b227-5e66-8d81-a2b2a775dc62)
Two Weeks before Christmas
Adam
A year ago? How can it be a year since my world imploded so spectacularly? As if it wasn’t fucked up enough.
Before Livvy died, everything was going to be so different. I wasn’t proud of myself for doing it, but I had met and fallen in love with Emily. I’d been planning to tell her, but then Livvy found out anyway: You bastard. How could you? The very last words my wife said to me. In the circumstances, they were no more than I deserved, though Emily tells me I’m too hard on myself. But if … if I’d supported her more in the beginning, if I’d understood the toll of looking after Joe had exacted on her … My world is full of ifs.
I can remember the day I first met Livvy as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was our first term at uni in Manchester, and there was this bright, vivid, red-headed girl standing in the student bar, downing shots in a competition and drinking all the boys under the table. I was too shy to talk to her that first night, but gradually I found myself more and more drawn to her, and to my surprise my interest was reciprocated. It was Livvy who took the initiative from the first, kissing me suddenly and fiercely one night when we’d sat out all evening staring at the stars together. She was so unlike anyone I’d met: a free spirit, spontaneous in a way I wasn’t. She breathed life into me, showing me there was more than the staid and rather restrictive outlook my parents had given me. It was a magical, wonderful time. Since she’s died, I often think of those days and wonder how it could have gone so badly wrong.
But it did, and instead I’ve spent the last year picking up the pieces of my life. Even though our marriage was a sham by the end, I was devastated when Livvy died. I never got to say sorry that a love that had started out with such hope and promise had disintegrated in the way it did, and now there was no possibility of ever putting it right.
And now here we are and it’s coming up for Christmas again, and I owe it to Joe to try and make things cheerful even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. I’m never sure how much of what’s happened he’s taken in, and wonder what is going on inside his head. He says things like, ‘My mum is dead,’ deadpan to complete strangers, showing no emotion. Emily says we just have to support him the best we can. So today, though I’m not sure I have the stomach for Christmas decorations (last year the lights seemed to twinkle malevolently at me as if proof of my guilt), Emily and I are putting up the Christmas tree. We always put the tree up a fortnight before Christmas, and Joe with his obsessive need for order has had it written on the calendar for weeks.
Actually, it turns out to be fun. It’s been a really blowy day, and after Joe and I put flowers on Livvy’s grave first thing, we went for a wet walk down by the canal. We get back home and make hot chocolate and sit by the fire drinking it, feeling cosy and warm, till Joe starts insisting it’s time to decorate the tree. I’d thought he might not want to do it today, on the anniversary, but he is insistent. ‘We always decorate the tree two weeks before Christmas,’ he says. ‘Mum won’t like it if we don’t.’
It makes my heart ache to hear him speak about her in such a matter-of-fact way. He must be grieving for Livvy, but it’s hard for him to articulate it.
‘Five thirty,’ Joe says now, pointing at his watch – time is very important to him – ‘if we don’t do it soon, it will be dinner time and too late.’
‘OK, Joe,’ I say, ‘let’s get on with it.’
The wind is howling down the chimney now, and the kitchen door rattles. This is an old house, with ill-fitting doors and windows. We’ve always meant to get double glazing, but I like the old sash windows, and wooden frames. They give the place character, though on a night like tonight I’m not grateful for the draughts blowing through the house.
Joe in his methodical way is sorting out how to decorate the tree. After the lights go up, he insists that certain decorations, like the Santa he made for us when he was five, and the reindeer Livvy once bought him at a Christmas market, take pride of place. Then he organizes the baubles according to a colour scheme: gold, red, silver hung in serried rows round the tree. This is something Livvy used to do with him, and I had no idea he had it down to such a fine art. Emily and I are there to do things the way Joe likes them, and I am finding it quite soothing.
After the baubles, Joe makes us wrap the tree in tinsel – he won’t let us use red because ‘it doesn’t look right’ – and I mean literally wrap it. It is starting to look overloaded, but he won’t hear of us taking any off.
We’ve just put the last bit of tinsel on the tree, when Joe suddenly looks at Emily in that disconcerting way he has and asks, ‘Are you my mother now?’
Oh God. I’m not ready for this.
I have tried really hard to introduce Emily into our lives slowly. Luckily Joe already knows her from the swimming club we go to on a Monday evening. Joe was always so full of energy in the evenings, I started taking him as a way to tire him out before he went to bed. Being Joe he takes it very seriously, and won’t leave the pool till he’s completed a hundred lengths.
It was there that I first met Emily. After a messy divorce, she took up swimming, not only to get fit, but, she told me later, to do something positive for her. I swam to disperse my demons. The pool was the one place where I forgot about everything, and it relaxed me. And every week there was this pretty petite brunette in a red cap and black costume, swimming in the same lane as me. Somehow we bonded at the deep end, and though we never intended it to, one thing led to another.
A huge gust of wind howls down the chimney, making the flames flare up, and I feel a whoosh of cold furious negative energy hit me right in the solar plexus. At the same time the lights on the Christmas tree flicker on and off. The other two don’t seem to notice, as they’re engrossed in putting the rest of the decks away. I go and fiddle with the plug and the lights come back on.
Emily stands back and looks at the tree, ‘There, doesn’t that look lovely?’ she says.
Joe smiles.
‘Now we can start Christmas,’ he says.
Livvy
‘How do I do that?’ I say.
‘You’re a ghost,’ explains Malachi. ‘You have powers, try them out.’
‘What, like this?’ I say, and I let out a huge scream that gratifyingly causes the Christmas tree lights to flicker and go out.
‘What the–?’ Adam says, going to the plug and switching them back on.
Now I’ve got their attention. I run through the house screaming at the top of my voice, causing lights to go on and off, but all that happens is that Emily jokes about power surges and Adam says, ‘Maybe there’s a problem with the wiring. I’ll call an electrician in the morning. We must get it sorted before Christmas.’
I’ve run out of steam. Defeated, I go out into the garden, and stare disconsolately at the moon.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ I say as Malachi lopes up next to me again.
‘You’re not a very patient person are you?’ he says. ‘It will take time.’
