Книга - Time to Say Goodbye: a heart-rending novel about a father’s love for his daughter

Time to Say Goodbye: a heart-rending novel about a father’s love for his daughter
S.D. Robertson


**A heart-rending story about the unique bond between a father and his daughter, for fans of Jojo Moyes, the bestselling author of Me Before You.**HOW DO YOU LEAVE THE PERSON YOU LOVE THE MOST?Will Curtis's six-year-old daughter, Ella, knows her father will never leave her. After all, he promised her so when her mother died. And he's going to do everything he can to keep his word.What Will doesn't know is that the promise he made to his little girl might be harder to keep than he imagined. When he's faced with an impossible decision, Will finds that the most obvious choice might not be the right one.But the future is full of unexpected surprises. And father and daughter are about to embark on an unforgettable journey together . . .








S.D. ROBERTSON




TIME TO SAY GOODBYE










Copyright (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)


Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016

Copyright © S. D. Robertson 2016

S. D. Robertson 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: 9780008100674

Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008100681

Version: 2017-12-21


For Claudia and Kirsten


Contents

Cover (#u58f4f4ba-a4ad-5026-88d1-885001879253)

Title Page (#u81839006-a22f-5dd6-bdc6-c71c60903ffb)

Copyright (#u7d6f36cb-3845-50ef-b48c-88d7d70fcab7)

Dedication (#u5a8fa874-5356-52f9-8dd2-e4d6b3c3e4d3)

CHAPTER 1: 2.36 P.M., Thursday 29 September 2016 (#uc2507a49-200e-5ba0-a502-2eb71818568f)

CHAPTER 2: Seven Hours Dead (#u8df17b94-3d78-5071-922f-9225cab8ece2)



CHAPTER 3: One Day Dead (#u6e99c97f-ec5d-56d9-be75-143ba06f61d3)



CHAPTER 4: Six Days Dead (#u408de33f-538e-5aae-839e-4812281ef99b)



CHAPTER 5: Thirteen Days Dead (#u73875473-dfcf-55fa-8927-cf25847396b3)



CHAPTER 6 (#udf6948f5-cdcf-54de-900e-21f7d001802f)



CHAPTER 7 (#ueaab074d-edc9-5f4e-92df-f3ffd1262666)



CHAPTER 8: Thirty-Nine Days Left (#u7cc28e58-1bf2-5ae5-83c4-eb2b96959682)



CHAPTER 9 (#u4917aa8d-60f0-50db-9b04-5a24ae1e2ea5)



CHAPTER 10: Thirty-Six Days Left (#ua6ef8542-9011-58a1-8a76-b5572dce7ab1)



CHAPTER 11: Thirty-Three Days Left (#u32ca6530-89c2-5cd4-8f1b-1cf661d0c18b)



CHAPTER 12: Thirty Days Left (#u6d5aca88-9bad-5f53-8c4f-f140d87defc5)



CHAPTER 13: Twenty-Nine Days Left (#ue4bacd1a-269d-5243-bf1e-069e27982309)



CHAPTER 14: Twenty-Eight Days Left (#u9ccdb43c-4c94-5168-b8b1-dba8bb0a624e)



CHAPTER 15: Twenty-Seven Days Left (#ud6f58a97-f7ed-5fef-9bc3-69187d8703b8)



CHAPTER 16: Twenty-Six Days Left (#uf751b3b1-29cd-5a3a-b5a8-8a615749053b)



CHAPTER 17: Twenty-Three Days Left (#u3ed1632f-f9a9-5013-92a1-3e20662ffdbf)



CHAPTER 18: Twenty-Two Days Left (#uf9e60f44-570b-5ae2-a081-4d030beaba88)



CHAPTER 19: Seventeen Days Left (#u99e3e323-cc32-5510-af48-51e95281ab24)



CHAPTER 20 (#ua0eec3e8-c0fa-578b-911c-d43275d1f17e)



CHAPTER 21 (#uc529a30c-e5b9-55bb-8722-f2baa002840b)



CHAPTER 22: Fifteen Days Left (#uf361828c-9402-5c0f-b5dc-281ed095dddb)



CHAPTER 23: Fourteen Days Left (#u22a874a1-93a0-5c4f-bc5b-e9f7ad44a752)



CHAPTER 24 (#u43b6d922-1263-5e8c-8f4d-d88cf8075f09)



CHAPTER 25: Thirteen Days Left (#u0c5b08ed-c695-5fdb-b725-26ca62ffefcc)



CHAPTER 26 (#udb04b0da-403e-58b9-997e-38349fb3c2b8)



CHAPTER 27: Twelve Days Left (#uc5085717-1e9f-5c2f-809b-1614c1ecab41)



CHAPTER 28: Nine Days Left (#u0df95eaf-dece-5ac4-bd14-1fe10e27a4f3)



CHAPTER 29: Seven Days Left (#u74847050-efcb-5fdc-bd86-3bfb919f6d70)



