Some Things Should Never Be Seen
I ONCE WATCHED a woman give birth.
I should mention that I wasn’t there for a death. I mean, I could have been; these things can happen and unrelentingly do. But not this time. My schedule was kind to me this day and let me see the beginning of a life instead of forcing me to end one.
Someone in animal-related deaths requested it; their granddaughter was having a child and they wondered if I could escort them to see the moment the child was born. Apparently I was having a soft moment because I said yes and, the next thing I know, I’m in a maternity ward, seeing something no person should ever see. Honestly, someone needs to have a good think about the biological process behind childbirth, because that seems unnecessarily gruesome.
Anyway, this is all a somewhat long-winded way of me telling you that, in life (and death) there are some things we should never see. The business end of childbirth being one. Your own dead body is another.
The list goes on, of course, but perhaps one of the most important moments to avoid ever witnessing is the moment when a person’s sleep is interrupted by an unpleasant, unwelcome phone call. When the peace is shattered and they’re dragged out of their dreams to answer it. When they’re greeted with an unfamiliar voice saying a sentence that doesn’t make sense at first. Until their brain catches up.
Some things should never be seen, because once you’ve seen it you will never be able to unsee it.
The moment a heart breaks, for example.
The lift spits us right out into the upstairs landing of my parents’ house.
It’s been more than a month since I last came home. Why did I leave it so long? Why didn’t I somehow guess that time was short?
I kept saying I’d come back for a weekend. But it’s an hour train journey out of the city, work had been so busy, and they both get funny about coming into town. Mum grew up less than ten miles away from where she lives now (in the deep, dark hole of suburbia) and Dad came down from a tiny village up north, so neither were particularly equipped for coping with prolonged time in London. I’d said I would finally come home at the end of the month whatever happened with work, and force Violet to see her mum at the same time. But that’s off the cards now.
As I step from the lift and onto the overly plush carpet of my home, I glance briefly back at the lift. The impossibleness of this particular mode of transport is making my head hurt; how can only a couple of hundred buttons take you to such specific places? Where does it actually go in between? So many questions, though I suspect my brain is generating these as some strange form of self-preservation.
Of course, Death steps from the lift like he’s stepping off a bus, though I guess this is his usual mode of transport. He’s probably despairing of me the same way I do with the tourists who stand and gawp at the Tube.
The landing is silent, dark. I squint through the gloom and spot the clock that hangs by the bathroom door. Just past midnight. My parents would have been asleep for a good hour by now. About the time I’ve been dead for.
Suddenly, the silence is shattered by the merry trill of the house phone. It makes me jump, which in turns makes me feel a little sheepish. I’m expecting to feel the back of my neck heating up like it always does when I get embarrassed. But there’s nothing.
“Well, come on. You’ll miss it at this rate.” Death doesn’t sound impatient or irritated, just a little bored.
“Oh...right,” I reply, trying my best not to lose my temper with him. I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck with him so best not burn any bridges just yet. I stumble forward, hesitate at the door to my parents’ room as the phone continues to ring, and I begin to hear the gentle sounds of movement inside. “Won’t they notice their door opening and closing on its own?” I whisper.
Death shakes his head. “I’ve been doing this for thousands of years, Miss Cooper—trust me, they won’t notice. It’s just not on their radar.” He steps around me, opens the door and then gestures me inside.
A second after I’ve crossed the threshold, perhaps a second too late, I wonder if this is maybe a bad idea. If perhaps there are some things you shouldn’t witness.
But there’s no going back now. A scene is beginning to unfold before me that I cannot rip my eyes away from.
Dad’s answered the phone, of course he has, because Mum will sleep through an earthquake, or at least stubbornly pretend she’s sleeping through it. Clearly her curiosity has got the best of her now, though, because she has opened her eyes and rolled toward Dad. I want to scream at her to turn over and go right back to sleep. I want to snatch the phone from Dad’s hand and throw it against the wall. Let them have tonight, just one more night of normality.
But, of course, I can’t do any of that. I can only watch as Dad places the phone to his ear, settles back against the pillow and fumbles around for his glasses. “Hello?” His voice is husky with sleep. “Violet? Slow down.”
That’s got Mum up. She heaves herself up to sit beside her husband, brow furrowed and eyes immediately sharp. “Is she OK?” she whispers, and it’s impossible to tell if she’s asking about Violet’s welfare or my own. Mum used to joke that we were interchangeable in her eyes. It always made me strangely proud when she said that.
Dad doesn’t answer, staring straight ahead. From my spot by the door, I can hear the faint, garbled voice of Violet. She’s still speaking at top speed and I can’t work out what she’s saying, exactly. I can guess though, of course.