‘Why can’t they see me?’ I say. I so want Adam and Joe to know I’m here. I’ve turned away from the moon and am staring in at the lounge, where Joe looks happy to be with Adam and his new woman. I feel shut out and cold and sorry for myself. Why am I still here, if none of them need me? Joe clearly likes the new woman otherwise he wouldn’t be decorating the tree with her. He’s particular like that. I thought maybe I’d hung around for Joe. But it turns out he is even less like other people than I thought, and doing quite well without me. It reminds me of all the times I felt so useless as a mum even though I tried so hard to get it right; now I’m dead, I’m worse than useless. I stare through the window and the memories come crowding in.
I think it was that first Christmas with Joe when I finally realized something was wrong with him. Always a difficult baby, at nearly a year old he still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and I found it difficult to bond with him. He was often fractious when he was awake and I was exhausted with the effort of looking after him. I felt guilty – after the miscarriages I should have been thrilled with my new baby – but when I mentioned it to Adam, he told me I was imagining things.
‘All babies cry,’ he said. Like he knew anything about it. He was working really hard to pay off our crippling mortgage, spending long hours away from home, frequently away on business. It wasn’t his fault; he just couldn’t see how hard it was for me.
‘Yes, but not like this,’ I said.
Adam didn’t listen. No one listened. My nearly retired doctor, who was kind, but overworked, had I think dismissed me as a neurotic mother. Not difficult after those early weeks when I cried all the time and was eventually diagnosed with postnatal depression. My mother always thought I looked at the cup half empty. My friends thought I just had a difficult baby.
But that Christmas it all changed, at which point even Adam had to believe me.
That Christmas was when Joe started banging his head every night. We’d put bumpers round his cot as we were told to do, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. I’d put him in bed every night and, thump-thump-thump, it would start. It was distressing to watch, but if I tried to cuddle him or take him away he cried. I sometimes felt as though my touch was toxic to him.
Then there was the way he didn’t seem to respond to his name, or smile very much. I felt so sure it wasn’t the way he should be developing, I started looking things up, though Adam told me I was looking to find something that wasn’t there. But he had to admit things weren’t right when we were unwrapping presents after Christmas dinner and Joe completely freaked and threw himself on the floor, screaming. Nothing would console him. Not Adam, who could normally calm him down, nor my mum, who prided herself on her perfect touch with babies. And certainly not me. How could I not feel useless?
At first no one could say what was wrong, though I stuck to my guns and kept asking. All anyone could tell us was that Joe wasn’t developing the way he should. He had only just learned to crawl, and wasn’t making any attempt to stand up. As he grew towards toddlerhood, he reacted even more badly to my touching him. It broke my heart to hear him scream when I went to hug him, and I was covered in bruises where he lashed out at me. It was as though he were locked in his own little world.
I began to avoid mother and baby groups, unable to be sure that Joe would play nicely or kick off by throwing toys, hitting the other children or banging his head on the ground. As the babies in my antenatal group grew, it was becoming more obvious that Joe was different. I’d lost my first two babies, and now this. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
It wasn’t until Joe was nearly three, after months of consultations and meetings with experts, that we found out why.
‘Asperger’s? What’s that?’ Adam asked, looking pale.
So they explained as kindly as they could. How Joe found it difficult to interact socially, how he wouldn’t have the emotional and social cues that other people did, which could make him appear unsympathetic and different to the other kids. How it was likely he wouldn’t last in the state system at school.
‘Oh shit, shit,’ said Adam.
‘But how? Why?’ I wanted to know.
And then Adam told me about his brother. The one no one ever discussed and who I didn’t know existed till then. He lived locked away in a home because Adam’s parents couldn’t cope with their secret shame.
I was flabbergasted. I should have known this sooner.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said over and over again, his face pale with distress, ‘I should have told you, but – Mum and Dad, they never want to talk about it. And I’ve never felt able to either.’
What did it matter either way? Would it have made anything different? I’d have still chosen to have Joe; after all Adam’s turned out OK. It’s a lottery. And we just lost.
Malachi jumps up next to me. ‘Don’t give up so soon,’ he says with an unexpected kindness in his voice. ‘Listen to me and everything will work out.’
‘Listen to you, how?’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Let me take you on a journey,’ he says. ‘There’s a lot you need to learn.’
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Julia Williams
‘Heartwarming, witty and magical’ SUNA HILARIOUS and JUST-A-LITTLE HEARTBREAKING FESTIVE TREAT for anyone who’s looking for a little bit of MAGIC this CHRISTMAS TIME!Last Christmas, when Livvy was knocked down in the supermarket car park she certainly wasn’t ready to actually be dead! For months now she’s floated on the edge of the afterlife, generally making a nuisance of herself.And she’s not ready to go just yet! She’s furious about the new woman in her husband’s life and she’s worried about her beloved son who doesn’t seem to be adjusting to life without her at all.This Christmas, Livvy is given one last magical chance to make everything right. Will she take it and give her family the perfect Christmas?Perfect for fans of CAROLE MATTHEWS, TRISHA ASHLEY and JENNY COLGAN.
Copyright (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015
Copyright © Julia Williams 2015
Julia Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847563590
Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780007464500
Version: 2016–02–23
Dedication (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
To my fabulous twin, Virginia Moffatt,
my first reader and greatest cheerleader.
