Heaven Can Wait
Cally Taylor currently lives in Brighton. She started writing fiction in 2005, was awarded the Runner-up Prize in the Woman’s Own short story competition in 2006 and won the Helen Mullin Awards and Bank Street Writers short story competitions in the same year. Her stories have been published by Take a Break ’s Fiction Feast and My Weekly. Heaven Can Wait is her first novel.
Copyright
AN ORION EBOOK
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Orion
This ebook first published in 2010 by Orion Books
Copyright © Cally Taylor 2009
The moral right of Cally Taylor to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
eISBN: 978 1 4091 3355 1
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London WC2H 9EA
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www.orionbooks.co.uk
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Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
For my parents
Chapter One
What would you do if you thought you were about to die?
a) Scream and alert everyone in the immediate vicinity?
b) Tell no one and freak out on your own?
c) Pretend it wasn’t happening
Me, I pulled up my knickers and burst into tears.
I’d been worried about my health for a week. I was exhausted, my ankles were puffy and my wee was as frothy as a yellow cappuccino. According to the printout in my hand that meant only one thing; I had an incurable, possibly fatal, disease.
My wedding was in less than forty-eight hours and breaking bad news to my fiancé was about the only thing that wasn’t on my enormous ‘to do’ list. But I had to tell Dan. According to the Internet there would be twice-weekly visits to the hospital, dialysis machines, maybe even a transplant. That was a lot to take on, for any man.
Be strong, Lucy, I told myself as I opened the door to the living room. You can do this. Just be strong.
*
Dan was slouched across the sofa watching a documentary about the mating habits of a spindly yellow spider. His arms were crossed behind his head, his dark hair ruffled, his jaw rough with stubble. He was wearing low-slung jeans and his favourite top – a faded black Jimi Hendrix T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and strong arms. That was the thing about Dan, he could throw on any old thing and still look effortlessly gorgeous. Not that he cared, he was one of the least conceited people I’d ever met – which made me love him even more.
As I walked into the room he shifted his long legs to make space for me on the sofa, but I perched on the armrest instead. When the female spider bit the head off the male and ate him, Dan grinned across at me, his brown eyes shining with amusement.
‘Given the choice between that and three-hour chats after sex,’ he said, ‘I’d definitely go for death by head-chomping, every time.’
He looked puzzled when I didn’t laugh and I looked away at my hands and twiddled with my engagement ring. Oh God, how was he going to react to my news? Would he cry? Shout? Faint? Worse?
‘Dan,’ I said, ‘I’ve got something really important to tell you.’
‘What’s up?’ he said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
‘It’s bad news.’
‘Is this about the wedding?’ He turned the television down, twisted onto his side, and gazed up at me.
‘What’s happened now? Baker put a lily instead of a rose on the top of the cake?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I think I’ve got late-stage kidney disease.’
The remote control clattered to the floor as Dan sat up and grabbed hold of my hands, crushing the Internet print-out I’d been holding.
‘You what?’ he said, his eyes searching my face. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d been to the doctor.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Then how do you know you’ve got kidney disease?’
I squeezed his hands and rubbed my thumb over his fingers. He was obviously in denial. The Internet had warned me he might react like that. ‘Because I looked up my symptoms on the web.’
He frowned and rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘What kind of symptoms?’
I stared at the TV. It felt weird to be discussing the state of my urine with my boyfriend. It’s not something you really talk about, even if you have been together for seven years.
‘My wee’s frothy,’ I said. ‘There are bubbles in it and the Internet says frothy urine is a symptom of kidney failure.’
Dan laughed so hard he slipped off the sofa and landed on the floor. I stared at him open-mouthed, then reached forward and thumped him on the arm – hard.
‘Why are you laughing, Dan? Stop it, you’re freaking me out.’
He propped himself up on his elbow and reached for my hand. ‘Sorry, Lucy. I shouldn’t have laughed, not when you’re at death’s door and all. How long have you had these so-called symptoms?’
I counted the days in my head. ‘About a week. No, definitely a week. They started last Friday.’
‘And what did we buy on Friday that you said we really needed?’
I wriggled my hand out of Dan’s grip and glared at him. There was me, pouring out my heart, and he was talking to me about food shopping. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I don’t know, Dan. What did we buy?’