Since Violet’s started talking, it’s like someone has begun to drain the color out of Dad’s face. He becomes almost unrecognizable. At least he’s hearing it from Violet and not some police officer going through a procedure, I tell myself. As if that might make it better.
He stays like this for a minute or so, asking a few general, clarifying questions but mainly just listening. I wonder if Mum can tell what’s happened already, if she’s noticed the way his grip has tightened around the phone.
“OK,” he says finally. “OK, Violet, we’ll see you soon—I’ve got to go. It’s going to be OK, sweetheart.”
He hangs up, turns to Mum.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Something’s happened.”
“With Violet?” Mum’s question doesn’t surprise me; Violet has had her own trials over the years that have inevitably spilled into my family’s life too. It hasn’t been the first time Violet has phoned my parents in a panic. Her own parents don’t really cut it, what with her father being distinctly absent and her mother being like a red flag to a bull with Violet. So Mum doesn’t sound particularly worried. Yet.
“It’s Daisy, love. Something’s happened to Daisy. She’s had a fall.” As Dad’s words leave his mouth, I find myself backing right up against the wall in the vain hope of going right through it and escaping this dreadful scene.
“Can we go?” I hiss across to Death, trying desperately to ignore the scene now playing out in front of me. “I—I can’t do this.”
Death raises an eyebrow. “I did warn you,” he mutters, glancing back over as Mum stumbles out of bed and rushes for the wardrobe.
“Please!” I snap, a little louder this time. I can hear snatches of Dad’s words across the room, no matter how hard I try to block them out. Something about keeping calm and needing to get to the hospital. He comments how it’s not looking good and I can’t decide if I want to scream or laugh. Of course it’s not fucking looking good.
As Death is begrudgingly stepping back to let me out of the room, I hear Mum slam the wardrobe shut. I can’t help it; I look back.
“What do you mean, it’s not looking good?” she breathes. Dad crosses the space between them, pulls her into a hug. But Mum is having none of it, wriggling free with an almost growl. “Gary! Tell me what the hell is going on!”
“Claire, I don’t know. Violet just said Daisy has had a fall. And it’s not looking good.” Dad’s voice is steady right up until the last word. I hear it shake, even from my spot on the other side of the room. He draws in a breath, pulling himself back together. “We need to go.”
Mum’s shoulders tremble as she pulls on a sweater, tugs it over herself. A protective layer against a new reality that she’s not ready for. “My girl...” she whispers.
“I’m here,” I find myself whispering back. “I’m here, it’s OK.”
A clearing of the throat from my companion. “I mean, you’re not really...” It’s a quiet mutter, like he knows he shouldn’t say it but just can’t help himself. It’s enough for me to be able to drag my gaze away from my crumbling parents, just so I can glare at the cause of this unwanted interruption.
Death shrugs, looks a little awkward. “Just stating the facts. It’s a different world, despite appearances. Weren’t we leaving?”
Mum has dropped back to sit on the bed. The reality of the situation has caught up with her it seems, stealing her ability to stand in the meantime. Her head drops down to her knees and she lets out a strangled, fragmented sob. I’ve never heard her make a sound anything like that before. My head snaps back to Death. “Leaving...yes,” I croak, my feet tripping over each other a little as I make for the door. Shame settles on my shoulders like a winter’s chill but something won’t allow me to stay. Call it instinct.
By the time we’re stepping back into the lift, Mum’s crying has stepped up. It sounds like someone’s stamping on her heart. Who knew there was a sound for that? Who knew a human being could make a noise that hurt so much to hear? I squeeze my eyes shut, resist the urge to press my hands to my ears because I should hear this. I owe them some attention, if just for a few more seconds.
Then the doors whoosh shut and, just like that, complete silence settles over us, like snowfall.
We’re joined by the hum of the lift’s mechanics starting up a second later. So ordinary... I could be in the lift at work, nursing my thermos of tea and trying not to think about the infuriating day ahead. But I’m not. I’ll never go in that lift again. I’ll never have the satisfaction of opening a thermos of tea and feeling the steam rush onto my face. And I’ll never enjoy those snatched moments of texting my mum while waiting for the lift to reach my floor. It’s all gone.
I give myself ten seconds. I count them out, slow and careful, as if that might somehow help. It doesn’t. That scene seems to have become permanently imprinted on my eyes, stuck in a loop. Guilt looms over me, heavy and cruel.
Finally, after those ten seconds, I open my eyes. I can still feel my body shaking. “Maybe—maybe I shouldn’t have seen that.”
