Authors: NC Marshall
“What
the hell’s the matter?” I hear Dan’s voice shouting behind me, as he grabs my
shoulders firmly and spins me around to face him. I look at him, but I can’t
speak, I’ve lost the ability. All knowledge of the English language temporarily
forgotten. I glance back to the spot in the distance to see if she’s still
there, but Jess has gone. I briefly wonder if she was actually there at all.
“Are
you okay, Mum?” Josh is standing next to his dad, half hiding behind Dan’s left
leg. I must have scared the poor kid half to death.
“I’d
just pulled onto the drive and was getting out the car when I heard you
screaming.” Dan sounds genuinely concerned; he has completed a full search of
the back garden and is waiting patiently for an explanation. I need to think up
a story... and fast. Both my husband and my son are now looking at me as if I’m
from another planet.
I
back up and find the use of my legs again as I climb the steps back into the
kitchen, trying to act as normal as possible. I don’t dare tell Dan the truth.
He will have me shipped off to a psychiatrist in the blink of an eye if I do.
He’s already worried about me, this would only make things worse.
“I,
um... thought I saw a mouse,” I say, hoping that Dan falls for this as my
excuse for screaming; I’ve always been petrified of the things. “There have
been quite a few in the garden lately. They’re coming in from the fields over
there,” I add, holding up an arm and pointing with a shaky hand to the farmer’s
field which lies adjacent to our garden.
Luckily
he believes me.
“Oh,
I hope not, bloody horrible things,” he states, looking back over my shoulder
into the garden, as if trying to hunt my imaginary rodent. He soon gives up,
quickly turning his attention to the oven and runs to turn down the heat on the
pan, water now starting to bubble ferociously over onto the hob. I can’t tell
him the truth—that I’d just seen my dead sister’s ghost. He has enough on his
plate putting up with my dreams, never mind this too. I change the subject and
return to cooking dinner, as if nothing had ever happened.
*
Later
that night, I stay up watching late night television. Dan has been in bed
asleep for a few hours, but I haven’t even attempted trying to join him. He had
asked me if I was okay, said I didn’t look too well. I’d lied in my response
and told him I had morning sickness. In truth, I know full well that every time
I close my eyes, I’ll see her face. I can see it now. She didn’t look like
Jess, she’d looked scared and lost. And very real.
Why is she here? What
does she want?
Mindlessly,
I start to tidy up. I move some magazines that I had been reading earlier and
fold them, neatly placing them in a waiting room style fan on the coffee table.
Josh has left a few toy cars lined up on the window sill. I scoop them up and
put them neatly into his toy box in the corner of the room. Then I think of
Jess, which prompts me to take them back out and place them back in the
position I had taken them from. I then go on to retrieve the magazines, setting
some of them open on the sofa and mess up the pattern of the remaining few on
the table.
New Year’s resolution Nat, stop being so bloody pedantic. Life is
too short.
I
go to the kitchen and peer out the patio door towards where Jess was standing
earlier. The land is empty, with only the thin layer of frost sparkling in the
moonlight to illuminate the garden.
Maybe I imagined it.
I switch off
the light, and head to bed, and I soon fall into another restless sleep.
*
It’s
Christmas Day, and we’re all at Mum’s house. It’s just the four of us this
year. It feels strange not having Ryan, Lola and Liam here. It’s been snowing
overnight, and we’ve been lucky enough to wake this morning to a white
Christmas, the first one that we have had in years. The view from the house is
stunning; freshly fallen snow surrounds the iced lake and creates a greeting
card type scene.
Although
still a little disappointed that he can’t use his new bike from Santa yet, Josh
is making the most of the weather and is currently outside with Dan building a
huge snowman. It has a leftover carrot from our lunch as a nose and one of
Dad’s old scarfs draped around its neck. His old trilby hat sits proudly on its
head. He’d even named him Thomas, which had been my dad’s name.
After
helping Mum clean up after lunch, I decide to go for a walk. It’s too
picturesque outside to sit all day indoors, and I could do with some fresh air.
I tell Dan I’m heading out. He doesn’t ask if I want any company, as if he
knows I am ready for some alone time.
I
head into the village centre. It seems strange seeing it so deserted. All the
shops are closed and securely locked for the holidays. There is no one in sight
apart from a man and his son who I can see sledging along the main street. I
pass over the bridge and walk a further five minutes before the church spire
comes into view, and I continue towards it.
