Alone Again, Chapter 3, The List

3. Alone Again

I don’t have much time to dwell on the name. As I leave the form room I scan about for Rose, but I can’t see her. I need to find out if she has a Lily in her family, without rousing her suspicions. I don’t want to make her afraid of me. That unassuming, normal, lovely expression on her face; I need to see it again. I need to see her again.

But now I have work to do. The name at the top has turned red as the ink burns through the white parchment. I get the usual searing sensation in my gut, the sensation I always get before it’s time for someone to go. Time for me to take them to the boss.

I tend to keep away from the names on the List. I’ve only been curious once before. I don’t know why, but only one name in twenty years had spiked my curiosity. Somehow, I just felt a connection to her.

She was called Eva Dalton. A mute, she refused to talk to anyone, holed up in a nurse’s home at ninety seven years old. But she talked to me through her eyes. She was the only person who hadn’t looked at me with fear and unease. Until today.

I’d visited Eva every day for three months. When her name turned red, I felt sick, selfishly sick. I knew she was ready to go on, but I would miss her terribly. I liked her company.

When I came to take her, she still didn’t talk to me. She was peaceful as she crossed over. We walked side by side, holding hands. She was happy.

The name burning today is a stranger. Tom Prince. I touch the red ink and the usual sensation surges through my pores and through my cells. I know where to go. I close my eyes and focus on the name. Tom Prince. Various rushes of air circle around me as I move inperceptibly through time and space.

When I open my eyes, I’m looking at the scene of an accident. A silver car lies beaten and overturned in the road. A few metres away a middle-aged man is spread-eagled on his back with his legs jutting out at unnatural angles. There’s blood running from his ear and screams rent the street. Oncoming traffic stops dead as the smell of death lingers in the air.

‘Is that really me?’ a small voice whispers.

I look to the man on my left. He’s staring white faced at the man lying in his own blood. Normally I wouldn’t reply. There’s no point in questioning death, no conversation to be had. But my meeting with Rose has put me in more of a talking mood.

‘Yes.’ I reply honestly.

Tom stifles a moan. He can’t look at me.

‘So I’m... dead?’

‘Yes.’ I say again.

There’s no point in sugar-coating it. Death is non-negotiable. You can’t change it.

‘But... my family. What will they do?’

I hate questions like these, because I really don’t know. There’s no answer to satisfy them.
I hesitate.

I can only say what I know from experience.

‘They’ll be sad. But they’ll get on.’
It’s true. People do get on without you.

‘I wasn’t ready to die,’ he whispers, ‘isn’t there any way?’

I sigh. What to say? Yes, you can come back and exist in the world of the living, but you must do it away from those you love. Alone. And you must do Death’s bidding.

‘There is,’ I say truthfully, ‘but it’s better to go... on. Trust me. Life isn’t that good.’

He looks up at me now and I am greeted by dark eyes with light wrinkles at the corner. He has a warm face. I find myself feeling infinitely sorry for him.

‘Really? Are you sure?’

His eyes are hopeful. He’s past afraid now. He can look into the ice blue of my irises, the ice that the living so fear. But he’s seeking reassurance, something I’m powerless to give.

‘No one can be sure. It’s just a hunch.’
His eyes drop a little. I give him a moment, but the pain in my gut is increasing. Death is impatient.

‘Come on. Time to go.’

He sucks in his breath and he seems to make a decision. I hope it’s the right one.

‘Alright. I’m ready. Take me... on.’

He holds his head high as I take his hand. His face is clean and unblemished, his suit pristine. At length, he leaves his broken body behind him.

We walk down a side street. Slowly, I take him to the border, to the in-between. The hazy lights emerge gradually and it’s time. With a deep breath, he crosses the line. As the multitude of lights surround him, he turns and smiles to me. The lights shine brighter. I keep my face impassive.

Then he’s gone. The white lights vanish. The side street looks as it did before.

I am alone again.

When I return to the road, they’ve moved the body and I can hear sirens in the distance. I don’t allow myself to feel pity. It would make the job too hard.

I look back to the List and Tom Prince has disappeared. Now Lesley Davies sits at the top. I scan further down to see that Lily White has shifted up a place.

Closing my eyes, I think of school. I emerge in a stall in the bathroom. That’s one good thing about being dead. I’m not bound to the usual rules of time and space. I can move quickly, I think of a place and I’m there. Too quick for human eyes to register.

A few minutes late to my next lesson, I shuffle in and make my way to the back. Miss Lane doesn’t ask for my excuses. For a Philosophy teacher she is considerably uncomfortable around death.

The only teacher who ever talks to me is my English teacher, Mr. Falcon. But I don’t talk back. I feel like he looks at me knowingly, like he knows my secret. It’s unsettling.

As I read about Kant and the ‘summum bonum’, I feel annoyed. How could he be so sure there’s a better life after this? How could he know? No one can be certain except those who cross over.

When I died, I chickened out. A coward, I didn’t want to cross over. I wanted more from this life and I felt cheated. Yet the more time I spend here, the more afraid I get, the more I can’t face seeing what’s beyond.

Sometimes, I wake up and think: maybe today I’ll accept my death. But then I eat my cereal and have a cup of tea. My routine kicks in and suddenly I’m afraid again.

The bell signals the end of the lesson. Making my way to English, Mr. Falcon shoots me his typical knowing look over square-rimmed glasses. I give him a quick nod before rushing to my seat at the back. Alone. An empty seat beside me. The same as all my lessons.

I feel her before I see her. Rose White dances up to my table, all smiles and sparkling green eyes. My breath catches in my throat and my mouth is dry. I don’t try to smile like before. I don’t want to scare her.