CHAPTER 30: Six Days Left (#u7a62e55d-6e9a-54c5-b269-6066a09c620a)



CHAPTER 31: Three Days Left (#u1191950c-4e4d-5c76-aa7d-baeca232ee89)



CHAPTER 32: Ten Hours Left (#u3bb6cfa2-d1f8-5a3c-b8e4-cfb60e3856fe)



CHAPTER 33: Three Hours Left (#u4b7ea1bd-f4f0-5593-9b4e-f43cdb0da31b)



CHAPTER 34: Ninety Minutes Left (#ud212c96a-5f9c-5ae2-a070-8ef23da33714)



CHAPTER 35 (#ucafc25b5-58b6-5986-b439-4ac85300f453)

Keep Reading (#ufb8b7d47-b2b1-58c7-b203-7331b72d15ab)



Acknowledgements (#u12d1b198-f7ca-5792-9a99-a2cbfa3276f2)



About the Author (#u8c59fa39-5a66-537e-a9e3-67671ea0c9f3)



About the Publisher (#u8f836d7f-8a8d-5e17-99ab-b3d2677639dd)




CHAPTER 1 (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)

2.36 P.M., THURSDAY 29 SEPTEMBER 2016 (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)


Dying wasn’t on the to-do list I’d drafted earlier that afternoon. No doubt the 4x4 driver hadn’t planned on killing a cyclist either. But that’s what happened. Her giant black car swerved into my path. It hit me head on. There was no time to react. Just an awful screeching sound, a brief sensation of flying and a sudden agonizing pain. Then I blacked out.

Next thing I knew, I was standing on the pavement watching two paramedics fight to revive my battered, bloody body. I desperately willed them to succeed, even moving closer in the hope I could jump back into my skin at the right moment, but it was futile. I was pronounced dead minutes later.

But I’m still here, I told myself. What does that make me? And then my thoughts turned to Ella. What would happen to her if I was dead? She’d be all alone, abandoned by both of her parents: the very thing I’d sworn she’d never face.

‘Wait! Don’t give up,’ I shouted at the paramedics. ‘Don’t stop! I’m still here. You’ve got to keep trying. You don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t fucking give up on me! I’m not dead.’

I screamed my lungs out, begging and pleading with them to try to revive me again, but they couldn’t hear me. I was invisible to them and, ironically, to the onlookers gathered at the police cordon – several waving camera phones – keen to catch a glimpse of the dead guy.

In desperation, I tried to grab one of the paramedics. But as my hand touched his right shoulder, I was hurled backwards by an invisible force. It left me sprawling on the tarmac. I was stunned but, oddly, not in any physical pain. I picked myself up and tried again with the man’s colleague, only to find myself thrown to the floor again. What the hell was going on?

Then I saw the driver who’d killed me. She was chain-smoking menthol cigarettes under the watchful eye of a young bobby. ‘It was an accident,’ she told him in between drags. ‘The sat nav. It fell on to the floor. By my feet. I was just trying to pick it up when – oh God, I can still see his face hitting my windscreen. What have I done? Is he going to be okay? Tell me he’s going to make it.’

‘Do I look okay?’ I ask, standing in front of her, staring her in the face and willing her to see me. ‘Does it seem like I’m going to make it? You’ve killed me. I’m dead. All because of a bloody sat nav. Look at me, for God’s sake. I’m right here.’

She’d have looked glamorous without the vomit on her high-heeled shoes and in the ends of her straightened hair. She was deathly pale and shaking so much that I didn’t have the heart to continue. She knew what she’d done.

‘Why am I still here?’ I yelled at the sky.

‘Have you got the time?’ one police officer asked another.

‘Three o’clock.’

Shit. Home time. Ella’s primary school was a good fifteen-minute walk away; instinct kicked in and I started to run.

The last few stragglers were leaving the school gates by the time I arrived. The knock-on effect of my accident was already evident in the snake of cars – squashed noses and curious eyes at their rear windows – that filled one side of the suburban street. I rushed to the back of the building, where Ella would be waiting, and saw her standing there alone, a forlorn look on her face. ‘Over here, darling!’ I shouted, waving as I ran across the empty yard. ‘It’s okay. I’m here now.’

I don’t know what I was thinking. Why would she see me when no one else had? Watching my six-year-old daughter stare straight through me was quite the reality check.

‘Ella, Daddy’s here,’ I said for the umpteenth time, kneeling in front of her so we were face to face, but not daring to touch her after what had happened with the paramedics. Her lips were chapped and her right hand, which was clenching her Hello Kitty lunchbox, was covered in red felt-tip ink. I gasped as I realized I wouldn’t be able to remind her to use her lip balm or to help her ‘scrub those mucky paws’. Oblivious to my presence, she stared expectantly towards the far end of the playground.

Mrs Afzal emerged from the open door behind Ella. ‘Is he still not here, love? You’d better get inside now.’

‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ Ella told her teacher. ‘His watch might need a new battery again.’

