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

It was clear that whatever they had begun just wasn’t going to go away, and so they started things up again. Slowly at first, and gradually. They had a few dates while Joe was at his grandma’s. One Saturday they managed a whole wonderful day in town, visiting the Millennium Wheel, and ending up with a show and a meal, and a night in a hotel. It was like starting all over again, like a proper couple. Emily began to feel that they were on surer ground, that this might settle into something permanent after all, just like she’d always hoped. After a few months, Adam began to invite Emily round to the house for short periods, letting Joe get used to her being there. They’d tried not to rush things for the sake of Joe, who though he barely mentioned Livvy clearly still missed his mum, but he seemed to tolerate Emily, so much so that Adam had recently dared to start asking Emily to stay over occasionally.

If anyone had asked Emily she wouldn’t have chosen it this way. Adam still had a lot to deal with, and she worried about the responsibility of Joe, and how she would cope if she ever became his stepmother properly. Joe was lovely, and she was very fond of him, but frequently felt out of her depth. If she were to be with Adam permanently she’d have to take that on. It was a big ask, but Adam made her happy. And she made him happy. That had to be worth something, didn’t it? If only things didn’t have to be quite so complicated …

And then, today, Joe had dropped his casual bombshell. He had looked at her so calmly and said, ‘Will you be my new mother?’ and Emily had felt floored. His old one had found it so difficult it crucified her marriage. She wanted Adam for always, but Joe? How could she possibly be up to the task?

Livvy

I am really confused about why I’m still here. Malachi seems to think that by showing me what went wrong with me and Adam, I’ll be able to pass over sooner; at least I think that’s what he intends. He’s a cat of very few words. But can that really be it? I know we had our problems, but I’m sure we could have sorted them out. Is Malachi trying to make me let go? Well, I can’t do that. If I’m not here, how will Joe manage? Adam does his best, he always has, but Joe needs me. I want to be there, to see him through college, to know that he’s going to be all right. It doesn’t seem fair that I cannot.

And I want to make Adam see me; to hear me; to feel my pain. I loved him – still love him – and he seems to have forgotten about me, instead intent on playing happy families with this new woman. Yet I know from his reaction after I died, and the pain that I could feel emanating from him at my funeral, that deep down, Adam hasn’t forgotten me. Emily is clearly just a blip, someone to help him through the bad times.

Adam and I, what we had was special. I knew it from the first moment we got together properly, after a night in a club in Manchester. I’d clocked him before; a gorgeous fair-haired boy, always on the fringes of our group, who seemed too shy to talk. So I made the first move that night. We got chatting and never stopped. He walked me back to my halls of residence, and as it was a beautiful summer’s evening we ended up talking all night on the little patch of green outside my room. We lay flat on our backs looking at the stars, picking out star constellations for one another. His was Perseus and mine was Cassiopeia. It’s something we introduced to Joe when he was little. It was a wondrous evening, and I knew that I was destined to be with this man for the rest of my life. We were meant to be together: two halves of the same whole.

True, things didn’t turn out the way we planned. Life ended up tougher than either of us could ever have imagined on that halcyon perfect evening. But we loved each other, and we were together for twenty years; how can this Emily compete with that? And yet looking in on them, it’s as if I’ve never been. The thing I can’t bear is that now Joe seems to want a new mum. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. Somehow I have to get back so they both know that what they need and want is me. Malachi is wrong. I’m not ready to pass over yet because my life is unfinished. I have to make sure my boys are all right.

I’m determined to get them to notice me. Adam can’t be moving on with someone else already, he can’t.

At least I’m free of that damned car park. It’s immensely liberating to be able to go places now, although according to Malachi there are rules about everything. I can pass through doors and windows; I have learned about switches and banging doors shut, but I’m still having trouble levitating stuff. It’s pretty damned exhausting if I’m honest. Making people notice you when you’re dead turns out to be very hard, but Malachi says that’s because most people aren’t susceptible to listening to spirits, so they tend to ignore them. All I know is I wish right now that Adam wasn’t the sceptical type.

The day after my ineffectual attempts to haunt the house, I follow Joe to the shops. I’m glad to see Adam’s letting him have some independence, now he’s 17. It was something we argued about a lot. Adam was worried about how Joe was going to cope when he grew older. I was too, but I saw it as my job to make sure Joe could lead an independent life. He’s awkward round people, sure, but he’s clever, and the college I got him into has expertise in dealing with kids with his problems. Because Joe struggles with exams, he’s doing BTechs in Astronomy, Physics and Maths. My dearest wish was that he could get into college and do a degree. I know he dreams of being the next Brian Cox. ‘Who knows, Joe,’ I used to say to him. ‘Reach for the stars. Everything’s possible if you believe it to be.’

