‘When I dream about Mum, is it really her?’ asked Liam. He sat on the ball, his hands on the ground to steady himself.
‘It’s just a dream,’ said Shepherd.
‘But it feels so real. Like it’s really her.’
‘I know, but it’s not. It’s just your subconscious trying to make you feel better.’
Liam frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Shepherd went and sat on the grass next to his son. ‘First, there’s the thinking bit of your brain, the bit you use to solve problems, the bit you use when you’re talking, or when you just sit and think. But then there’s another part that does its thinking in the background. Like your imagination.’
Liam’s frown deepened and Shepherd realised he wasn’t doing a good job of explaining himself. If he’d known in advance that he’d be going over the finer points of psychology with his son he’d have phoned Kathy Gift for a briefing.
‘The subconscious does things without you thinking about it,’ he continued. ‘Sometimes you might feel sad but you don’t know why, and that’s because you’re thinking about something subconsciously.’
‘Thinking without thinking?’ said Liam. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘Sort of,’ said Shepherd. His lecture was going from bad to worse he thought. ‘It’s, like, we know Mum’s dead, and that she’s not coming back. But part of us wants to believe she will come back. And that part of us is what makes the dreams.’
‘But when I talk to her in the dreams, it’s like I’m really talking to her.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Shepherd had conversations with Sue in his dreams. And more. They kissed and touched, and sometimes he entered her – and then he’d wake with a hard-on and his stomach would lurch when he remembered he’d never make love to her again. Sue was dead and she’d stay that way for all eternity. Shepherd didn’t believe in God or in heaven, so he knew he’d never see her again. Ever. ‘You’re talking to her memory, Liam,’ he went on. ‘And you’ll always have that. She’ll always be in your heart and your head.’
Liam’s lips quivered. ‘Sometimes I forget what she looks like,’ he said.
‘That’s not true,’ said Shepherd.
‘When I think about her, I can’t remember her face. I look at the photographs and I know it’s her and I can remember the photographs, but when I try to remember the things we did and the places we went sometimes I can’t see her face. But when I dream it’s like she’s really there and I can see her and everything.’
‘Hey, that’s okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘You remember her and that’s what matters. And you know how much she loved you. Your mum loved you more than anything.’
‘More than you?’ Liam wiped a tear from his cheek.
‘You’re her son. Her boy. You were the most important thing in her life.’
‘So why am I forgetting her?’
‘You’re not,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s okay for you. You can remember everything,’ said Liam bitterly.
Shepherd pulled the boy close to him. ‘Not everything,’ he said. But his photographic memory was virtually infallible and Shepherd could remember almost everything he’d ever done with Sue. Every conversation they’d had. Every place they’d been. Every argument they’d had. Liam wanted a new mother. Shepherd understood that. Every child needed a mother. But Shepherd didn’t need or want another wife when his memories of Sue were as fresh as they had ever been. He could remember the glint in her eye when she wanted to make love, the tightening of her mouth when she was preparing for an argument, the way she bit her lower lip just before she laughed. Sue was a hard act to follow. In a way, fading memories could be a blessing: as they receded so did the pain. That was what Liam was going through. Every day the pain of losing his mother would get a little less. His heart wouldn’t ache quite as much and one day the pain would have gone and he’d be able to think about her without crying. It seemed to Shepherd that, for most people, dealing with grief meant forgetting the pain, rather than coming to terms with it. And he knew that his pain would never go away. ‘Sometimes forgetting can be a good thing,’ Shepherd whispered. ‘Like when you hurt yourself. You can remember that you were hurting, but you can’t remember how much.’
‘Like when you were shot?’
‘That’s right,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know it hurt, but I can’t remember the pain. It’s the same with Mum. Every day it’ll hurt less.’
‘I don’t want to forget her,’ said Liam.
‘You won’t.’ He patted his son’s shoulder. ‘So, what’s with wanting a new mum?’
Liam shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think I just want to be a family again.’
‘You and I are a family.’
‘We’re half a family,’ said Liam.
‘There must be lots of kids at school with just one parent,’ said Shepherd. ‘Half of all marriages end in divorce, these days.’
‘You weren’t going to divorce Mum, were you?’
Shepherd smiled. ‘Of course not.’ He had loved Sue from the first moment he’d spoken to her in the pub in Hereford. He had been a cocky SAS trooper, the best of the best, and she had been a local girl who knew all about the heartbreak the soldiers caused in the town. Her friends had warned her of the danger in getting involved with one, and so had her parents. But Shepherd had won her over and when he’d married her he’d known he was married for life. ‘Till death us do part,’ he’d said, and he’d meant it. Sue was the love of his life, even when they’d argued and fought. They’d argued about his career with the SAS, and he’d let her talk him into leaving for the sake of their marriage and their son. And they’d argued about his career as an undercover cop because it kept him away from home for long periods. But divorce? Never.
‘So it’s not the same. If you and Mum weren’t living together, we’d still be a family. We’d just be one that had split up. I’d still have a mum and a dad.’
Shepherd lay back on the grass and stared up at the pale grey sky. It was overcast but dry and not too cold.
‘So, you won’t marry Katra?’ asked Liam.
Shepherd chuckled. ‘It’s not really on, Liam,’ he said.
‘She likes you.’
‘And I like her. But I’m her boss. She works for us.’
‘She does the same for us that Mum did. She cooks and cleans and takes me to school. She irons your shirts, same as Mum did.’
‘That’s her job.’
‘But she likes you.’
Shepherd sighed. ‘Someone liking you is no reason to get married. You have to love them. I loved your mum, and I love her as much now as I did when we got married. I’m going to have to wait until I meet someone I love as much as your mum. Maybe more… I have a question for you,’ he said, linking his fingers behind his head. ‘How would you feel if we moved house?’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know. Not far. You’d still go to the same school.’
‘So why would we move?’
His son and Kathy Gift had one thing in common, Shepherd mused. The knack of asking questions he found difficult to answer. ‘Okay, here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘This house was our family house, for you, your mum and me. Your mum chose the decoration, she laid out the garden, she picked the furniture.’
‘That’s why it looks so good.’
‘Right. But maybe we should get a new house – a house that belongs just to us.’
‘And not Mum?’
‘Mum doesn’t need a house.’
‘Because she’s in heaven?’
That wasn’t somewhere Shepherd wanted to go. He knew there was no such place as heaven and that Sue wasn’t sitting on a cloud playing a harp. But although he’d been happy enough for Liam to know that Father Christmas didn’t exist, it would serve no purpose to blow his faith in God and heaven out of the water.
‘Yes, she’s in heaven.’ He’d promised himself that he would never to lie to his son but the truth, as Shepherd saw it, would have been far more hurtful. ‘She’s in heaven watching over you and helping me to take care of