About time too xxx
Table of Contents
Cover (#u269dedd2-3008-5c11-b485-e045346b31e5)
Title Page (#uece7b970-cb90-57f6-b033-7075d4913ac9)
Copyright (#u0c4a84d5-4e3a-5370-916f-c6366aff74f2)
Dedication (#u90af37cf-df4e-53fc-97c7-f6108fc56934)
Two Weeks Till Christmas Joe’s Notebook (#u53fc2ee8-1c21-5e29-8da9-06ed33050b8e)
Part One (#ubcb9ffb4-9bd3-5f54-a207-928514e16619)
Christmas Past (#u9743bfaf-9aef-5a6e-9a75-db0c39e1d785)
Christmas Past (#u8c2542ab-c45d-58ef-99aa-bed755db310c)
This Year (#u507b07d1-c686-5e35-b2fc-912426447562)
Chapter One (#ufa2aeddb-b9ab-5c8f-a4b3-a087c3006234)
Chapter Two (#ubb4f9eb0-0e8a-5882-9c9a-718ee28e56bd)
Chapter Three (#ufb8c4507-3b11-5504-828d-dbc117ae3f1d)
Joe’s Notebook (#u210af1ae-a9a7-5f25-9495-862f29f7e500)
Christmas Past (#ue729e83b-5e55-52e8-a265-83e3db62a60e)
Chapter Four (#ua7b929e6-d9e3-5200-8ca1-59040f157308)
Chapter Five (#u60002736-32e0-5463-96f3-166c0e3389a9)
Chapter Six (#u48cf9675-9bc6-510e-9a28-83e6e886607f)
Joe’s Notebook (#uaf2ac0c6-3b02-5ef3-8f96-5a96ee23c4d5)
Christmas Past (#u0c1031a8-ebcb-5072-a3c5-d8f204c643d2)
Chapter Seven (#u9d03fc44-7429-5408-b6da-6d6d9fb9ac64)
Chapter Eight (#u531bc1da-433c-5c52-a5a9-152977078529)
Chapter Nine (#u3b62d30d-8cd3-569a-9707-afe4e00e75b9)
Joe’s Notebook (#u4521d3e2-2612-5e5b-a1c0-0d0f60622cb5)
Christmas Past (#uf6173957-aaa5-52c4-949c-03eec4ba5689)
Chapter Ten (#u8b46e1b7-db9f-5596-a6c1-e1fbb6a9c54f)
Chapter Eleven (#ua3dfe420-0440-599a-950c-35d9d1ea77ec)
Chapter Twelve (#u73dc7fa1-55c6-52d7-87f6-5ce8ff05abf4)
Joe’s Notebook (#ub6010de7-4451-5bdb-bb6f-41c80ba69c6c)
Christmas Past (#u691d2642-4688-5152-9ce3-461c34a9a06b)
Part Two (#ue5de2bfe-ac78-52ec-804e-e6a01e13fe21)
Joe’s Notebook (#uba5328bf-cd7f-572e-a4ad-d8e44d3d67a4)
Chapter Thirteen (#ubfe26ba3-007b-5f37-8586-cc76f8d1a02f)
Chapter Fourteen (#u092da9eb-4634-57b1-b022-0fcc6c724b54)
Chapter Fifteen (#u25b605ee-d7a0-57e0-b6dd-34422ca51b0f)
Joe’s Notebook (#u57bafd95-0ca6-5bb8-a021-adc564355dc5)
Christmas Present (#u994cef4e-4193-5994-babf-cc9b4b5095fc)
Chapter Sixteen (#u21197ba2-aa76-578f-a77a-338a79bef756)
Chapter Seventeen (#ue6a1bdac-a03d-5270-8f8f-f0994ebc32cc)
Chapter Eighteen (#u019fdc0d-897f-531a-a78b-8a1de3e3e601)
Joe’s Notebook (#u4b181317-3ba7-550c-a323-2adb392ab21b)
Christmas Present (#u05eea1c5-4274-567d-922b-db578b12507c)
Chapter Nineteen (#uaff54ef7-4e07-5632-b4ae-3d035da99884)
Chapter Twenty (#ue514794d-6501-5594-b0f6-1a39569aebaf)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u37c21717-38d9-523a-a8ca-b1ef3be192f4)
Joe’s Notebook (#u249157a9-0ef5-512d-b091-e1e83d5df966)
Christmas Present (#u917a514e-e0dd-5cfa-abca-2b840cacfd37)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u13a4a7d4-508c-512c-b348-11d1f94f1546)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u07878bec-3308-55ba-b63c-4a3adb9809a1)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u2484a1ca-7853-55f6-ad6c-74094a2cea00)
Joe’s Notebook (#u126c5145-2a66-5f73-88b7-6137fabfbe5d)
Christmas Present (#ucebc7063-6e8d-5259-a0d5-61ca0dfa6688)
Part Three (#u9cda5650-e273-5f1a-9bd2-541bdbdb35b6)
Christmas Future (#uc2265e18-b55a-51f0-aa6e-5c01f5cc4824)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#uc20eeb0a-05fe-59de-9d9a-3ce4d5e5179f)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u7d755961-756d-5c3a-aa4f-2eb310bf30de)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u3a858ad8-be43-51b6-82eb-0816ad81f158)
Joe’s Notebook (#u0de27a7b-29ab-561c-8976-2a36bb3319da)
Christmas Future (#u032b39fd-951b-5dbc-8163-7c75f16e0c0d)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u0c31bbfe-9c50-58c6-84cf-cab949af2795)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uc6b0e4e3-e014-54c2-a65b-79e099691c80)
Chapter Thirty (#ud856b745-259e-51d1-bfcc-44a3d23d9718)
Joe’s Notebook (#ufaf4b6c9-95b9-5c97-be8c-25d29576dc69)
Christmas Future (#ud409ddb4-dabb-5ef2-ab57-986eb56614da)
Chapter Thirty-One (#udac322c1-d89a-5971-8cba-ef6c8339196f)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#u9e0f510a-e915-52c1-af63-f3d1f34b3c26)
Joe’s Notebook (#ubd236489-9705-502f-aa20-a3b8c878f9d3)
Christmas Future (#u06d1cea5-d2ee-58cc-b5fd-0862c0a54c9d)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u79f95352-713c-5aee-a320-d2644d14ba35)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u69b27a86-16dc-5718-bfcf-3b194b9ba30f)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u9791b501-5f01-5d75-9c37-71f624820aee)
Epilogue (#u5277a7ed-a4bd-5a5c-8ca9-cec92e71caad)
Joe’s Notebook (#u3326ccf9-b1e1-597a-bfa0-db73c6bc2472)
Acknowledgements (#u74be5161-46e5-53d4-8d55-783cce59ca8f)
Keep Reading (#u69fb11f9-5949-520a-8285-7d1996b08e62)
By the Same Author: (#uda2b71ed-3108-5b7a-be33-cf70cbf3af5f)
About the Author (#u56b1c2a7-45ea-52a4-bba6-340109e6e89e)
About the Publisher (#u51e66048-439c-5015-99be-1576693325ab)
Two Weeks till Christmas (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Joe’s Notebook (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
• What makes a mother?
• A mother cooks
• A mother picks me up from college
• A mother falls asleep in the afternoon
• A mother is always there.