‘Come on. We’ll get the office to give him a call.’

Panic knifed through me as I pictured my mobile ringing in the back of the ambulance while they drove away my dead body. I imagined one of the paramedics, my blood still splattered across his green shirt, rooting through my pockets to find it. How long before Ella discovered what had happened?

I was about to follow them inside when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I spun around.

‘Hello, William. Sorry to sneak up on you like that. I, um, I’m Lizzie.’

A stumpy woman in a dowdy grey skirt suit and beige mac was standing before me, one arm outstretched for a handshake. Gingerly, fearing another run-in with the tarmac, I reached out towards her podgy hand. It felt cool despite the unseasonal late September sunshine.

‘How do you know my name?’ I asked. ‘And how come I can touch you?’

‘I was sent to meet you when you died. You’ve probably got a few questions.’

‘What are you: some kind of angel? Pull the other one.’

Lizzie, who appeared to be in her late twenties, ran a hand through her wavy black hair, which was tied in a loose ponytail. Her nose twitched in a way that reminded me of a rabbit.

‘Um, no. I’m not an angel. We’re on the same team, but they’re higher up the pecking order. Think of me as a guide. This can be a confusing time. I’m here to make your transition from life to death as smooth as possible. How are you doing so far?’

‘Well, I’m dead. Apart from you, no one can see me. Not even my little girl, who’s about to learn she’s an orphan. How do you think I’m doing?’

‘Right. Sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘How about bringing me back to life and taking that bloody lunatic driver instead? It’s her fault I’m here.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid. Anything else?’

‘What about helping me to communicate with Ella? If I’m really a ghost, doesn’t that mean people can see me in certain circumstances? I need her to know that I’m still here; that I haven’t abandoned her.’

‘We don’t tend to use the G-word. It has too many negative connotations. We prefer the term “spirit”.’

‘Whatever. You’re splitting hairs. Can I talk to Ella or not?’

‘She can’t see you. You said so yourself. That’s not the way this works. The reason I’m here is to guide you across to the other side and show you the ropes.’

‘What if I don’t want to come?’

‘There’s nothing left for you here.’

‘What about my little girl? She needs me.’

‘She’s not your responsibility any more, William. It’s out of your control. You’re a spirit now; what’s waiting for you on the other side is incredible beyond words.’

‘You didn’t answer my question. What if I don’t want to come? Will you drag me kicking and screaming?’

‘I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go.’

‘So I can stay?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s your choice.’

‘And if I do go with you? Can I change my mind and come back?’

‘No. It’s a one-way ticket.’

‘How about the other way round? If I don’t come with you now, can I come later?’

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before nodding her head. ‘There’s a grace period.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere. How long?’

‘That depends.’ She looked up to the sky. ‘It’s a top-level decision. I’d have to get back to you.’

‘Right. I’ll get back to you too, then. How do I get hold of you?’

As the words left my mouth, I was distracted by the sound of two chattering teachers walking towards us. I turned for the briefest of moments to look at them and when I turned back Lizzie had vanished.

I looked from left to right in confusion. ‘Hello? Are you there? Can you still hear me? You didn’t answer my question. And why can’t I touch anyone – except you?’

I paused, expecting her to reappear, but she didn’t. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘I guess I’m on my own.’

I’d abandoned my only daughter. I’d broken the promise I’d made to her countless times, usually as she was lying in bed at night, asking about her mother, eyes intense and probing.

‘Daddy, you’ll never leave me, will you?’

‘No, of course not, darling. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise. From the bottom of my heart.’

Back inside the school it was obvious that they’d found something out. Ella was moved from the corridor outside the office back to her classroom, where Mrs Afzal kept her occupied doing some drawing. Her teacher was smiling the whole time, but I could see pity in her eyes. She told Ella there was a slight problem and she’d have to wait at school a little longer.

‘When will my daddy get here?’

‘I’m not sure how long you’ll have to wait, Ella. But I’ll stay with you until someone comes to pick you up.’

‘He’s never been this late before. Last time his watch battery broke he was only a bit late. I wasn’t even the last one waiting.’

Mrs Afzal knelt down next to Ella. ‘What’s that you’re drawing?’

‘An ice cream. Look, that’s the chocolate stick and I’m going to add some red sauce. Daddy said I could have one after tea today because it’s summer in India.’

It was my mother who eventually arrived to pick Ella up. She put on a show of normality for her granddaughter’s sake, but I could see the anguish in her eyes. She knew. Usually she’d have had a chinwag with Mrs Afzal about her own days as a primary school teacher. Not today.

‘Nana!’ Ella said, running over to give her a big hug. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to pick me up. Daddy’s really late.’

I saw Mum’s face crumple as she held Ella tightly against her own short, slender frame. But she fought to hide her pain again when they parted.

‘Hi, Mum,’ I whispered, from as close as I could get to her without touching. ‘I messed up. I’m so sorry. I’m going to need you to look after her for me.’

