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

‘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

ONE DAY DEAD

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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