Page 16 of Life After Me

David

It’s quite incredible how strange a thing it’s possible to accept as normal when there’s no other choice, or when the alternative is too big and scary to contemplate.

Six weeks ago I would never have imagined that I’d be regularly talking to a ghost. I never even used to believe it was real.

I used to think it was just something bored teenagers and slightly crazy middle-aged hippies did.

I definitely am not a teenager, or a hippy.

Still, it doesn’t matter. Because it is real. Spirits, ghosts, ghouls, souls, whatever people choose to call them, do exist. I have the proof of that. I have Jenn.

Jenn’s with me all of the time, and I probably talk to her more than when she was alive, because then we didn’t always need words.

We could finish each other’s thoughts without even needing to speak, but now she’s gone, I have to do the talking for both of us.

So I chatter on, telling her about everything and nothing, just to keep talking and keep her with me a bit longer.

It’s been a lot easier to talk to her since Lottie went back to her flatshare.

She wanted to stay longer, but I convinced her to go home.

She pays enough for that tiny Farringdon flat — even sharing the bills, it still costs her a fortune.

And she should be able to have the freedom of living there.

And, although I know she means well, sometimes I just really want to be alone with my wonderful Jenn. Which is what I have now.

Although Lottie does keep “dropping by”, often with the flimsiest of excuses.

Not that she really needs to make any: just like we told Matty when he moved away, this house will be their home for as long as they need or want it to be — even if we did move a desk and sofa bed into his old room he knows he’s always welcome.

Recently though Lottie has started to give me some strange looks, and as much as I tried not to worry her, I know she’s heard me talking to Jenn. Possibly that’s why she’s kept coming up with excuses to need to visit.

Occasionally, I don’t feel Jenn around me and then I wonder what she’s doing and where she is.

But even if Jenn wanted to give me the answers, she’s not able to.

Now she communicates in feelings that rush over me, tiny changes in the air, feather-light touches and moving objects around.

She leaves gifts of tiny white feathers as reminders that she’s still in our lives.

And her scent. It wasn’t something I really noticed before, but now it’s the thing I notice the most. I could happily spend the rest of my life just sitting in her presence and breathing in her scent.

Jenn knows that, and I don’t think she’s too happy about it.

She keeps leaving me little hints and trying to entice me out of the house.

Sometimes it’s the smell of freshly baked bread, or the maddening smell of pastry, eggs and nutmeg.

It insinuates itself into my mind, and I find it difficult to think about anything other than biting into cool, creamy custard wrapped in buttery pastry.

And then I realise that, as usual, Jenn’s right.

It is about time I ate something other than cheese and ham sandwiches.

Food has lost a lot of appeal lately, so I’m not always bothering to eat.

Partly it’s that Jenn did a lot of the cooking for both of us, and partly it’s that I find it so much effort when it’s just for me.

All the planning, shopping, and then cooking and cleaning up.

It just doesn’t seem worth it, so I sometimes don’t bother.

But the thought of a custard tart right now? Delicious.

* * *

Supermarkets have to be just about the most depressing place in the world.

I’d never noticed how hard it is to be a single person in a supermarket.

Almost everything comes in packs of two, or three or four.

Who needs a dozen pork chops? Surely I should be able to buy some sausages without ending up with so many that I’m eating them for four days straight.

If something is ￡1.50, but two for ￡2, I think I’d rather just have the single item for ￡1.

I don’t have the need to buy things for two anymore.

I soon found myself standing by the fridges in front of the fresh cakes. All I wanted was a single custard tart, but that wasn’t an option. I could have a pack of four, or even six, but not just one.

When did the world become so anti-single? I felt like a leper or some sort of criminal. Like I’d done something wrong and was being punished for it. I stared at the cakes helplessly and wondered how on earth my life had brought me to this point.

A polite cough sounded at my ear and a hand rested on my arm. ‘Sir?’ The girl was dressed in the brightly coloured uniform of the shop, and her face was a mess of concern and acne. She looked about twelve. When did shop assistants get so young?

‘Sir? Are you all right?’

‘What?’ I stared at her in confusion.

‘Only you’ve been standing here staring at the cakes for nearly twenty minutes,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘Can I help at all?’

Twenty minutes? How could I have been stood there for twenty minutes?

I swallowed hard and forced a smile onto my face.

‘I’m fine thank you. Just a million miles away.

’ My laugh sounded forced and the girl nodded nervously.

I grabbed the packet of tarts and chucked them into my basket to reassure her, then forced my feet to move.

Where was Jenn when I needed her? The whole blasted outing was her idea.

I kept my head down, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze as I made my way to the checkouts.

It felt as if everyone was staring at me with pity in their eyes, and at the same time, they shied away, not wanting to be caught in my lonely hopelessness.

I’d never realised it before but the whole world seems to be designed for couples and families.

There’s no room in it for a sad, lonely, single, old widower like me.

Because that’s how I feel: old, and very, very alone.

* * *

Jenn

I really don’t know what it is with the white feathers.

They just keep turning up around me. I don’t know where they come from or why they appear, but they feel nice so I left a few around for David.

He seems to like them, and they reassure him that I’m not just a figment of his imagination.

They give him proof and offer him something physical to hold on to.

I suppose that probably is the point of them.

It’s strange being part of this world still, but at the same time being part of another one.

I feel as though I’m walking along the top of the fence separating the dead and living worlds, and I can see into both.

I never realised how many things I didn’t see clearly when I was alive.

It’s like I’ve drawn aside a net curtain, and everything’s much brighter and clearer.

I can see and understand things I’d never even considered before.

I can see the flow of energy across a world that’s alive with colour and feeling, and it all has meaning.

Most of it’s beautiful, but when I look at David I see clouds of darkness surrounding him.

It’s all his grief, anger and hurt, and it’s pressing down and choking him, cutting away all his hope and joy.

It’s easy to see why he’s struggling. And, although I try to keep them at bay, his nightmares have started sneaking back in.

At first it was only the odd one that I could easily soothe away, but recently there have been ones so bad, and so vivid, that he wakes up in a panic, having relived the accident again in all its technicolour misery.

Oh, my darling David, I wish I could make you hear me properly.

You’ve been doing so well lately. Please don’t let a silly incident in a supermarket set you back.

You’re so much better and stronger than that.

I know you think your life is over, but I promise you it isn’t.

You have so many wonderful things still left to experience. I just need to help you see that.

Maybe we should concentrate on something else for a while.

You’ve seemed happier lately, but I can’t help worrying that it’s a fragile happiness.

I worry you’re focusing too much on me, and doing things for me instead of yourself.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you and feeling your emotions wash through me — even when they’re not positive — but you need to remember the other things that make you happy.

I need you to find your inspiration and passion for life again, and I’m going to help.

* * *

David

Over the last few days my fingers have been tingling, an irritating itch under the skin that I just can’t get rid of. I’ve been trying to ignore it which, perversely, seems to make it worse.

But on the other equally itchy hand, Jenn’s presence has been getting stronger. I can feel her all around me from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep again.

She’s so vivid and real that the rest of the world fades away around her.

I spend my days wandering around in a reality that glows and shimmers with her presence.

Even the rain clouds seem beautiful as they take on new hues of purple and blue that I’ve just never seen before.

I’m so grateful to Jenn for showing me all this, and I’m even more glad that she’s back with me.