Mum drove Ella home and sat her down in the lounge. I couldn’t believe what was about to happen. I watched as tears started to fall down her cheeks. It terrified me, but it was the only thing to do. Ella needed to know the truth.

‘What’s the matter, Nana? Why are you crying? What’s happened? Is Daddy okay?’

‘No, darling. I have to tell you some terrible news.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong? Has he hurt himself? Is he in hospital?’

Tears were flooding down Mum’s face. I could hardly bear to watch. ‘There was a terrible accident, my love. Daddy was really badly hurt and … I’m so sorry … he died.’

Ella was silent for a moment before asking: ‘What do you mean? What kind of accident?’

‘Daddy was riding his bicycle. He was, um. He was in a crash.’

‘A crash? How? What hurted him?’

‘It was a car.’

‘Where is he now? Has he gone to the hospital?’

‘No, darling. He died. He’s not here any more. He’s in Heaven. He’s with your mummy.’

Ella stood up. ‘He can’t be. He’s taking me to get an ice cream later. He’s just a bit late. It’s naughty to tell lies, Nana. Do you want to see my new hairband? I’ll go and get it. It’s in my bedroom.’

She ran out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Mum distraught.

‘Go after her!’ I cried.

But at that moment Mum’s mobile phone started ringing. ‘Hello? Oh, Tom, it’s you. Thank goodness. Are you still with the police?’

I left Mum talking to Dad and went upstairs to Ella’s bedroom, which she’d persuaded me to paint bright pink about a year ago. I couldn’t see where she was at first; then I heard a rustling sound coming from inside the princess castle I’d given her the birthday before last. We had talked about taking the pink play tent down, as she hadn’t used it for a while, but when I peered through the mesh window, there she was. She was hugging Kitten, her favourite soft toy, and staring at the floor.

I knelt down right by the window. ‘I wish you could hear me, Ella. You’re my world, my everything. I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I know you’re not dead, Daddy,’ she said, startling me.

‘Ella?’ I replied, reaching my arm into the tent to touch her – to make contact – only to find myself flying backwards through the air and slamming against the wall on the far side of the room. No pain again, but it was clear I wasn’t able to touch anyone.

‘Please come home soon, so Nana can see that she’s wrong,’ she continued, oblivious to what had just happened. ‘You promised you’d never leave me and I know you meant it. Please come home, Daddy. I miss you.’




CHAPTER 2 (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)

SEVEN HOURS DEAD (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)


Mum and Dad decided to stay at our house for the night, to keep things as normal as possible for Ella. They took the poky third bedroom, which was only slightly bigger than the double bed it contained. I’d have rather they used my room, but they felt it wasn’t appropriate – and it wasn’t like they could hear my protests.

I was finding it increasingly frustrating that no one could hear or see anything I said or did. The only external confirmation of my existence came in the form of my parents’ dog, Sam, who’d arrived with Dad. A usually placid King Charles spaniel, he barked incessantly and ran around in circles whenever we were in the same room. It excited me at first, as I wondered whether I might be able to use him to make contact with my family. But it soon became clear that there was little chance of any Lassie-type behaviour. He wasn’t the brightest of pets. Plus he’d never liked me much when I was alive and apparently death hadn’t changed that. Trying to talk to him only served to increase the volume of his barking, so I soon abandoned that possibility.

There was another moment of excitement when, to my surprise, I realized I could see my reflection in the mirror. My mother was brushing her teeth in the bathroom. I must have passed mirrors before that, but this was the first time it had registered.

‘Hey,’ I shouted, jumping up and down; waving like a lunatic. ‘Look, Mum. Here I am.’

But she couldn’t see my reflection any more than she could hear what I was saying.

I waited for Dad to follow her and tried again. I stood beside him as he too brushed his teeth and washed his face. There I was, clear as day, right next to him, asking him to look at me. But apparently I was the only one who could see it.

At least I looked to be in one piece. I was relieved not to see any sign of the injuries I’d suffered in the crash.

‘None of this feels real,’ Mum said to Dad after the two of them got into bed. ‘I keep thinking – hoping – I’ll wake up and it’ll all have been a bad dream.’

Dad took her hand and let out a sigh.

‘I just feel numb,’ she continued. ‘After the initial shock of it all – after telling Ella what happened – it’s like … I don’t know. As if it’s happening to someone else. Not me. Why aren’t I crying now? I feel I’m not reacting as I should be.’

‘There is no right way to react,’ Dad replied. ‘Parents aren’t meant to outlive their children.’

‘But how do you feel, Tom?’

He sighed again. ‘I’m putting one foot in front of the other. We have to be strong for Ella.’

I couldn’t listen to any more of their conversation. It felt too much like eavesdropping, so I walked to Ella’s room instead. Sitting down on the floor next to her bed, I was consumed by a rush of fears and anxieties.

How on earth would this fragile little girl manage without me? Would I ever get through to her and, if not, how could I survive here alone?