‘A new toilet freshener that’s supposed to get rid of limescale in a flash.’
‘So what?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not the only one who’s seen bubbling urine in the pan for the last week.’
‘What?’
‘Lucy, you absolute doofus,’ Dan said, poking me in
the side, ‘you’ve been weeing on the toilet freshener. You put it at the front of the toilet and it sticks out. That’s what’s been making our wee frothy.’
I stared at him in astonishment. ‘So I don’t have kidney disease?’
‘No, Lucy,’ Dan said, rolling his eyes. ‘You don’t.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Oh my God,’ I gasped. ‘I’m such an idiot!’
Dan leaped back onto the sofa and pulled at me until I toppled off the armrest and landed on top of him. He smiled up at me and pushed my hair back from my face.
‘What would I do without you, Lucy Brown?’ he said and kissed me softly.
I held his face in my hands and kissed him back. I felt like life just couldn’t get any more perfect. And I was right, it wouldn’t.
By the end of the next day I would be dead, but not from kidney disease.
Chapter Two
I was still smiling when I woke up the next morning. Dan was nestled beside me, the duvet soft against my skin. He was still asleep, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering as he dreamed. I traced my thumb along his cheekbone, then kissed him softly on the lips.
‘Dan,’ I whispered, ‘we’re getting married tomorrow.’
He shifted position, threw a heavy arm over my chest and pulled me closer.
‘I love you,’ he mumbled.
‘I love you too,’ I said and gently pushed his arm down to my waist and rolled over. It was ten o’clock. Ten o’clock! I grabbed my evilly long ‘things to do’ list from the bedside table and groaned. I’d hardly crossed anything off and I still had to:
a) Write out all the place settings. I’d decided on metallic silver pen on pebbles ‘borrowed’ from Brighton beach.
b) Finish making the table arrangements (long-stemmed lilies in clear glass vases).
c) Call the photographer to discuss the shots he was going to take. I still wasn’t sure if the one of Dan admiring my wedding ring was too cheesy.
The list was far too long to do on my own. Dan would have to help me out. I looked back at him but he was snoring gently, his mouth slightly open, his face crumpled into the pillow. Even with sleep lines etched into his cheek, he still looked so damned handsome I couldn’t help but stare at him.
I knew I was going to marry Dan as soon as I met him. Actually, that’s not strictly true – it was about halfway through our first date. I’d suggested an art-house film at our local cinema, but it was so boring I almost fell asleep halfway through.
‘Interesting film,’ Dan said afterwards. ‘Very, er, long.’
I didn’t want him to think I was as dull as the film so I attempted to save the evening by suggesting we get some food. When Dan said we should go back to his place and share a takeaway, I jumped at the offer. So the date wasn’t a complete write-off. There was still time to impress him with my sparkling wit and personality.
We made polite chit-chat as walked back to his place and then sat side-by-side on his threadbare sofa and tucked into a carton of chicken chow mein. The room was completely silent apart from the sound of chomping and swallowing and I was really quite enjoying myself – until my stomach gurgled ominously. Damn. In all the excitement I’d forgotten the effect Chinese food has on my digestive system. My belly had expanded to twice its size and the top button of my trousers was this close to popping off. Not an attractive look. I shifted in my seat to try and relieve the pressure.
‘Do you fancy putting some music on?’ Dan asked, twirling noodles on his fork, totally oblivious to my plight.
Good idea, yes, very good. Maybe a little walk across the room would help.
‘I certainly do,’ I said, standing up and surreptitiously sucking my stomach in. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve got fantastic taste in music, Mr Harding.’
Dan stopped eating and grinned up at me. ‘Is that so? Go on then, impress me.’
‘I will.’
I could feel his eyes checking out my arse as I sauntered across the room.
‘Hmm, what have we here?’ I said in my best ‘I know my music’ voice. The CDs at the top were a bit too heavy metal for my taste so I squatted down for a better look.
And farted.
It was like the mating trumpet of an elephant in the wild, only much, much worse.
I froze. If I didn’t move it hadn’t happened (oh please God let Dan somehow, miraculously, not have heard it). I clamped my hands to my burning cheeks and said the first thing that came into my head: ‘Your floorboards really creak, don’t they?’