When I was little my mum always told me to look at the brightest star in the sky and make a Christmas wish, and it would come true.
The brightest star in the sky is Polaris: the North Star, the star that guides travellers home.
Tonight I looked through my telescope and made my Christmas wish.
Maybe Polaris can guide my mum and bring her back home.
Then we can be a family again.
Part One (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Christmas Past (#u43a6668a-1378-5db7-9364-470b3cf81e61)
Livvy
I come to in the car park, sitting on the ground, feeling very confused. I remember the car, the kid, and an incredibly painful bang on the head, and lots of people flapping around me, but nothing else. But that must have been hours ago. It’s dark now, and I am alone and I can’t quite remember why I am still here. Did they leave me behind? Why didn’t they take me to hospital? That’s weird. I feel in my pockets for my mobile. I must ring Adam, my husband. He and our son Joe will be so worried. That reminds me, I’m cross with Adam for some reason, but I can’t think why. I can’t find my phone. I must have dropped it when the car hit me.
The. Car. Hit. Me.
I stop for a moment and try and absorb the logic of this. If the car hit me, why am I not hurt? And why am I still here? And why is it dark? – Oh no …
Adam
When I hear my wife is critically ill in hospital I’m standing out at the front of our office having a surreptitious conversation with Emily – I don’t want everyone at work knowing what’s gone on. It doesn’t make me proud to know how secretive I’ve become in the last few months.
‘How did she find out?’ asks Emily in a tense whisper.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘That’s not really the point any more.’
‘This changes everything,’ says Emily.
I sigh. ‘I know. Still, it had to come out some time, but I wish I’d been the one to tell her.’ I don’t know. I’ve wanted to, so many times in the last few months, as my home life has been deteriorating to beyond even what I could possibly have imagined. During that time Emily had become the one beacon of light in my life. But would I have ever found the courage? And then there’s our son Joe of course. What on earth is this going to do to Joe? Guilt and misery lodge uncomfortably in my stomach. We’ve had some rotten Christmases in the past, but this one could be shaping up to be a humdinger.
‘Adam, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ It’s my PA, Marigold. She looks really upset. The words come tumbling out of her so fast I can’t quite take them in. ‘I’m so sorry, Adam, but you have to go to the hospital. There’s been an accident. Livvy’s been badly hurt.’
‘What?’ I’m not sure I’ve heard correctly. ‘Emily, I’ve got to go, Livvy crisis.’
‘You have to go,’ Marigold says frantically. ‘Now. She’s in the hospital.’
I’m ashamed to say that my first thought is that Livvy’s pulling a stunt – her way of getting back at me. But when I finally speak to someone at the hospital, it seems she really has had a bad accident. ‘I’m sorry to tell you she’s in a critical condition, Mr Carmichael,’ says the doctor. ‘I suggest you come immediately.’
I dither about whether to pick Joe up or not. How will he react? But if things are as bad as they say, will Joe forgive me for leaving him behind? So, in the end, I grab him from his sixth-form college, and we get to the hospital to discover that Livvy is in Resus. We’re shown into a family room, which feels ominous. My heart is pounding and I feel really sick. Nobody will tell us anything, but everyone speaks in hushed tones, and I am beginning to fear the worst.
Livvy
I start to remember. It was two weeks until Christmas Day and I was on my way to Lidl to get some Christmas shopping, still staggering from the news I’d just heard. Adam, my lovely husband Adam, had been unfaithful to me. I mean, I knew we had our problems, and I’d felt for a while that he’d been quite distant, but Adam, having an affair? I was reeling with shock, and mad as hell. There I’d been, sorting out a lovely Christmas for us, and he’d been playing away.
As I got out of the car, a part of my brain was still calmly planning our Christmas dinner, while the other part was concentrating on angrily texting Adam: You bastard, how could you? Talk about multitasking. I knew how and why he could of course – I’d given him enough cause over the years.
I was so angry I wasn’t paying attention, so I foolishly stepped into the road in front of a car driven by a 17-year-old learner driver whose dad had taken him to Lidl’s car park to practise safely. The poor lad panicked when he saw me, and accelerated instead of braking. I could see his terrified face staring frantically from the dashboard, as to my horror I realized the car was speeding towards me, and I could do nothing to stop it.
I didn’t feel any pain on impact, but the car hit me side on, spun out of control and crashed into the recycling bins. I flew through the air and landed head first into the trolley man who was collecting stray trolleys abandoned by lazy shoppers. I’d have got away with a few breaks and nothing more if it hadn’t been for the damned trolleys. Unfortunately for me, I received a glancing blow to the head, which resulted in a haematoma.
Just my luck.
I felt a moment of excruciating pain, and then people gathered excitedly around me, and the boy driving the car was wailing loudly, ‘What have I done?’
I could just make out the sounds of sirens in the background before everything faded to darkness. The last sound I heard was the music blaring from the store: ‘SimplyHaving a Wonderful Christmas Time’. Just peachy.
The next thing I knew I was lying on a stretcher and the lights were hurting my eyes. I seemed to be in a vehicle of some kind and we were going at a hell of a lick. I heard a voice saying, ‘Livvy, stay with me,’ before everything faded again.
When I came to I felt as though I was floating in a dreamlike state. I couldn’t quite work out where I was, until I looked down and saw lots of people dressed in blue overalls, wearing face masks and looking grave. They were standing over a body. I was beyond spooked: what the hell was going on?
‘And clear!’ someone said, and a charge went through the body, but nothing happened.
The man holding the defibrillator shook his head and someone said, ‘Time of death: two fifteen p.m.’
Gradually they moved away from the body, unclipping monitors and drips, and suddenly I realized I was looking down at myself.
What just happened? I was thinking. I can’t be … can I? I must be having some kind of strange dream. In a moment Adam and Joe are going to be by my side and I will wake up and everything will be OK.
Adam
Telling Joe I’m off to fetch us a hot drink I go out to the A & E reception desk to ask if there’s any news, but no one can tell me anything. When I’m coming back with a weak hot chocolate for Joe and a tepid coffee for me, I overhear one of the nurses say something about how long they’ve been working on her, and my alarm rises. Oh God, what is happening? One moment I’d been thinking the worst of my problems was facing up to leaving Livvy and now – I seem to be caught in a terrible, unbelievable nightmare. However unhappy we’ve been together, I don’t want anything to happen to Livvy. I feel I am standing on the edge of a swirling abyss, unsure where my future lies.