Oh my God, I’m dead, I thought, the terrible truth starting to sink in. I’m actually dead. My life’s over. I’ll never hug Ella again. I’ll never wash her hair, brush her teeth or read her a story again. All those little things I used to take for granted. Gone. Forever.

Then I thought back to the accident. Why the hell did I go out on my bike in the first place?

Ella coughed in her sleep. I looked over at her flushed face and her blond curls, matted and unruly across the pillow, and it was enough to jolt me out of my spiral of self-pity. ‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She’s the only thing that matters now.’

I hadn’t got a clue whether or not ghosts – or spirits, as Lizzie put it – were able to sleep. I didn’t feel particularly tired. But I lay down on the floor next to the bed and tried to clear my mind, if only to be able to do my best to get through to Ella in the morning. It took a while, but eventually I drifted off.

I woke up the next morning alone in Ella’s bedroom. Apparently she’d already got up. To my dismay, I noticed the door was shut. My experience so far as a spirit had been that I couldn’t interact with anything around me. This meant I was trapped. However, I remembered a scene in the film Ghost in which Patrick Swayze’s character had to learn to pass through a closed door. It was a flimsy information source, but what else did I have to go on?

I walked up to it, held my hands out in front of me and tried to push them into the wood. Nothing. I didn’t get thrown backwards as I had after touching Ella or the paramedics. I just couldn’t move past it. Next I tried to turn the handle, although that was no use either. My hand stopped upon reaching it, but I couldn’t feel or exert any pressure on it.

I went back to trying to pass through the door. I imagined myself doing so, pushing through like it was made of liquid. I even tried running at it, shouting and screaming, hoping my anger might unlock some hidden ability. But nothing worked. I really was trapped until Ella came in to get a jumper from her wardrobe a short while later and I was able to exit the traditional way.

The death knock came just after lunch. I’d been expecting it. I’d been out on plenty of them myself early in my career; little had I imagined that a few years later I’d be the subject of one. Considering my family circumstances and the way in which I’d died, it was inevitable that a local newspaper reporter would call at the house soon.

‘Can you get that, Tom?’ Mum shouted from upstairs, where she was plaiting Ella’s hair.

‘Right,’ Dad shouted, stubbing out the cigarette he’d been smoking at the back door and trudging through the hall. He was a big man, although he was one of the lucky few who carried it well. Thanks partly to his strong jawline and broad shoulders, he’d managed to stay handsome in spite of the extra weight. He enjoyed his food and drink and rarely rushed anywhere; today he was even slower than usual. He opened the door to an attractive girl in her mid-twenties.

‘Hello there,’ she said, wearing her best sympathetic smile. ‘I’m awfully sorry to bother you. I’m Kate Andrews, from the Evening Journal. We heard about the horrific accident yesterday involving William Curtis. I just wondered if a family member was available for a quick chat. We’re very interested in running a tribute article.’

I smiled to myself. ‘Tribute’ was the term I used to use on death knocks. I’d always found it an effective way of getting the family onside.

Dad, whose years as a solicitor had fostered a distrust of the press that I’d never been able to shift, demanded proof of ID. After he’d given her pass the once-over, he left her on the doorstep while he went to confer with Mum.

‘Come on, old man,’ I said, the journalist in me realizing it would be hypocritical not to allow her an interview. ‘Give the girl a break.’

‘What do you think?’ he asked Mum. ‘I’m not convinced it’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do you really want our private business splashed all over the news?’

‘I’m sure it’s what Will would have wanted. He was a journalist, after all. It’s only right there’s a tribute to him in the local paper.’

‘Really? And what if they get it all wrong?’

‘Surely that’s more likely if we don’t talk to them, isn’t it? There’ll be a story one way or another, Tom. They won’t just ignore it. Better we have some input.’

‘Well I’m not getting involved. You speak to her, if you must. But don’t let her put words into your mouth and steer clear of talking about the accident – particularly who might have been to blame. I’ll take Ella out for a walk. I don’t want her involved either.’

I decided to stay to hear the interview.

‘Thanks for agreeing to speak to me,’ Kate said, sipping on the cup of tea Mum had made for her before they sat down in the lounge. Mum was dressed casually, in a navy cardigan and jeans; I noticed she’d applied some lipstick and combed her short dark hair before coming downstairs. I could see she was trying her best to put a brave face on it.

‘That’s okay. It only seems right, what with Will being a journalist too.’

‘Really? I had no idea. Who did he work for?’

‘He used to be a staff reporter on The Times. He was based in London at that point but moved back up north about six years ago and went freelance. He still mainly writes – sorry, wrote – for The Times, but he also did work for other national papers and some magazines. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of him.’

Kate didn’t get another word in edgeways until she’d been subjected to a gushing, cringeworthy history of my entire career, from my days on a local weekly up to the present. She eventually got the chance to ask a question about my family life. I saw her eyes light up when Mum explained I’d been a single parent; that Ella’s mother was also dead.