‘Well, lucky me,’ she sings, ‘I get at least two classes sat next to you.’

She smiles at me and I feel warm all over. I can’t take my eyes from her. I’m captivated by the green.

‘I think it’s me who is lucky.’

My voice is still husky and slightly monotone. I’m just not used to using it. My glands feel sore from the exercise.

‘So, Rose, that’s a beautiful name.’

She blushes. Oh. I’ve embarrassed her. I need a filter for what’s coming out. She giggles, nervously I think.

‘Thank you. My mum chose it. She likes using flowers for names.’

Ah. So is her mum Lily White? I try to think of a way to ask her without being too obvious. I notice she’s twirling a piece of hair round her index finger. It’s distracting.

‘Is your mum named after a flower then?’

‘No. She just likes the idea of it.’

‘So, what’s your mum called?’

Rose looks at me with a quizzical smile. I think I might be blushing this time.

‘You’re very inquisitive, aren’t you?’

‘Sorry, I’m just interested in you. Well, learning about you. Everything about you. In a good way.’

I scowl at my verbal inadequacies. That was far too much information. I wait for the look of fear, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she laughs. That wonderful laugh.

‘You are funny, you know. I’m surprised you say people don’t like you.’

‘Well, it’s true. I don’t lie.’

‘I know, I believe you. I’m just shocked.’

She flashes me another smile. I catch my breath again. I’m aware of Mr. Falcon’s voice, but only vaguely. I’m too entranced by her face. I notice a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.

‘Mr. Smith?’ Mr. Falcon says.

‘Sorry?’ I grunt.

He seems taken aback. The rest of the class gasp. Oh dear. Of course. I never speak. One girl has actually fallen off her chair. She looks ash white, her expression contorted with fear.

‘Er, Zoe, can you take Julie to see the nurse?’

The girl’s friend leads her out of the classroom. Neither of them look at me.

‘So, Mr. Smith, why do you think Hardy describes the thrush as ‘frail’ and ‘gaunt’?’

Mr. Falcon is all expectant face and cheerful voice. He’s practically bouncing off the floor. He thinks he’s finally sussed me, finally connected with me.

‘I don’t know.’ I say quietly.

His face falls. He seems to think about questioning me again, but thinks better of it. The other students’ faces are still turned away from me.

It is times like these I wonder why I bother coming to college. Why don’t I just sit at home? Why don’t I just hide away and do my job? But I think I’d go insane if I wasn’t around people. Even if they can’t bear to look at me or hear me speak, I need to hear them speak.

‘Why didn’t you answer Mr. Falcon? I can see in your annotations you know the answer.’

Rose is looking at me accusingly. Mr. Falcon’s set us on pair discussion. Normally I’d be on my own. I’m not used to this.

‘I just... people were uncomfortable. They get uncomfortable... if I speak too much.’

‘So? Who cares?’

Her face is defiant. She looks even more beautiful than usual.

‘Well, I care.’

It’s true. I do care.

‘Jude, the only way to deal with bullies is to face them. You can’t let them make you feel like this. Everyone has a right to speak.’

Her green eyes are set and determined. I don’t know how to explain to her the kind of feelings people really have towards me. This isn’t bullying. This is fear.

‘Rose, I’m not bullied. Can you please leave it? Next time he asks me a question, I’ll answer it, alright?’

For a moment her face is so determined I don’t know if she will let it go, but in a flash her features fall back into their lovely care-free expression.

‘God, sorry, I get so annoyed about bullying.’

‘Why?’

She looks down and seems embarrassed.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say girls’ schools are full of bullies.’

‘But who would want to bully you?’

She laughs but she still seems uncomfortable.

‘A lot of people.’

She’s quiet now. She’s starts making notes around her poem. I take the opportunity to question her some more, the name Lily White still circling about my brain.

‘So, tell me a bit more about yourself.’

‘What do you want to know?’

She’s still looking down at her work. I try my best to act nonchalant but it probably comes out wrong. Everything I say comes out wrong.

‘Well, did you move from far away? What’s your family like?’

She continues to write as she answers me. My eyes are fixed on her. I don’t want to miss anything she does. I like everything about her.

‘Not far, no. We didn’t move house or anything. I live ten minutes from here. I just moved school. It all got a bit... much.’

She pauses a moment. Still she doesn’t look up. My eyes remain fixed on her, I want to drink her in.

‘With my family, well, we’re pretty normal. There’s my mum and my dad. Then there’s just me and my sister, Lily.’

My seat makes a loud noise as I shift in it. I’ve lost my balance slightly, but my eyes stay focussed on her.

‘Are you alright?’ she asks sweetly.

‘Yes. Yes, fine. Sorry.’ I grunt.

‘I see.’

I still can’t move my eyes from her. She looks at me questioningly, but then seems to drop it.

‘So what about you, Jude? Tell me about yourself.’
Oh dear. I hadn’t thought about my end of the conversation. I’d forgotten it works both ways.

‘Not much to tell. I live with my grandma. Parents are dead. No siblings. I don’t really have any friends. Well, actually I don’t have any friends.’

She stares hard into my eyes and I feel like I might lose my balance again. The green shimmers wonderfully, I notice her freckles and her dimples form as she smiles.

‘Well now, that’s not true. You have at least one friend.’

‘No, really, I don’t have any. None. Zero.’

‘No, no, Jude. You have me!’ she laughs.
She rubs my arm and I feel ecstatic. I feel... alive.

‘You’re my friend?’

‘Of course.’

She turns her head back down to her notes. I stay watching her. Rose White. I have Rose White.

But how do I tell Rose White her sister is going to die?