Guilt, remorse and an overpowering sorrow threaten to overwhelm me but I am trying to hold it together for Joe’s sake. Yet, when he eventually asks, ‘Mum is going to be all right isn’t she?’ I have nothing to offer.
‘I don’t know, Joe,’ I say, sipping my insipid coffee and feeling sick with fear and anxiety. This can’t be happening to Livvy. It just can’t.
But it is. As soon as the nurse comes into the room, I know, without her saying.
I make out the words ‘I’m so sorry,’ but I don’t really hear them, and I’m aware that Joe is rocking back and forth. I try to hug him, but he pushes me away, and then I hear a terrible howl.
It is some moments before I realize it’s coming from me.
Livvy
There is a shout from somewhere, and suddenly I feel as though I have been yanked from the room I am in, and now I am floating in another, smaller white room, where a nurse is sitting down with a shocked-looking Adam and Joe, saying, ‘I am so so sorry.’
Joe is rocking backwards and forwards and I can feel his distress. I try to go to him, but I can’t reach him. I can feel the pain coming from him in waves, pain beyond anything that I have ever felt before, and I find myself howling with him. And then I hear Adam break down and I can see into his jumbled thoughts. One thing stands out very clearly: he is very very sorry and he loves me very much. Whatever else he has done to me, losing me has cost him dear.
Suddenly I am dragged into a long dark tunnel. I am screaming and shouting, ‘Bring me back! I need to go back!’ but to no avail. The darkness overtakes me, and after that there is nothing.
And here, now, in the car park in the dark, I hear a voice pipe up beside me: ‘And the penny drops …’
I would have jumped out of my skin if I’d had any to jump out of. I look around suspiciously in the dark, but I can’t see anything.
‘Oh my God, I’m—’
‘’Fraid so,’ says the voice cheerily.
‘Dead?’
‘Very,’ says the voice.
This is getting extremely weird.
‘Who are you?’ I say.
‘A friend,’ purrs the voice, which doesn’t exactly reassure me.
I look around me at the empty car park. I can’t quite believe it: I’m still here. I’m still standing. I feel the same. How can I be dead?
‘Common reaction,’ is the response. ‘But sorry, you’ve definitely shuffled off your mortal coil.’
‘Aren’t there supposed to be choirs of angels or something?’ I say. If I have really died, shouldn’t I be entitled to a fanfare of sorts?
‘That’s not quite how it works,’ says the voice smugly.
I’m beginning to dislike its owner intensely.
‘Why am I here, then?’ I ask.
‘Where do I start? You’re still here, because you’re not ready to pass over yet.’
‘What do you mean?’ I am instantly on edge. ‘Why do I get to hang about? If I’m dead, why can’t I just go on to wherever I’m supposed to go in peace?’
‘In the words of the trade, you have unfinished business.’
‘Damn right I have unfinished business,’ I say. ‘This is ridiculous. I have to get back to my husband and son. They need me. I want to talk to someone in charge.’
‘Afraid you’re stuck with me,’ says the voice patiently. ‘And your attitude ought to give you a clue.’
‘What’s wrong with my attitude?’ I say. ‘I’m a nice person. There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Well, for a start, why are you so angry all the time?’
I bristle again. I’ve been carrying my anger around for so long, I can barely remember sometimes what I’m so furious about. It’s the sort of thing Adam has been saying to me for years, and I’ve always thought he was exaggerating. But now I’m here alone in this car park, apparently dead, with a disembodied voice for company, I think perhaps he has a point. There’s a dark pool of fury inside me, something I’ve suppressed for years and one of a number of places I don’t want to go. But I am not going to tell the voice that.
‘Who are you?’ I say instead and, to my astonishment, a mangy-looking black cat wanders up and perches on a bin.
‘Call me Malachi,’ says the cat, stretching out its paws. ‘I’m your spirit guide.’ This is not in the slightest bit reassuring.
I must be delusional. It’s the bang on the head. I’ve fabricated that I’m dead and in a car park talking to a cat. In a moment I’ll wake up in hospital and see Adam and Joe peering worriedly at me and everything will be normal again.
‘Right, this has gone beyond a joke,’ I say. ‘I am going to leave now.’
‘You can try,’ says Malachi, ‘but you won’t get very far. You need to listen to what I say. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can ignore the rules.’
‘I can’t be dead,’ I wail again. ‘This isn’t happening.’
‘Sorry to disappoint, but you’re very very dead. Anyway, in the situation you find yourself in, what’s so odd about talking to a cat? This isn’t who I really am. Just a convenient shape I take on in moments like this. I could be a tramp, but the police would probably move me on. A cat’s more convenient. No one pays much attention to a cat scavenging through the bins at midnight. More to the point, I’m here to help you.’
‘Why?’ I say suspiciously.
‘Because it’s my job,’ says the cat wearily. ‘Though, quite frankly, I’ve had easier material to work with.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ I say, furious again.
‘Well, let’s start with untangling the mess you’ve made of your life.’
‘I haven’t made a mess of my life,’ I protest. ‘I liked my life. I’d really like it back please.’
‘Too late for that,’ says Malachi. ‘But we can put a few things right if you like. We can start with your past.’
‘Suppose I don’t want to,’ I object. I make a point of never looking back and wondering if I could have done things differently. That way madness lies, if you ask me.
‘Fair enough,’ says the cat. ‘But I can’t help you till you want to be helped. If you’re not prepared to listen to me, you’ll be stuck here until you’re ready to move on.’
‘I refuse to listen to this,’ I say. ‘Any minute now I’m going to wake up and this will have been a horrible nightmare.’
‘Your choice,’ he purrs. ‘You stay here guarding the bins then. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ve got better things to do with my time.’
With a flick of his tail he is gone. And I am left here alone, floating around Lidl’s car park, trapped on the very spot where I died.