The
chapel is deceptively large inside; from the outside you would never guess it
would be so spacious. There’s nobody here apart from one lady and Father
Dempsey, who is busy lighting candles at the foot of the altar. His long gown
trails the red carpet which decorates the church aisle.
I’ve
known Patrick Dempsey all my life. He had baptized all three of us as babies,
and had married Jess and Matt. As far as I am aware, Ryan and Lola are meeting up
with him soon to plan their own wedding. He looks up as he sees me enter the
church and comes towards me with open arms.
“Nat,
Merry Christmas,” he says, taking my hand and holding it tenderly in his. He
drapes the other one around my shoulder, as he guides me further towards the
altar. “If you’re here for the evening service you’re a little early,” he
announces, releasing his grip and returning to light the remainder of candles.
He’s referring to the carol service that’s held in the church every year on
Christmas Day. Typically we would attend, but I’d totally forgotten about it,
and assume Mum must have too.
“Oh
no,” I say, not wanting to offend him that the carol service had completely slipped
my mind. “Just out for a walk and I thought I’d pop in. I’ve left the family at
home under Josh’s command, building snowmen.”
Father
Dempsey smiles. “Ah well, it’s lovely to see you, please tell your mum I’m
asking after her, and wish your family a Merry Christmas from me.” With one
last grin, he turns and heads for a door at the far left side of the altar.
“I
will do that,” I reply warmly. “Enjoy the rest of your Christmas, Father.” My
voice echoes loudly, prompting me to look around the church that is now
entirely empty. The old lady I had seen sitting on the front row when I first
arrived has now gone.
I
move to the alter and stop in front of the large pillar candles which stand lit
on tall metal candlesticks. I feel their warmth hitting my cheeks and instantly
thawing the cold. I can smell the familiar scent of the beeswax used to polish
the church pews, and the perfumed fragrance of fresh flowers that stand in
vases sporadically dotting the room. I can’t come in here anymore without
remembering Jess’s funeral. In my mind, I can see her coffin which had sat in
the exact spot where I am now standing. I sigh as a tear escapes and falls down
my cheek, dropping silently to the floor below me.
When will this pain end,
will it ever end?
Suddenly,
a cool gust of wind passes me. Two of the candles in front of me flicker
briefly, then go out, creating a small flow of grey smoke that rises gracefully
into the air. Something feels familiar. I detect goose pimples rising on my
arms underneath my heavy layers.
She’s here. I can feel her.
As
I turn to face the large arched wooden doors on the opposite side of the church
aisle, I see her. She sits on the back row of pews, with her head down. I can
see her mouth moving as if she’s praying. Jess wasn’t religious, but today she
holds a red leather-bound bible on her lap. Her long hair hangs limply on her
shoulders, hiding the rest of her face.
Once
again, I’m frozen; transfixed on her image in front of me, just as I had been
that night in my garden, but I don’t feel scared, not this time. She moves her
head to slowly look at me. She has the same lost look in her eyes as I saw in
them the last time, dull and lifeless. She slowly stands, walks a few steps
before turning to look at me, then continues through the open church doors. She
wants me to follow her. I start to jog in the direction she is heading.
“Jess,
wait!” I shout desperately. She doesn’t stop. Once outside, I stand still in
the church grounds, looking for her, but I can’t see her. She’s vanished.
It’s
late afternoon now and starting to get dark. The fluffy snow is beginning to
freeze over, making the pavement slippery under my feet as I walk. The only
light is shining out from the large arched church windows, which throw a yellow
tint across the snow-filled grounds of the churchyard.
Suddenly,
I spot her again. She’s ahead of me, walking away from the church, her long
skirt swaying in the breeze as she moves. I run trying to catch her, but no
matter how fast I go she continues to remain ahead. I follow her through a
large iron gate into the graveyard, and past rows of old headstones and
overgrown graves towards a newer part of the cemetery.
I'm
out of breath by the time I reach her grave. I knew this was where she was
heading, I could feel it, the same way as I can now feel that she isn’t here
anymore. She’s gone.
I
bend over to catch my breath, then look up at the fresh flowers placed against
the headstone bearing her name. As my eyes dart back and forth, adjusting to
the darkness, a shadow moves across the marble surface of the tombstone.