‘Ah, now we’ve got your interest,’ I said, peering over her shoulder at her shorthand notes. ‘Yes, it’ll make a decent news story. Nothing like a good tragedy to shift a few papers. You never know, it might even make front page.’

‘How’s Ella dealing with it?’ Kate asked. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling.’

I was furious. ‘Don’t give me that fake sympathy shit!’ I shouted. ‘Leave her out of it. She’s just a little girl.’

Mum shuffled on the couch. ‘I, er, don’t really want to go into that.’

‘Of course,’ Kate replied. ‘I understand. What about you and your husband, then? It must have been such an awful shock.’

Calm down, I told myself, shocked by how easily I’d flown off the handle. It’s okay. Mum can deal with this. The girl’s doing her job, that’s all; I’d have asked exactly the same things.

‘Yes,’ Mum whispered. She took several deep breaths before adding: ‘It hasn’t sunk in yet. We’re both still in shock. No one expects to outlive their children. It’s like we’re on autopilot, holding things together for Ella.’

Once Kate had gleaned all the information she needed to write her story, she asked Mum if there was a picture of me she could borrow to run alongside it. Well, she actually asked for a photo of me with Ella, but Mum had the good sense to say no. She rooted around in her handbag and pulled out a small leather wallet containing snaps of her nearest and dearest. There was an old one of me that I’d never much liked. She stared at it for a moment and I feared she was about to start crying. But after fanning herself and taking some more gasps of air, she held her composure.

‘How about this? It’s not that recent, but it’s a nice picture of him. It shows off his lovely blue eyes.’

‘Yes, that’ll be ideal.’

‘He’d not changed much, apart from a few more grey hairs. They started to come in his twenties. Probably caused by stress. He was handsome, don’t you think?’

I cringed as Kate was forced to agree.

‘You will look after it, won’t you?’ Mum asked her. ‘It’s precious. I need it returned in one piece.’

‘Of course. I’ll drop it back in a couple of days, if that’s okay. Thanks ever so much for chatting to me. And sorry again for your loss. I hope everything goes all right with the funeral.’

‘Thanks, love. You will make it a nice piece, won’t you? The last thing we need is any more upset.’

Kate flashed that sympathetic smile of hers again. ‘Of course. The article will be in tomorrow’s paper. It should be on the website too.’

It was only a few minutes later that Mum and I heard Dad and Ella return from their walk. Ella was in tears.

‘What on earth happened?’ Mum asked as we both rushed to the front door.

Dad had Ella over his left shoulder and, from the way he was out of breath and sweating, he must have carried her some way. His right arm was straining against the pull of Sam on his lead, barking as usual.

Mum took her granddaughter and lifted her into a hug. She may have been much shorter and thinner than Dad – Little and Large, I often called them – but she’d always been strong and fit. She had apparently been a smoker once, like him, but not for as long as I could remember. She was the healthy one: a pocket dynamo who enjoyed exercise and watched what she ate. Their relationship was definitely a case of opposites attract.

‘There, there. Come to Nana. What’s wrong, darling? What’s the matter?’

‘She had a bit of a fright, Ann. That’s all. She’ll be fine in a few minutes.’

‘What do you mean she had a fright, Tom? Tell me what happened, for goodness’ sake.’

‘It’s no big deal. We had a nice walk for the most part. We went down by the old railway line so Sam could have a run off his lead. Then we walked back along the main road. Unfortunately, we witnessed a bit of a prang. One car caught the side of another as it was pulling out from a parking space. No one was hurt, but it was all rather noisy and, well, it clearly reminded Ella of—’

‘Yes, yes. I’m not stupid, thank you. What were you thinking, taking her along the main road? Come on, Ella. Let’s go and have a nice sit-down in the lounge. Grandad will get you a drink. Would you like some juice?’

Ella nodded through her tears.

‘Did you hear that, Grandad? And can you please put Sam in the back garden. I don’t know why he’s barking so much. He’s been like this ever since we brought him here.’

‘That’ll be my fault,’ I said as I watched Mum try to comfort Ella. ‘It’s all my fault. Please don’t cry, Ella. It’s okay. Daddy’s here.’ But she couldn’t hear me; I was still hidden from her. I wanted so badly to take her into my arms and wipe away her tears. This was torture. It was breaking my heart. I determined that when she was next on her own, I would do my utmost to try to get through to her.

My opportunity didn’t come until she was in bed that night. After she’d had a bath and a book, Mum tucked her in and gave her a kiss goodnight.

‘Do you feel like you want to talk about anything before you go to sleep?’ Mum asked.

‘No. I’m okay.’

‘Well, any time you want to talk – especially about your daddy – I’m right here for you. Grandad is too. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Goodnight, my love. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

Ella shook her head, a sad look on her face. That was what I always used to say to her at bedtime. I guess I learned it from hearing it myself as a boy.

As Mum got up to leave, Ella jerked upright. ‘Is my nightlight on, Nana?’