Emily
Emily Harris hadn’t been sure whether to go to Livvy Carmichael’s funeral or not. She knew Adam wouldn’t be able to talk to her, but she wanted to support him anyway. She’d tentatively texted him to let him know she’d be there, but he hadn’t texted back. She had no idea what that meant. They’d barely spoken since the awful night when he’d rung her to tell her what had happened. She had no place in this. Adam had to be there for Joe, and Emily knew in her heart that might mean whatever they’d had together could be finished forever. She felt desperately sad that Livvy was dead – no one deserved such an end, not even her rival who had caused Adam untold pain for years. But now Livvy was gone she didn’t know where it left her and Adam. Maybe he was only with her because everything had been so hard for him. Their love might fade away in the fallout from this terrible tragedy. It was shitty and miserable but there was nothing she could do.
Emily crept into the back of the packed church. The mood was sombre, and she felt blacker than she’d ever felt in her life. Poor Livvy. What a godawful thing to have happened. Poor Joe. Poor Adam. Poor bloody everybody.
The organ started to play ‘The Lord’s my Shepherd’, and everyone rose. In a blur, Emily watched Adam, his fair head bowed, looking blankly ahead escorting Joe, his skinny frame hunched and miserable, and a small fair-haired woman, who must be Livvy’s mum, Felicity, as they followed the coffin down the aisle. The three of them clung to each other, for support, and Emily felt more than ever that she had no right to be here. She nearly turned and fled, but Adam glanced up at her as he walked past and gave her a quick and grateful smile. He looked so sombre and sad. Emily wished beyond anything she could be by his side.
The funeral passed in a blur. Felicity got up and read something about Death not being the end in such a dignified manner, Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. She had a sudden terrible memory of her own mother’s funeral, and marvelled at Felicity’s courage. Emily couldn’t do anything but sob that day; to be able to read for your own daughter and not break down took some doing.
Adam also read a passage about love. He didn’t look at the congregation, focusing his attention on getting every word out. Emily could see what it cost him, and longed to be with him to comfort him. And then Joe got up, and said simply. ‘My mum was the best. She looked after me, and now she’s gone. And I miss her.’
There wasn’t a dry eye in the church after that, and the rest of the service was punctuated with people sobbing. After it was over, Emily escaped as quickly as she could. The family were going on to a private burial, and she had no intention of attending the wake.
A crowd of people clustered around Joe, Adam and Felicity, so Emily walked down the path to the road where her car was parked. She’d done what she came to do. Although Emily had thought what she and Adam had was special, Livvy being dead altered things. Her rival was gone, but not in a way anyone would have wanted. Was Adam’s love for her enough to withstand his grief? All Emily could do was wait and see if Adam would come back to her.
As she was unlocking the car door, she heard a shout, ‘Emily, wait.’
It was Adam. The temptation to hug him was immense, but Emily hung back.
‘I just wanted to say thanks,’ he said. ‘It meant a lot that you came.’
‘Of course I came,’ said Emily. ‘How are you bearing up?’
‘Not well,’ said Adam. He looked tired and strained.
‘You’d better get back,’ said Emily uneasily. ‘People might talk.’
‘I’m not sure that matters any more.’
‘You have Joe to think of,’ she pointed out.
‘I know,’ said Adam. ‘Emily, you do understand, don’t you? Joe has to be my priority right now. And – well – the next few months, I might not be able to see you, and I wanted to say it won’t be because I don’t want to.’
‘Oh Adam,’ said Emily. ‘Of course I understand.’
They were both a bit weepy now.
She could see the funeral party breaking up.
‘You have to go, Adam,’ she said. ‘But if you ever need me, you know where I am.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.
‘When you’re ready,’ said Emily. Who knew how easy that would be?
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I know this is a big ask, but please – can you wait for me?’
With that he was gone, and Emily got in her car and drove home, wondering if she’d ever see him again, but hoping more than she’d ever hoped before that she would.
Livvy
I spend a long time in a foggy blur, not entirely sure where the days, nights and months go to, but unable to reach out to anyone I love, to at least see if they’re doing OK. I get the odd vague impulse – round the time of my funeral, I can feel Joe’s distress, and occasionally I sense that Adam is trying to talk to me from somewhere, but it’s like a broken radio wave, it comes to me from such a distance, I am not even sure it is him. In the midst of the fog I feel a terrible pain and sense of loss. There’s something I should be doing, but I don’t know what it is.
And then …
On a winter’s night when a storm is raging in my car park, suddenly I can hear Joe in my head. I can feel his confusion clamouring in my brain.
‘So is Emily my new mum, Dad?’ he asks.
Who the hell is Emily? And why is Adam looking for a new mum for Joe?
‘Over my dead body,’ I snarl, and suddenly it’s as if a whirlwind has torn me from the car park.
What the—? I’m standing in my front room, with no clue how I got there. I am stunned but delighted. Finally I’m out of that damned car park. Then I look around me and see Adam, Joe, and a pretty dark-haired woman I don’t know, but vaguely recognize, decorating the Christmas tree.
A strange woman in my house. With Adam. And Joe. What on earth is going on?
Christmas Past (#ulink_753b6e1a-7994-5a25-9419-b8838313cdad)
Livid doesn’t cover it. I hurl myself at the dark-haired woman in MY front room in a fury.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I yell. ‘What are you doing here? In my house, in my life?’
I want her to be terrified. I want her to react. But all that happens is the woman shivers, and says, ‘That’s odd. I just felt someone walking over my grave.’
Crap, I can’t even haunt people properly. All I want is for Adam and Joe to see me, to know I’m there, to want me back, the way I want them back.
‘Oh quit feeling sorry for yourself.’ Malachi hasn’t gone away. Oh good. ‘If you’d not turned your back on me a year ago all this would be sorted by now. They do need you and you need them, but possibly not in the way you think.’
‘What do you mean?’ Why does Malachi have to talk in riddles?
‘You have things to sort out, things to put right.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I’d blush with fury if I could.
‘You really don’t know?’ says Malachi. ‘Here, let me show you …’
With a jolt, I’m awake. With a living breathing human body. I’d forgotten how good it is, to feel and see and taste and smell. Wait. I remember this. I look around me. I’m sitting in a hospital bed, watching my newborn baby asleep in his cot. A sudden rush of love – hormones? – flows through me. Here is my baby at last, after all the false starts. My miracle baby.
But where is Adam? We’ve waited so long for this baby, been through so much, and he’s not here.