There’s someone here. As I get closer, I can see a man’s outline.
In
the dim light, all I can make out is a vague silhouette. He has a tall frame
and broad shoulders. He stands hunched over the grave, staring at it, holding a
single red rose which he places down on the white snow to accompany the flowers
already resting there. Then he gently touches the golden lettering of my
sister’s name with his fingertip, tracing the intricately carved epitaph as
though it was made of precious stones. I watch him and remain silent. I know
who he is; I don’t even need to ask him. He must hear the snow crunching under
my boots, as he turns quickly. He seems startled by my arrival. I get closer
and eventually come to a halt in front of him. I take a deep breath before I
speak.
“Hi,
Adam,” I say.
I’ve
been back in England over six months now, and I have cried myself to sleep
nearly every night; over Dad, over Matt, over Adam, over myself or maybe over all
of the above. It’s only recently that the tears have started to dry up, and I’m
slowly coming to terms with things.
Adam’s
calls and texts have dwindled now, too. When I first returned, he was texting
constantly to check up on me, desperately pleading with me to return to
Australia. But I can’t. I’ve come to the conclusion now that my family are the
most important thing in my life and a constancy I now can’t be without. We’ve
been through hell and back recently, and it’s the love and strength we have when
we’re together that has gotten us through.
I
look back to my life in Australia as I would a dream; perfect, faultless and
not real. I realise now how foolish I had been in marrying Adam. I love him, I
probably always will, and I know that staying here has broken his heart and he
will never forgive me. But it’s the way things were meant to turn out. It’s
what Dad would have wanted.
I’ve
been living back with Mum for a while until I can find my own place. We’re
finding comfort in each other’s company and building up a relationship that
we’ve never really had. I’ve recently been offered an excellent job writing for
a fashion magazine. It’s the job of my dreams, and I can’t wait to get stuck
in.
Matt,
as always, has been by my side since the day I bumped into him at the hospital.
He’s been my rock through the heart-wrenching grief that I’ve suffered through
losing Dad, always having a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to and vent off
my frustrations. I can’t help feeling that somehow Dad’s death was my fault.
I’d had a feeling that whenever I spoke to him from Australia, he could sense I
was lying to him. I think the stress of trying to figure out what I was hiding
somehow affected his body, his heart and finally his mind.
I
still haven’t told anyone about Adam. The timing has never been right. Everyone
is still so upset about Dad anyway, they don’t need to know, not now. It’s not
like he’s going to show up at my front door. He would never come uninvited, and
far too much keeps him in Australia, mainly his mum, who needs his help with
his dad’s health diminishing. His sister is in the process of moving to
England, so she has no other family apart from her son.
Adam
knows about my friendship with Matt. He’d listened to most of our conversations
when I’d called him from Australia. I always talked about him, and although he
never admitted to it, I’m sure he was always a little bit jealous of this man
who knew me like the back of his own hand. Adam would never be prepared to play
second best. I know that for sure.
Matt
and I have been spending a lot of time together. I suppose you could say we are
inseparable at the moment, just like we used to be as kids. When he asked me
out on an official date last week, I said yes. When he leant in to kiss me at
the end of the night, I hadn’t backed away, and it didn’t feel disgusting or
strange like I always imagined it would. Instead, it felt soft, gentle and
natural. It’s what Dad would have wanted.
I
miss Adam and I miss Australia. I would love nothing more than to slip off my
sandals and feel the warm sand of Cottesloe beach between my toes. To feel the
hot midday sunshine on my bare skin, then the stir of the fresh afternoon
breeze. I miss the little things, too. The faint sound of the ocean from the
open window in Adam’s apartment, the city coming into view on the descent down
from the hills where our new apartment was situated. The sound of kookaburras
coming from the trees in our small backyard, or sitting outside the local pub
on a balmy summer’s evening with all our friends.
But
what I miss most is that view from the park at dusk that made all my worries
disappear, and the way I felt while I was there—alive. I need to let that life
leave my mind. I no longer deserve it. So, I’m going to let the memories of
Australia’s distant shores wash away, and with them I hope that the love I have
for Adam will slowly start to disintegrate, too. This is where I’m meant to be.
It’s what Dad would have wanted.