‘Yes, dear. We put it on together before I read you a story. You’ll see it when I turn the main light off.’

‘And the landing light? You won’t switch it off, will you? Daddy always lets me have it on. I don’t like the dark.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll leave it on for you.’

‘All night?’

‘All night.’

Once Mum was downstairs, I knelt at the side of the bed. ‘Ella?’ I whispered into her ear. ‘Can you hear me? It’s Daddy. I’m still here. I promised I’d never leave you and I haven’t. Can’t you sense me at all?’

Nothing. No sign that she had any clue I was there. Her saucer-like eyes, the same beautiful pale green as her mother’s, were wide open but staring blankly at the ceiling. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I stood up and started pacing around the room. What could I do to get through to her? If the dog could sense me, surely there was a chance that Ella could too, no matter what Lizzie had told me. What about all the claims of ghost sightings over the years? There had to be something in it. And didn’t they say that children were more open to that kind of thing than adults?

Ironically, before I died I’d been a complete non-believer when it came to the supernatural. As a journalist, I’d built a wall of scepticism around myself that only hard facts could penetrate. I remembered laughing with colleagues about people who’d phoned in with stories of hauntings, dubbing them ‘crackpots’. Now here I was with a whole different perspective.

Other than the little I’d gleaned from Lizzie, my only knowledge of what it meant to be a ghost – sorry, a spirit – was based on fiction. But what I was experiencing, which I’d only started to analyse once the initial shock of being dead had eased, wasn’t anything like the books I’d read or films I’d seen. Try as I might, I still wasn’t able to do a Patrick Swayze and pass through solid objects. I could walk about and sit or lie down, but that was pretty much it. Taking care not to get trapped behind closed doors had already become second nature. My sense of touch had vanished. I was as numb as if I’d been anaesthetized. It was like I had no mass and was enveloped in a thick bubble that kept me apart from the world around me. And yet, conversely, when I wasn’t trying to interact with that world, I still felt as real and solid as I had before my death.

Then there was the whole thing about not being able to touch people. I’d tried it several times now; on each occasion I’d been repelled with the same violent force, which didn’t hurt me but knocked me for six and always went completely unnoticed by the person involved. Smell and taste had abandoned me too, along with the need or desire for food or drink. My sight and hearing were all I had left. And yet that hadn’t been the case when I’d met Lizzie. I could definitely recall feeling her tap me on the shoulder and that cool handshake of hers in contrast to the sunny weather. What does that matter? I thought. She’s not here any more. I sent her away.

So how could I break through to my daughter? I couldn’t get the lights to flicker; I couldn’t move inanimate objects or make my presence known at all. ‘Come on, Ella,’ I said. ‘Give me something. Give me some sign that you can sense me. You must be able to. I’m right here, darling.’

Without warning, she got out of bed, forcing me to dive out of her way. She knelt where I’d been a moment earlier. I wondered what she was doing until she started talking in a quiet voice. ‘God? Are you there? My name’s Ella. The vicar at school says we can talk to you like this if we’re sad. Is my daddy with you? Nana says he is. She says he’s in Heaven. I really miss him, you see. I was thinking that maybe you could let him come back soon. He said he’d get me an ice cream. Nana and Grandad are looking after me, but I’d still really like him to come home. I hate feeling sad all the time. Amen.’

Her words were like a needle pushing through my soul. They spurred me on to talk to her some more, desperate for that breakthrough I craved, but whatever I said and however I said it, it made no difference. She still couldn’t hear me. All the same, I stayed at her bedside and whispered tales of gruffaloes, captured princesses, a dancing dog, and a cat called Mog: stories committed to memory after countless nights of reading them to her. I carried on long after she fell asleep, hoping beyond hope that some part of her might hear me and feel comforted.

‘Goodnight, my beautiful girl,’ I said eventually, my repertoire complete. I leaned over the bed, where she lay in a deep sleep, and blew a kiss goodnight as close as I dared to the soft skin of her forehead.

‘Night night, Daddy,’ she muttered.




CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_cf33d763-fff0-5e41-b276-a3c2e20ca65b)

ONE DAY DEAD (#ulink_cf33d763-fff0-5e41-b276-a3c2e20ca65b)


I couldn’t believe it. She’d replied. I’d said ‘goodnight’ and she’d heard my voice; she’d said ‘night night’ back to me. My instinct was to shout and scream, hoping she’d wake up and see me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Part of me was afraid it wouldn’t work, but mainly I didn’t want to interrupt her sleep. She looked so peaceful and I knew how much she needed her rest. Be patient, I told myself. Now’s not the right time, but it will come.

I was buzzing. I felt hope. If I could get through to her when she was asleep, then surely there was a chance to do the same when she was awake.

I decided it was time to try to contact Lizzie. She’d given me the impression that it would be impossible for Ella to see or hear me, but now, after what I’d just witnessed, I was sure she was wrong. I needed to get some proper answers.