I follow Joe to a cheerful cosy little café on the high street, my heart sick with longing. I wish he could see or hear me. It kills me that he can’t. I love this café; the people here know him, and automatically produce a cup of hot chocolate the way he likes it, with cream and marshmallows on top. We used to go there together, and I’m pleased the staff still look after him. Joe always gets agitated if things don’t follow a certain order, and though he’s better at managing the anxiety he feels now he’s older, he still finds it difficult.

He sits down by the window, and I sit opposite him, not sure if he’s aware of me, but feeling happy to be near him. He looks well, and, for Joe, reasonably content, though it’s always hard to tell.

I can’t help myself. I lean over and touch his hand – Joe still doesn’t like a lot of physical contact, but as he’s got older he’s got better about the odd touch here and there, which is something I’ve always been grateful for – but he moves it away and rubs it as if something is itching him, and he stares right through me.

‘Joe,’ I want to say, ‘can you hear me?’ but can’t bring myself to. The disappointment of him not answering would be too crushing.

Joe’s looking a bit agitated now, constantly scanning the crowds of Christmas shoppers marching past outside and looking at his watch. It’s a cold wintry day, and the café is packed, the windows steamed up.

‘Eleven thirty-two and ten seconds, oh dear,’ he’s muttering. ‘Eleven thirty-three point 0 five.’

He looks at his watch again – it’s a chunky ugly thing I bought him a couple of Christmases back, but he likes it because it has second hands on it. Time is vital to Joe. He hates people being late. I can feel his distress as the time slips to 11.35 and fifteen seconds. He’s clearly waiting for someone and they are late.

I can feel his panic rising, and without thinking about it I slip into the seat next to him and say, ‘It’s all right Joe. Deep breaths.’ I whisper, as I would if I were still alive and he could hear me. Though the episodes are rarer these days, when Joe’s distressed he can get a bit agitated and restless if things don’t work out the way he wants. Sometimes he just paces about muttering to himself, but occasionally he throws things. I don’t want him to do that here with no one to fight his corner. I can remember too many times when he has in the past. ‘Remember, Joe,’ I say, ‘not everyone is as clever with time as you are. Be patient.’

‘Patient,’ Joe repeats.

What? Can he hear me? I feel a deep surge of joy.

‘Joe, it’s Mum,’ I say. ‘Can you hear me?’

But there’s no reply as he’s distracted by someone flying through the door, saying, ‘Joe, I’m so sorry I got held up.’

I withdraw in disappointment. I was so sure I’d made a connection.

‘You’re five minutes and thirteen seconds late,’ he says accusingly, and a pretty girl of around 17 with long fair hair slides into a seat opposite us. She’s dressed warmly in a thick hoody, scarf, gloves, leggings and boots.

Wait a minute.

A girl?

When did Joe start meeting girls? What else have I missed in the last year? I’m cursing my stupidity for not having listened to Malachi at the beginning, and escaped the car park. I shouldn’t have let all that time go by.

‘I should have synchronized my watch,’ says the girl, taking off her gloves and smiling. She has a nice reassuring smile, and it seems to be enough to diffuse his tension.

‘You should have,’ he agrees. He leans over awkwardly and pecks her on the cheek.

The girl smiles, and says, ‘What’s the plan?’

‘I have to buy presents,’ says Joe with the lopsided grin I have always adored. It makes me feel happy just seeing it. ‘Look. I have a list.’ He proudly presents a scrap of paper with an intense and detailed-looking list on it: Dad, Emily, Caroline, Granny.

‘I don’t need to see my present, remember?’ says the girl – Caroline? – ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Yes, a surprise,’ says Joe and smiles again. ‘Only the best for my best friend.’

The girl blushes.

‘Oh Joe, thank you,’ she says, and takes his hand tentatively. I think he’s going to flinch, but he doesn’t.

‘Yes,’ says Joe happily. ‘I like having a best friend.’

My son has a best friend who’s a girl? Where on earth did they meet?

They sit and drink coffee, and talk about Christmas. I watch them together and want to hug her. She seems lovely and I am so pleased Joe has met a friend who treats him normally. And then Joe says, ‘I need to buy a present for my mum.’

‘Joe,’ Caroline says, ‘remember …’

‘I know, Mum’s dead,’ says Joe conversationally. ‘But I can put it on her grave. It’s Christmas. My mum has to have a present at Christmas.’

And then, unable to contain myself, I let out a howl of pain. I can’t stand to be here. In my distress I knock Joe’s drink over.

‘Oh no!’ says Joe, agitated by the mess, but Caroline quickly calms him down, and wipes everything up.

‘What was that?’ Caroline says.

‘My mum,’ says Joe serenely. ‘She needs a present for Christmas.’

I hurl myself through the glass, and out on to the street. I am trapped in a nightmare where my son senses but can’t see me. How am I ever going to sort this out?

Chapter Two (#ulink_b8d8355e-e503-5a81-9f53-d711cb673db6)

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.’