Then I remember. I’ve gone into early labour and Adam’s abroad. He thought we had time. We both did, but I’ve ended up giving birth alone, among strangers, in this unforgiving place. The midwives have been kind, but overworked, and Mum is away visiting friends, and can’t get here till tomorrow. I have never felt so lonely. And now I’m lying on a hospital bed, and my baby is waking up and I can’t reach him. Because of my epidural I can’t get out of bed. I’m tired and hungry and sad and overwhelmed. This is not how it was meant to be. How can I be sad on the happiest day of my life?
When the baby starts to cry, I don’t know what to do. I ring the buzzer but no one comes. I’m here on my own with a crying baby, and I feel like crying too. And I know it’s unfair of me, butI’m very angry with Adam. But then, miraculously, Adam is here. He’s dropped everything and flown home as soon as he could, just to be by my side. He’s so happy about the baby, and so pleased to see me, I forget my anger, and bury it deep. Nothing matters now but us and our new son.
And then I’m back in the future, where I’m dead, and talking to a mangy black cat. I can still feel the anger burning in the back of my throat. I’ve been angry with Adam so long, I’d forgotten when and where it began. Was it really then? The day that Joe was born?
I stare disconsolately at Adam and Joe and their new friend.
‘So what do I do now?’ I say.
‘First,’ says Malachi, ‘you need to get their attention.’
This Year (#ulink_ec1a179f-b227-5e66-8d81-a2b2a775dc62)
Two Weeks before Christmas
Adam
A year ago? How can it be a year since my world imploded so spectacularly? As if it wasn’t fucked up enough.
Before Livvy died, everything was going to be so different. I wasn’t proud of myself for doing it, but I had met and fallen in love with Emily. I’d been planning to tell her, but then Livvy found out anyway: You bastard. How could you? The very last words my wife said to me. In the circumstances, they were no more than I deserved, though Emily tells me I’m too hard on myself. But if … if I’d supported her more in the beginning, if I’d understood the toll of looking after Joe had exacted on her … My world is full of ifs.
I can remember the day I first met Livvy as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was our first term at uni in Manchester, and there was this bright, vivid, red-headed girl standing in the student bar, downing shots in a competition and drinking all the boys under the table. I was too shy to talk to her that first night, but gradually I found myself more and more drawn to her, and to my surprise my interest was reciprocated. It was Livvy who took the initiative from the first, kissing me suddenly and fiercely one night when we’d sat out all evening staring at the stars together. She was so unlike anyone I’d met: a free spirit, spontaneous in a way I wasn’t. She breathed life into me, showing me there was more than the staid and rather restrictive outlook my parents had given me. It was a magical, wonderful time. Since she’s died, I often think of those days and wonder how it could have gone so badly wrong.
But it did, and instead I’ve spent the last year picking up the pieces of my life. Even though our marriage was a sham by the end, I was devastated when Livvy died. I never got to say sorry that a love that had started out with such hope and promise had disintegrated in the way it did, and now there was no possibility of ever putting it right.
And now here we are and it’s coming up for Christmas again, and I owe it to Joe to try and make things cheerful even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. I’m never sure how much of what’s happened he’s taken in, and wonder what is going on inside his head. He says things like, ‘My mum is dead,’ deadpan to complete strangers, showing no emotion. Emily says we just have to support him the best we can. So today, though I’m not sure I have the stomach for Christmas decorations (last year the lights seemed to twinkle malevolently at me as if proof of my guilt), Emily and I are putting up the Christmas tree. We always put the tree up a fortnight before Christmas, and Joe with his obsessive need for order has had it written on the calendar for weeks.
Actually, it turns out to be fun. It’s been a really blowy day, and after Joe and I put flowers on Livvy’s grave first thing, we went for a wet walk down by the canal. We get back home and make hot chocolate and sit by the fire drinking it, feeling cosy and warm, till Joe starts insisting it’s time to decorate the tree. I’d thought he might not want to do it today, on the anniversary, but he is insistent. ‘We always decorate the tree two weeks before Christmas,’ he says. ‘Mum won’t like it if we don’t.’
It makes my heart ache to hear him speak about her in such a matter-of-fact way. He must be grieving for Livvy, but it’s hard for him to articulate it.
‘Five thirty,’ Joe says now, pointing at his watch – time is very important to him – ‘if we don’t do it soon, it will be dinner time and too late.’
‘OK, Joe,’ I say, ‘let’s get on with it.’
The wind is howling down the chimney now, and the kitchen door rattles. This is an old house, with ill-fitting doors and windows. We’ve always meant to get double glazing, but I like the old sash windows, and wooden frames. They give the place character, though on a night like tonight I’m not grateful for the draughts blowing through the house.
Joe in his methodical way is sorting out how to decorate the tree. After the lights go up, he insists that certain decorations, like the Santa he made for us when he was five, and the reindeer Livvy once bought him at a Christmas market, take pride of place. Then he organizes the baubles according to a colour scheme: gold, red, silver hung in serried rows round the tree. This is something Livvy used to do with him, and I had no idea he had it down to such a fine art. Emily and I are there to do things the way Joe likes them, and I am finding it quite soothing.
After the baubles, Joe makes us wrap the tree in tinsel – he won’t let us use red because ‘it doesn’t look right’ – and I mean literally wrap it. It is starting to look overloaded, but he won’t hear of us taking any off.
We’ve just put the last bit of tinsel on the tree, when Joe suddenly looks at Emily in that disconcerting way he has and asks, ‘Are you my mother now?’
Oh God. I’m not ready for this.
I have tried really hard to introduce Emily into our lives slowly. Luckily Joe already knows her from the swimming club we go to on a Monday evening. Joe was always so full of energy in the evenings, I started taking him as a way to tire him out before he went to bed. Being Joe he takes it very seriously, and won’t leave the pool till he’s completed a hundred lengths.
It was there that I first met Emily. After a messy divorce, she took up swimming, not only to get fit, but, she told me later, to do something positive for her. I swam to disperse my demons. The pool was the one place where I forgot about everything, and it relaxed me. And every week there was this pretty petite brunette in a red cap and black costume, swimming in the same lane as me. Somehow we bonded at the deep end, and though we never intended it to, one thing led to another.