I walked down the stairs, tiptoeing past the closed door of the kitchen, where Sam was sleeping, to enter the lounge. The landing light barely stretched this far, so the room was shrouded in darkness. I knew my way around, though, and manoeuvred myself into my favourite leather recliner, remembering how comfy it used to feel. Now it didn’t feel like anything. Comfort and discomfort were indistinguishable in my current state. And I could no more push the seat back into the reclined position than I could turn on the TV or pick up the paperback I’d left on the coffee table a couple of nights ago, blissfully unaware that I’d die before finishing it.

‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Are you there, Lizzie? Can you hear me? I need a word.’

‘William,’ a voice replied from across the dark room. ‘I thought you’d never call.’

There was a clicking sound and all the lights turned on. Lizzie was perched on the couch, looking exactly the same as when we’d last met: skirt suit, mac, ponytail.

She smiled. ‘Hello, stranger. Like the dark, do you?’

‘Not especially, but I don’t seem to be able to do simple things like switching on a light any more. Unlike you. How does that work? Is it something I can learn or am I stuck like this? I kind of assumed I’d be less … useless.’

‘You should never assume anything. Assume makes an ass of you and me. You’ve heard that saying, right?’

I waited for her to continue – to answer some of my questions – yet nothing else came. I bore the silence for as long as I could, throwing her my most pathetic, helpless look in a desperate bid to penetrate her defences. But it was futile: she just stared right back at me.

‘Come on,’ I wailed. ‘Give me something. At least tell me why I get hurled against the nearest hard surface whenever I get too close to someone. What’s that all about?’

Lizzie grimaced. ‘Yes. That can be unpleasant. It’s best avoided. There’s nothing you can do, I’m afraid. You simply can’t share the same space as a living person.’

‘Great. Anything else?’

She shook her head. ‘Your stay here as a spirit is supposed to be temporary. Of course if you agree to come with me – to move on – you’ll get all the answers you need. But remember, the clock’s ticking on that option.’

‘How long?’

‘That’s not yet been decided. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear. Do I sense a change of heart? You must be getting lonely on your own.’

‘I’m not on my own. I’m with Ella and my parents.’

‘They can’t see you.’

‘That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Oh?’

I shifted forward in my chair. ‘I’ve had a breakthrough.’

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’

‘I was telling Ella some of her favourite stories after she went to bed tonight. I didn’t think she could hear me, but I did it anyway. It felt right, so I carried on for ages. Then I stopped and said goodnight – and she said it back to me.’

‘She said goodnight to you? I thought she was asleep.’

‘She was. It was like she was talking in her sleep.’

‘It was probably a coincidence. Perhaps she was having a dream in which you said goodnight to her. It’s likely she’ll dream about you as her mind processes what’s happened.’

‘At exactly the same moment? Really? I don’t think so. I’m convinced she could hear me, at least subconsciously. If I can tap into that, why can’t I get through to her when she’s awake? Look at the dog: he knows I’m still here.’

‘The dog?’

‘Sam, my parents’ King Charles. He can’t stop barking at me. Lizzie, I’m not going to be fobbed off. Tell me the truth. Please. I’m begging you.’

Lizzie sat up and fixed her chocolate-brown eyes on me. Her nose gave that odd rabbit twitch again, which I guessed was a tic. There was a long pause before she said: ‘It’s complicated.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘There are certain things I’m not permitted to talk to you about. My job is to help you move on.’

‘But if Sam can see me, why can’t she?’

‘She’s not a dog.’

‘I’m glad you cleared that up. Come on, Lizzie, don’t be obstructive. You know what I’m asking.’

‘I’m stating facts. These things work differently for animals from how they do for humans.’

‘You can’t do this to me. You’re all I’ve got. Please, tell me. Don’t you have a heart? This is my six-year-old daughter we’re talking about. Ella used to make me promise that I’d never leave her – that she’d never be alone – and now, as far as she’s concerned, I have. She thinks I’ve broken my promise, abandoning her without even saying goodbye. What will that do to her as she grows up?’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. At least Ella has her grandparents to look after her. They obviously love her very much.’

‘Yes, but they’re my parents, not hers. I’m her father. Please, Lizzie. Imagine if you were Ella. Wouldn’t you want to see me again? Wouldn’t you want to know the truth? You must have had a father once.’

Lizzie stared at her hands. I was getting somewhere. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Give me something, anything. I’m right, aren’t I? It is possible that I might be able to communicate with Ella. Give me that.’

‘There’s nothing I can do.’

The lights flicked off again.

‘Lizzie?’ I said. ‘Are you there?’ But I already knew the answer. It made me want to scream with frustration.

‘Some guide you are,’ I said to the empty lounge. Then I remembered those three magical words again: ‘Night night, Daddy.’ They fuelled my passion and kept me positive. I’d given Lizzie plenty of opportunity to deny the possibility of me communicating with my daughter, but she hadn’t. I could cling to that.





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