Make A Christmas Wish: A heartwarming, witty and magical festive treat. Julia Williams

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       Chapter Two

       Livvy

      I plough headlong through the present-laden shoppers, vaguely aware that I am causing reactions as people stop and look puzzled as I push past them. And I am very much in distress. One old lady drops her bag of apples, and a small child says, ‘Who is that lady, Mummy?’ but I race on heedless, oblivious to anything but the pain I feel at losing my son, until I reach a bench down by the river, and collapse on to it, sobbing.

      ‘What do you think you are playing at?’ Malachi emerges from behind a bin. ‘You’re being far too noticeable.’

      ‘I thought it was only people who were susceptible who could see me?’ I say.

      ‘Usually that’s true,’ says Malachi, flicking his nose up in disgust. ‘But you were making quite a scene, which is hard for most people to ignore. And that child definitely saw you – it’s because she’s young and still has an open mind. You should be more careful.’

      I stare moodily at the flowing river. If I wasn’t dead already, I might be tempted to throw myself in.

      ‘So?’ I say. ‘I’m upset. Wouldn’t you be?’

      Malachi doesn’t get it. Here I am, dead, watching my husband and son blithely getting on with their lives without me. I don’t mind about Joe, I’m glad he’s happy, but I miss him dreadfully, and it hurts that I can’t seem to get near him. And it hurts even more to think that Adam doesn’t need me. Isn’t that enough to justify a tantrum?

      ‘Well stop feeling so sorry for yourself, and start thinking,’ says Malachi. ‘You need to put things right, not make them worse. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And having a hissy fit and disturbing everyone in the vicinity is not helping.’

      ‘How am I possibly making anything worse?’ I say. ‘I’m dead. How much worse does it get?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Malachi. ‘Your old life wasn’t all that wonderful.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘My life was great. We were a family. We were happy. I’ve only been dead a year and my husband’s got a girlfriend and my son’s talking about a new mum, and buying a present to put on my grave. Wouldn’t you be upset?’

      ‘Hmm,’ says Malachi, ‘I think it’s time you stopped feeling quite so sorry for yourself and started looking at your life properly. Was it really that brilliant?’

      Stop feeling sorry for myself? The cheek.

      ‘Whose side are you on?’ I snarl at him. ‘I thought you were supposed to be helping me.’

      ‘I am,’ says Malachi, ‘you just need to pay attention. Now think about it, really think.’

      So reluctantly I start remembering things, and I have to acknowledge that sometimes it was less than perfect. In the weeks leading up to my death, Adam and I had been rowing a lot – I think he was upset with me about something, but I’m not sure why. And Joe – I have a sudden flashback to Joe being quiet and retreating in on himself, as if I’d made him sad. I have a nagging feeling I might have done something wrong, but I can’t remember what. Perhaps Malachi is right and my old life wasn’t that perfect. Still, it was better than being dead.

      ‘You can sort things out,’ says Malachi encouragingly. ‘You just need to remember how. You have to find a way of reaching out to them, so you can say sorry. Only then will you be able to move on.’

      ‘But none of them can see me,’ I say. ‘Even Joe can only hear me sometimes.’

      ‘Which is a good start.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ I say.

      Since I’ve been back, I’ve been counting on being able to get through to Joe. He at least can hear me; that had to be grounds for hope.

      ‘There are other ways of getting heard,’ says Malachi. ‘You aren’t required to throw things and freak people out by switching lights on and off you know. Go back to the house. Watch them, and learn.’

      ‘OK,’ I say reluctantly. Honestly, it’s come to something when the only person I can talk to is a mangy old black cat.

      ‘Oi, I heard that,’ says Malachi.

      Great, a mangy old mindreading black cat is my sole companion. Maybe he’s right though. Maybe I need to make Adam listen to my side of the story, so we can be a family again.

       Adam

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