Death makes a thoughtful noise. He’s watching me from the other side of the lift, a little warily. Maybe he thinks I’m going to start crying again. Not a completely ridiculous notion, it has to be said. “Maybe,” he says finally. He glances at his watch again. “But on the bright side, we were only gone seven minutes. So no harm done.”
“No harm done?” My voice is so cold it feels like it might freeze my tongue. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “I usually am. It sort of goes with the job description.” There’s a small glint lingering in the corner of his eye. Almost like he’s inviting me to keep fighting back.
At that moment the lift rumbles to a stop and the doors slide open. Then we’re swiftly greeted with the sound of an outraged gasp coming from the corridor beyond.
I turn. An older woman is standing there, arms crossed with a fierce glare on her face. She’s dressed in white like me, though instead of a white dress she wears a rather severe-looking white suit. Her hair is pulled into a tight and severe-looking bun that matches the severe expression on her face.
“Death! What the hell are you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I glance over to the man now dealing with two furious people. “Well, I’m honored,” he states. Then he glances back to me. “This is Natasha, my head of Admin. She keeps everything running smoothly and makes sure nobody’s having too much fun,” he explains, before turning his full attention to this new arrival. “Natasha, I hope you’re going to be polite to Daisy. She’s had a very stressful day.” He moves to inch around Natasha, rather pointedly giving her a wide berth. To avoid being stuck inside the lift, I reluctantly follow him.
Natasha places her hands on her hips, lips pursed. “What are you talking about? You were due in Moscow ten minutes ago and yet here you are, conversing with a human who...” She pauses, looking me up and down. Then a glitter of realization sparks in her eyes, followed by a little grin. “Oh dear, did you screw up again?” she asks, her tone at a perfect level of condescending. Beside me, I see Death stiffen.
Natasha seems to take rather a lot of joy from this, throwing back her head and crowing her laughter to the ceiling. “Oh, this is just brilliant! Maybe you’ll be fired at last!” she exclaims a moment later.
Death crosses his arms. “I did not screw up, as you so delicately put it. I chose her.”
“Chose her?”
“Yes. I chose Daisy from the millions I see to be my personal assistant.”
“What?” I splutter.
“You heard, come on,” he says through gritted teeth, taking me by the forearm and tugging me away from the lift. Natasha doesn’t give up that easily, though, and is chasing after us immediately.
She follows us around the corner and then down the corridor, bouncing questions off our backs: “How is she your assistant? What makes her so special? Have you asked if it’s OK? Did you get permission?” Suddenly, we’re back at Death’s door.
Pushing down on the handle and swinging the door open, Death propels me inside, one hand on the small of my back. Then he turns around to face Natasha as she brings her stream of questions to a halting end: “You can’t shut me out, Death! Everyone needs to be accounted for!”
“Quite right, Natasha. But now, we’re closed.” The door clatters shut and he turns the lock.
All of a sudden it’s silent. Death turns to face me, expression back to what seems to be standard for him: generally uninterested.
“She’s...nice,” I finally comment, because the silence is starting to be replaced with my mother’s cries, ringing in my ears.
Death sniffs. “Natasha was knocked over by her own car when she left the handbrake off,” he says, in apparently a way of an explanation.
I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze stonily. I’ve not quite forgiven him for his recent comments in the lift. “That killed her?”
Death winks. “She was by a wall. Natasha sandwich.”
“Did she die at the wrong time too? Is that why she’s stuck here?”
“Oh. No. It’s a big team here. Me and then a hundred others in different departments. You know—murders, traffic accidents... There’s even a team who decide which near-death experiences will end with death after all. But they can move on when they want to. You can never have enough help up here, so I tend to keep an eye out for people with the right skills. Natasha’s been here about fifty years. She had spent her life working as a receptionist so I thought she’d be a good bet to replace my previous head of Admin.”
“Do you pay her?”
Death blinks, considers this for a moment. “No. What would I pay her with? It’s not like she needs to pay rent. Besides, for most people the opportunity to delay the inevitable...” He pauses to gesture at the door behind his desk. “...is pay enough.”
It’s probably the longest time Death’s spent talking since we met. I just wish I knew what to say to any of it.
The phone on his desk rings. He ignores it at first, eyes still fixed curiously on me. But then the mobile phone starts ringing as well. He pulls it from his pocket and answers it, after he’s sent the device a scathing glare. “Yup? Yes, going now. No, really I am... I will. Bye.” He hangs up, and casts his gaze back to me.
Then he asks his next question: “So...do you fancy it?”