The Life and Afterlife of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 1) (8 page)

I wanted her to become confident and independent, but most of all I wanted her to find out who she really was, and she wouldn't do that serving customers in Mrs Broom's tea rooms, where she spent her Saturdays.  It killed me to see her go, to lose an important and loving friend.  I was afraid of being replaced in her life.  Of being left behind.  But I knew I couldn't possibly force Lucy to turn her back on a bright, fulfilling future as well as a life-changing journey.  She needed her own group of friends and I kept telling myself that the experience would be good for her.

I decided to keep quiet about the feelings raging inside my head.  The storm eventually subsided, but I knew it would return when Lucy was gone. I told myself that it wouldn't be fair for me to be a burden on her and that I must allow her to grow. 

I looked at the interlocking branches above us and felt the sturdy trunk of old oaky.  This tree was strong because it had been allowed to grow, it had been given space, time and warmth.  It had not been cut down in its early years due to the selfishness of man.  It had grown tough through the passing of time and could now survive all weathers.  It stood proud through the storms and never withered during periods of drought.  Lucy had to be given the same chance that had been given to this beautiful tree.  She needed time, space and the chance to grow.

As I look back on those years I have no feeling of regret.  I have met countless men in this wondrous Heaven who are riddled with it, wish they could go back and relive their youthful years and cherish them.  To appreciate the small things, but also to refrain from sauntering through life with a conceited and egotistical attitude.  To realise that it was short and deserved to be valued.  To treasure, not just our own lives but the lives that surround us every day, the ones we choose to overlook.  Humans are an egocentric species and acts of kindness are few and far between.  Altruism is far too often dismissed in our modern world, and selfishness is common.

Of course, hindsight is sometimes a hardship.   In my experience it is so much better to believe that you lived each moment as best you could and remember the important chapters of your story.

I realised that Lucy had grown quiet. I was not the only one absorbed in my own thoughts.  She revealed to me years later that she was fighting back tears at the thought of leaving her beloved village. This was the last time she’d look at these familiar surroundings before she left for university the next morning.  The realisation that it would be months before she saw the hills again saddened her.

I snapped out of my own thoughts and concentrated on Lucy.

"Well... I'll come and visit you," I said, my chin raised and a lopsided smirk on my face. I was hoping I appeared charming. 

Lucy looked back at me, green eyes shining with hope and excitement.  “Really?  That would be fantastic.  You and Russ could maybe make it into a road trip… that's if the Mini can take it.  You'd have so much fun." She was talking fast, words bursting out of her in breathless excitement. 

I nodded, trying to ignore the nonchalant mention of Russ's name.  "You could show us the sights of Bath or we could even take a day trip to London. It's not that far from Bath.  I've never been to London... I hear it’s happenin'."

Lucy giggled and I felt a wash of relief.  "You know what?  I'll even write to you.  Let me know your address once you get there."

"You? Write?  I can hardly believe it," she joked.

"I'll have you know that I'm quite an accomplished and humorous writer," I said in mock reproach.  "But don't expect Shakespeare," I added swiftly. “If all my spelling is correct it's a good day."

We both laughed and the air felt lighter for the banter and teasing. The atmosphere had finally eased.  Even the fog seemed to have dispersed. We could just make out the road beyond the dry-stone wall that surrounded the field we were sitting in.

We occupied ourselves by watching the villagers go by, completely oblivious to the fact we were nearby and spying on them again.  Mr Raven slowly made his way down the lane with some evening snacks for the ducks clasped tightly in one hand. He never let his friends down.  Mrs Vain was making her way home, looking shifty in a black headscarf and huge dark glasses, no doubt hoping to attract attention.  We saw Mrs Broom and Mrs Pickering having a good natter about something or other.  Mrs Broom was gesturing wildly with her hands and Mrs Pickering's thin face expressed absolute shock. 

We both laughed at how much more animated they were getting with every wave of Mrs Broom’s overzealous hands.  Then we spotted someone unexpected making his way towards the pub.  It was Lucy's dad.  I looked at her, confused, Lucy's dad was a well-known family man.  He was not a frequent pub visitor, nor was he a known drinker.  Lucy's confused expression matched my own.

"Can't blame him.  They must be arguing again," she explained sadly.  "It would seem that the older my sister and I become, the less our parents are able to get along."

"I suppose that's one good thing about leaving for university... you’ll get some much-needed space."

"Exactly,” she said, looking down sadly. “Thinking about it, maybe that's why I opted for a university so far away." She looked at me thoughtfully and added, "I'm not saying I made the decision consciously, but some part of me chose a place that would be just that little bit harder for visitors to reach.”

"Can’t say I blame you,” I said sympathetically.

I had witnessed at first hand the heated arguments that raged behind the closed doors of the Elliot residence.  Lucy's mother had become eaten away by suspicion and jealousy, and developed a bitter outlook on life.  She found it hard to trust people, suspecting even those closest to her of plotting against her in some way.  Lucy and her elder sister were often accused of outrageous things and were regularly told they were ungrateful and spoilt when it was the opposite of true. 

