sickening dream.
Mummy, where’s Daddy?
I sat in the front pew of the church with my arms around my son, and realised I had begun to tremble. The vicar was delivering the eulogy. He was talking about my husband in the past tense. He made it sound very neat. It occurred to me that he had never had to deal with Andrew in the present tense, or proofread his columns, or feel him running down inside like a piece of broken clockwork.
Charlie squirmed in my arms and asked his question again, the same one he’d asked ten times a day since Andrew died. Mummy, where’s mine daddy exactly now? I leaned down to his ear and whispered, He’s in a really nice bit of heaven this morning, Charlie. There’s a lovely long room where they all go after breakfast, with lots of interesting books and things to do .
&mdash ;Oh. Is there painting-and-drawing?
—Yes, there’s painting-and-drawing.
—Is mine Daddy doing drawing?
—No, Charlie, Daddy is opening the window and looking at the sky.
I shivered, and wondered how long I would have to go on narrating my husband’s afterlife.
More words, then hymns. Hands took my elbows and led me outside. I observed myself standing in a graveyard beside a deep hole in the ground. Six suited undertakers were lowering a coffin on thick green silky ropes with tasselled ends. I recognised it as the coffin that had been standing on trestles at the front of the church. The coffin came to rest. The undertakers retrieved the ropes, each with a deft flick of his wrist. I remember thinking, I bet they do this all the time, as if it was some brilliant insight. Someone thrust a lump of clay into my hand. I realised I was being invited -urged, even—to throw it into the hole. I stepped up to the edge. Neat, clean greengrocer’s grass had been laid around the border of the grave. I looked down and saw the coffin glowing palely in the depths. Batman held tight to my leg and peered down into the gloom with me.
“Mummy, why did the Bruce Wayne men putted that box down in the hole?”
“Let’s not think about that now, darling.”
I’d spent so many hours explaining heaven to Charlie that week—every room and book shelf and sandpit of it—that I’d never really dealt with the issue of Andrew’s physical body at all. I thought it would be too much to ask of my son, at four, to understand the separation between body and soul. Looking back on it now I think I underestimated a boy who could live simultaneously in Kingston-upon-Thames and Gotham City. I think if I’d managed to sit him down and explain it to him gently, he would have been perfectly happy with the duality.
I knelt and put my arm around my son’s shoulders. I did it to be tender, but my head was swimming and I realised that perhaps it was only Charlie who was stopping me from falling down the hole. I held on tighter. Charlie put his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Where’s mine daddy right now?”
I whispered back, “Your daddy is in the heaven hills, Charlie. Very popular at this time of year. I think he’s very happy there.”
“Mmm. Is mine daddy coming back soon?”
“No, Charlie. People don’t come back from heaven. We talked about that.”
Charlie pursed his lips. “Mummy,” he said again, “why did they put that box down there?”
“I suppose they want to keep it safe.”
“Oh. Is they going to come and get it later?”
“No, Charlie, I don’t think so.”
Charlie blinked. Under his bat mask he screwed up his face with the effort of trying to understand.
“Where is heaven, Mummy?”
“Please, Charlie. Not now.”
“What’s in that box?”
“Let’s talk about this later, darling, all right? Mummy is feeling rather dizzy.”
Charlie stared at me. “Is mine daddy in that box?”
“Your daddy is in heaven, Charlie.”
“ IS THAT BOX HEAVEN? ” said Charlie, loudly.
Everyone was watching us. I couldn’t speak. My son stared into the hole. Then he looked up at me in absolute alarm.
“Mummy!
Mummy, where’s Daddy?
I sat in the front pew of the church with my arms around my son, and realised I had begun to tremble. The vicar was delivering the eulogy. He was talking about my husband in the past tense. He made it sound very neat. It occurred to me that he had never had to deal with Andrew in the present tense, or proofread his columns, or feel him running down inside like a piece of broken clockwork.
Charlie squirmed in my arms and asked his question again, the same one he’d asked ten times a day since Andrew died. Mummy, where’s mine daddy exactly now? I leaned down to his ear and whispered, He’s in a really nice bit of heaven this morning, Charlie. There’s a lovely long room where they all go after breakfast, with lots of interesting books and things to do .
&mdash ;Oh. Is there painting-and-drawing?
—Yes, there’s painting-and-drawing.
—Is mine Daddy doing drawing?
—No, Charlie, Daddy is opening the window and looking at the sky.
I shivered, and wondered how long I would have to go on narrating my husband’s afterlife.
More words, then hymns. Hands took my elbows and led me outside. I observed myself standing in a graveyard beside a deep hole in the ground. Six suited undertakers were lowering a coffin on thick green silky ropes with tasselled ends. I recognised it as the coffin that had been standing on trestles at the front of the church. The coffin came to rest. The undertakers retrieved the ropes, each with a deft flick of his wrist. I remember thinking, I bet they do this all the time, as if it was some brilliant insight. Someone thrust a lump of clay into my hand. I realised I was being invited -urged, even—to throw it into the hole. I stepped up to the edge. Neat, clean greengrocer’s grass had been laid around the border of the grave. I looked down and saw the coffin glowing palely in the depths. Batman held tight to my leg and peered down into the gloom with me.
“Mummy, why did the Bruce Wayne men putted that box down in the hole?”
“Let’s not think about that now, darling.”
I’d spent so many hours explaining heaven to Charlie that week—every room and book shelf and sandpit of it—that I’d never really dealt with the issue of Andrew’s physical body at all. I thought it would be too much to ask of my son, at four, to understand the separation between body and soul. Looking back on it now I think I underestimated a boy who could live simultaneously in Kingston-upon-Thames and Gotham City. I think if I’d managed to sit him down and explain it to him gently, he would have been perfectly happy with the duality.
I knelt and put my arm around my son’s shoulders. I did it to be tender, but my head was swimming and I realised that perhaps it was only Charlie who was stopping me from falling down the hole. I held on tighter. Charlie put his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Where’s mine daddy right now?”
I whispered back, “Your daddy is in the heaven hills, Charlie. Very popular at this time of year. I think he’s very happy there.”
“Mmm. Is mine daddy coming back soon?”
“No, Charlie. People don’t come back from heaven. We talked about that.”
Charlie pursed his lips. “Mummy,” he said again, “why did they put that box down there?”
“I suppose they want to keep it safe.”
“Oh. Is they going to come and get it later?”
“No, Charlie, I don’t think so.”
Charlie blinked. Under his bat mask he screwed up his face with the effort of trying to understand.
“Where is heaven, Mummy?”
“Please, Charlie. Not now.”
“What’s in that box?”
“Let’s talk about this later, darling, all right? Mummy is feeling rather dizzy.”
Charlie stared at me. “Is mine daddy in that box?”
“Your daddy is in heaven, Charlie.”
“ IS THAT BOX HEAVEN? ” said Charlie, loudly.
Everyone was watching us. I couldn’t speak. My son stared into the hole. Then he looked up at me in absolute alarm.
“Mummy!
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