A huge gust of wind howls down the chimney, making the flames flare up, and I feel a whoosh of cold furious negative energy hit me right in the solar plexus. At the same time the lights on the Christmas tree flicker on and off. The other two don’t seem to notice, as they’re engrossed in putting the rest of the decks away. I go and fiddle with the plug and the lights come back on.
Emily stands back and looks at the tree, ‘There, doesn’t that look lovely?’ she says.
Joe smiles.
‘Now we can start Christmas,’ he says.
Livvy
‘How do I do that?’ I say.
‘You’re a ghost,’ explains Malachi. ‘You have powers, try them out.’
‘What, like this?’ I say, and I let out a huge scream that gratifyingly causes the Christmas tree lights to flicker and go out.
‘What the–?’ Adam says, going to the plug and switching them back on.
Now I’ve got their attention. I run through the house screaming at the top of my voice, causing lights to go on and off, but all that happens is that Emily jokes about power surges and Adam says, ‘Maybe there’s a problem with the wiring. I’ll call an electrician in the morning. We must get it sorted before Christmas.’
I’ve run out of steam. Defeated, I go out into the garden, and stare disconsolately at the moon.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ I say as Malachi lopes up next to me again.
‘You’re not a very patient person are you?’ he says. ‘It will take time.’
‘Why can’t they see me?’ I say. I so want Adam and Joe to know I’m here. I’ve turned away from the moon and am staring in at the lounge, where Joe looks happy to be with Adam and his new woman. I feel shut out and cold and sorry for myself. Why am I still here, if none of them need me? Joe clearly likes the new woman otherwise he wouldn’t be decorating the tree with her. He’s particular like that. I thought maybe I’d hung around for Joe. But it turns out he is even less like other people than I thought, and doing quite well without me. It reminds me of all the times I felt so useless as a mum even though I tried so hard to get it right; now I’m dead, I’m worse than useless. I stare through the window and the memories come crowding in.
I think it was that first Christmas with Joe when I finally realized something was wrong with him. Always a difficult baby, at nearly a year old he still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and I found it difficult to bond with him. He was often fractious when he was awake and I was exhausted with the effort of looking after him. I felt guilty – after the miscarriages I should have been thrilled with my new baby – but when I mentioned it to Adam, he told me I was imagining things.
‘All babies cry,’ he said. Like he knew anything about it. He was working really hard to pay off our crippling mortgage, spending long hours away from home, frequently away on business. It wasn’t his fault; he just couldn’t see how hard it was for me.
‘Yes, but not like this,’ I said.
Adam didn’t listen. No one listened. My nearly retired doctor, who was kind, but overworked, had I think dismissed me as a neurotic mother. Not difficult after those early weeks when I cried all the time and was eventually diagnosed with postnatal depression. My mother always thought I looked at the cup half empty. My friends thought I just had a difficult baby.
But that Christmas it all changed, at which point even Adam had to believe me.
That Christmas was when Joe started banging his head every night. We’d put bumpers round his cot as we were told to do, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. I’d put him in bed every night and, thump-thump-thump, it would start. It was distressing to watch, but if I tried to cuddle him or take him away he cried. I sometimes felt as though my touch was toxic to him.
Then there was the way he didn’t seem to respond to his name, or smile very much. I felt so sure it wasn’t the way he should be developing, I started looking things up, though Adam told me I was looking to find something that wasn’t there. But he had to admit things weren’t right when we were unwrapping presents after Christmas dinner and Joe completely freaked and threw himself on the floor, screaming. Nothing would console him. Not Adam, who could normally calm him down, nor my mum, who prided herself on her perfect touch with babies. And certainly not me. How could I not feel useless?
At first no one could say what was wrong, though I stuck to my guns and kept asking. All anyone could tell us was that Joe wasn’t developing the way he should. He had only just learned to crawl, and wasn’t making any attempt to stand up. As he grew towards toddlerhood, he reacted even more badly to my touching him. It broke my heart to hear him scream when I went to hug him, and I was covered in bruises where he lashed out at me. It was as though he were locked in his own little world.
I began to avoid mother and baby groups, unable to be sure that Joe would play nicely or kick off by throwing toys, hitting the other children or banging his head on the ground. As the babies in my antenatal group grew, it was becoming more obvious that Joe was different. I’d lost my first two babies, and now this. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
It wasn’t until Joe was nearly three, after months of consultations and meetings with experts, that we found out why.
‘Asperger’s? What’s that?’ Adam asked, looking pale.
So they explained as kindly as they could. How Joe found it difficult to interact socially, how he wouldn’t have the emotional and social cues that other people did, which could make him appear unsympathetic and different to the other kids. How it was likely he wouldn’t last in the state system at school.
‘Oh shit, shit,’ said Adam.
‘But how? Why?’ I wanted to know.
And then Adam told me about his brother. The one no one ever discussed and who I didn’t know existed till then. He lived locked away in a home because Adam’s parents couldn’t cope with their secret shame.
I was flabbergasted. I should have known this sooner.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said over and over again, his face pale with distress, ‘I should have told you, but – Mum and Dad, they never want to talk about it. And I’ve never felt able to either.’
What did it matter either way? Would it have made anything different? I’d have still chosen to have Joe; after all Adam’s turned out OK. It’s a lottery. And we just lost.
Malachi jumps up next to me. ‘Don’t give up so soon,’ he says with an unexpected kindness in his voice. ‘Listen to me and everything will work out.’
‘Listen to you, how?’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Let me take you on a journey,’ he says. ‘There’s a lot you need to learn.’
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Julia Williams
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: ‘Heartwarming, witty and magical’ SUNA HILARIOUS and JUST-A-LITTLE HEARTBREAKING FESTIVE TREAT for anyone who’s looking for a little bit of MAGIC this CHRISTMAS TIME!Last Christmas, when Livvy was knocked down in the supermarket car park she certainly wasn’t ready to actually be dead! For months now she’s floated on the edge of the afterlife, generally making a nuisance of herself.And she’s not ready to go just yet! She’s furious about the new woman in her husband’s life and she’s worried about her beloved son who doesn’t seem to be adjusting to life without her at all.This Christmas, Livvy is given one last magical chance to make everything right. Will she take it and give her family the perfect Christmas?Perfect for fans of CAROLE MATTHEWS, TRISHA ASHLEY and JENNY COLGAN.