It was obvious that Denise Elliot was having trouble adjusting to the fact that her children had grown up. While they were learning to be more independent, their mother was crumbling at the thought of losing her central place in their lives.  She was no longer needed, her job was complete, and it was killing her. 

Lucy was never praised by her mother, as that would have meant acknowledging she was doing something right and didn’t need any further guidance. 

Mrs Elliot had another unattractive trait: she was far too concerned with outward appearances.  She herself strived to keep a slim physique and a pretty, youthful face.  Having two attractive daughters was a daily reminder that she was growing more mature. In time, she became actively jealous of them.  It was not just Lucy's beguiling and innocent demeanour that made her so captivating.  It was the sharpness of her wit and air of bright intelligence that made her extraordinary. Now she was about to embark on a promising future and that had her mother inwardly raging with envy.

Lucy would often complain about her mother's neurotic behaviour and tell stories of the latest outlandish accusation or argument.  Her mum often accused her of drinking, smoking, substance abuse and engaging in lewd behaviour.  Inevitably, this had caused a family rift, and it made me feel uncomfortable around Mrs Elliot.  Surely she realised the damage she was inflicting?

Lucy had stopped confiding in her mother for fear of the backlash and further outlandish accusations.  Mrs Elliot knew nothing of Lucy's struggle with the school bullies, for instance, and it saddened me to realise my friend had a home life so lacking in support. Instead I had taken on the role.  While I was around Lucy would always have one person she could turn to in a crisis.

Now that we are apart and I can only see her, I would give anything to listen to a woe or two from Lucy.  To give her my advice or just a comforting hug.  But no matter how loudly I shout I know our worlds will never combine, that she will never hear me.

I was hoping that Lucy’s moving away to university might be good for her relationship with her mother.  That the separation might help Mrs Elliot place a little more trust in her daughter and re-evaluate her own behaviour.  

Lucy's voice cut into my thoughts. "I know it sounds awful, but sometimes I'm convinced they'd be so much happier leading separate lives.  How can two people who have shared so much together feel nothing but hatred for each other now?"

"They probably think they are doing right by you and your sister by not breaking up the family, but I can see how hard it is on you.” I looked down at my hands to evade Lucy’s angry gaze. “But they must realise that it's not a pleasant atmosphere to be in.  I honestly don't know why they put you through it." 

She sighed and looked into the distance.  I didn’t know what else to say, never having lived through a situation like that myself.  I had been raised in a loving and trusting home, and had parents who showed gratitude and respect to one another.  I felt very lucky to have had such an upbringing.  Just the fact that I was willingly living at home at the age of twenty, with no plans to move out in the near future, was testament to their parenting skills.

Lucy looked at her watch and sighed.

“I’d better go, my mother has decided to cook.”

“First time for everything,” I joked, and a slight smile appeared on her lips.

Awkwardness fell between us as the inevitable farewells loomed.  I didn't want to say goodbye to my oldest friend, I wanted to share this part of her future with her.  I didn't want a gap in our history, or worse, our history to stop altogether.  I didn't want her to forget me but I knew university was the right choice for her.  I looked at Lucy for what would be the last time in a long while and attempted to memorise her face.

I tried to think of some clever parting advice that she would remember and take comfort from.  She got up to leave and I felt panicked for something to say. So I decided on something my gramps used to tell me when I was a boy.

"Don't worry about the future, Luce.  Even if it does go wrong it'll soon become the past."

She nodded and swallowed back tears as she looked down.

"You're making the right decision,” I told her. “Everything will go right for you now, I know it will.  No regrets, OK?"

I remember she walked away before I saw her cry.  Neither of us knew how wrong I was about to be proved.

Chapter Eight

The first few weeks after my death were both bizarre and wonderful. I was delighted by the huge number of remarkable people residing in Heaven and thankful for the opportunity to meet them. 

Artists, soldiers, kings, queens, actors, philosophers, activists… all of them had experienced so much, and all had stories to tell.  I would listen to their fascinating tales for hours on end, imagining forgotten times and magical eras, which were now familiar only via history books or films.  Hearing somebody's life story in such detail and related with so much passion bore no comparison to reading a history book, though.  My own life story seemed tedious and mundane in contrast to the lives of the countless characters who surrounded me.

After a while, though, I became overwhelmed by the foreign, dream-like setting that had been forced upon me.  I yearned for familiarity and often dreamt of the peaks and hills that surrounded the village where I’d lived on Earth.  There were a few mountains dotted around Heaven. On a warm day that felt full of promise, I decided to set my sights on conquering one in particular.  My need for solitude was great and I looked forward to breathing in some fresh air while attempting to manage my thoughts.

I set off in high spirits, glad of an activity that was productive as well as familiar to me.  I took in every inch of my surroundings as I hiked, often stopping to watch birds of prey swooping and gliding above me.  Even though my body was no longer flesh and blood and I technically didn't have lungs to fill with clean, country air, the exercise made me feel alive. 

As I hiked further up the mountain I would pause frequently to take in my new world.  I could see the large palace encompassed by golden walls that glittered where the sunlight hit it.  I could see an immense forest, just north of the long street full of houses, and made a mental note to explore it at a later date.

When I reached the top of the slope I finally allowed myself to rest and gather my thoughts.  Nothing could make me feel more insignificant than envisioning myself as a tiny speck on top of a colossal mound of earth and rock, but it had a familiar feel to it at least.  I took in the breathtaking landscape of my new home.  A home without the people who loved me and from whom I drew comfort, though I was becoming increasingly resigned to the fact that this was to be my life now. 

Studying the magical vista before me, I wondered how I had ever become disheartened by the thought of dwelling here.  It really was perfect.  Or at least it would have been, had it contained the one person I deemed perfect too. I cherished my memories of her now more than ever and was thankful that we had met during our youth.  We’d had more time together than most people manage, and for that I was thankful.  Memories of my past life kept me sane in a world that was still confusing to me.  It was a confusion that would never completely go away.

I was drawn from my thoughts by the sound of light footsteps hitting dry earth and realised that somebody was approaching me from the slope below.  My mood of reflection was shattered and I sighed inwardly. 

Still seated, I turned around to see a familiar face staring back at me.  A face I had not seen in quite some time.  The eyes and hair were unmistakable. 

She smiled shyly at me.  That smile had been imprinted on my mind for a fair few years.  I squinted to take a better look.

The same curly dark hair... the same green eyes.

"Lucy?" I queried. 

She stared back at me with bewilderment on her face, then the expression changed to one of pity.

"No, Charlie, it’s Gilly.  You remember, Lucy's cousin?" I stared back at her bleakly. 

"Do you remember?" she asked again.

"Yeah... Yes, of course. Sorry. The last time I saw you, you were a child.  And now you look so much…"

"So much like Lucy?" she finished for me, sitting down next to me.

"Yes, it's uncanny actually.  Even your voice is similar."

She laughed heartily and my non-existent heart raced. The high tinkling sound was an exact replica of Lucy's laugh.

"I'm fully aware of that,” Gilly said good-naturedly. “I've enjoyed watching her... and you... over the years."

"Hmmm, I should probably apologise for my utterly appalling shower-singing then." I grinned.  "It honestly sounded better in my head."

"Oh, don't worry, I never imposed too much. I only looked in on the important events.  Birthdays, house moves, first jobs, engagements.  I'm so glad I got the opportunity to see those things..." Her voice trailed off then. My expression must have revealed my sadness because she gazed at me with pure empathy.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Charlie.  Great things were ahead of you, of that I am certain."

I shrugged nonchalantly. After all, what good would it do to think about what might have been?  I wasn't the type to live with regrets. 

"Well, I was stupid and careless and I can't turn back time.  I guess there’s no point dwelling on something that can't be changed."

"So true."

I looked at Gilly again and her resemblance to Lucy was uncanny. She was the same height, same build, had the same curly hair and freckles on her nose; even her mannerisms were similar.  She noted the interest I was showing and I looked at my feet uncomfortably.

"I know it must be a bit surreal for you, given my appearance and resemblance to Lucy, but I followed you up this mountain with the intention of offering you my unwavering friendship.  Lucy means so much to me and therefore so do you.  The beginning of your life here will always be the hardest part. I hope I can make it easier for you.” 

Gilly’s kind-hearted offer reminded me of the woman I’d planned to marry and a wave of emotion overcame me.  I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a deep sigh.  I hugged my legs to my chest and rested my chin on them, my eyes closed as I made an effort to control my emotions.

"I miss her," I finally whispered.

"I know," said Gilly, a melancholy note in her voice.  "But at least you can take comfort from the fact that she misses you too.  Your life impacted on hers in such a loving way.  You made it richer and overflowing with adventure and friendship. These are the facts you need to focus on now... trust me.  It's the only way it'll get easier."

I studied the patchwork landscape that made up the striking view in front of me.  I realised now that the process I was going through was grief; that this was an emotion not just reserved for the living but also felt strongly by the dead.  Maybe even more strongly.  It almost seemed to me that the dead were worse off than the living when it came to feeling sorrow.  They lived on in the afterlife surrounded by divine beauty and perfection, but in no way able to appreciate things the way they deserved to be appreciated.  Quite possibly due to the fact that the dead had to accustom themselves to the laborious task of watching their loved ones move on. 

To watch memories that once raged like a fire in the minds of loved ones eventually transformed into a feeble flame that would ultimately burn out…  I began to wonder just how long it would be before Lucy forgot the details of our life together.  How long it would be before she found a replacement for me.  My time on Earth had involved making plans for the future, following a path and having a purpose.  Living came with a promise of fulfilment that had been snatched away through my own carelessness, leaving a massive void in its wake.

"What do I do now?" I asked Gilly as I twirled two blades of grass together. 

She looked at me, green eyes glowing with sympathy.  I watched as she stared deep into my eyes and her own increased in size, in an effort to persuade me into believing what she was about to say next.

"You wait for her."