Dan snorted with laughter. He laughed and he laughed and tears poured from his eyes until I thought he was never going to stop. Then I started laughing too. It was the goofy, unself-conscious grin on his face and the almost childlike gasp of his laughter that made me giggle. How could I not find it funny? If Dan could make me laugh at myself when all I really wanted to do was curl up and die of shame, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else.
I tore my eyes away from his sleeping face, folded up the list and placed it on the bedside table. Things-to-do could wait, for a few minutes anyway, there was something I wanted to do first. I inched my way out of bed and towards the wardrobe on the other side of the room. And there it was, zipped up in an enormous waterproof bag, my dream wedding dress. I’d tried on loads with Anna and Jess, my best friends, before deciding which one to buy. A white dress was ruled out straightaway – with my long, dark hair and pale skin it made me look too washed-out. Slinky-style dresses were discarded too – unless you’re a stick insect they cling to every lump and bump. And then we found this dress – ivory and strapless, the bodice finely boned with a wide, hooped skirt, delicately beaded with tiny pearls. It wasn’t too plain and it wasn’t too foofy. It was perfect.
‘Lucy,’ Dan said. ‘What are you doing?’
I slammed the door shut and span round. ‘You didn’t see it, did you? Tell me you didn’t see my wedding dress?’
Dan tucked the duvet under his chin and peered at me through bleary eyes. ‘I’ve already seen it.’
‘You haven’t?’ I said, the words catching in my throat.
‘Of course I haven’t, you numpty,’ he grinned. ‘You banned me from opening that door – remember?’
Ah yes, there was my handmade ‘Do Not Enter Under Pain of Death’ sign, Sellotaped to the door. I looked back at Dan suspiciously. ‘Then why tell me you had?’
‘I just wanted to wind you up.’
I sprinted across the room, jumped onto the bed and pummelled him through the duvet.
‘You’re not allowed to wind me up today, Daniel Harding.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s the day before our wedding, that’s why,’ I said, thumping him on the shoulder.
‘Would now be a bad time to tell you I also found the present you bought me?’
‘What?’
He grabbed me and pulled me against him. ‘Ha! Got you again!’
I was going to call him a shit, or worse, but he kissed me before the words could leave my mouth.
At eight o’clock, after ten hours of frantic phone calls, lily disasters, silver pen explosions and several enormous strops, I kissed Dan goodbye at the front door. I was only going for a quick peck but he was rather more enthusiastic.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he said, pausing mid-snog to grab my bum.
I slid his hands away firmly. He was supposed to be spending the night at his brother’s flat and was already three hours late – not that he’d helped me do anything on my list. Oh no, he had to go out for five hours to do his own pre-wedding preparation which, I strongly suspected from the shower gel scent of his skin and his beery breath, involved going to the gym for a workout, followed by several hours down the pub. Anyone would think he didn’t care that tomorrow was the most important of both our lives. I looked at my watch. I had just under an hour to have a bath, prepare some food and tidy up the house before Anna and Jess came round for a pre-wedding girls’ night in.
‘Please?’ Dan said again.
‘No,’ I snapped. ‘You really need to get going. I’ve still got loads to do.’
He hung his head and gave me the big-brown-eyed sorrowful look that normally made me melt. ‘I’ll give you a back massage.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Just go, Dan. Please.’
‘OK, OK, I’m going, I’m going,’ he said as I dodged his clumsy attempt to give me a hug and pushed him away.
I watched as he ambled down the path, his suit bag slung casually over his shoulder, his top hat cocked at a strange angle on his head. He paused when he reached the gate and turned round.
‘Is something happening tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got this weird feeling I’m supposed to be somewhere.’
I raised my eyebrows and gave him ‘the look’, the same one that can stop small children screaming in a second. Dan just grinned.
‘What?’ he said. ‘It’s not too late to cancel, you know.’
My stomach flipped over and I felt sick. ‘What do you mean, cancel?’
‘The wedding,’ he said. ‘It’s not too late to back out.’
I stared at him, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Did he have any idea how hard I’d worked so we’d have a wedding to remember? Did he realise how much of my social life I’d had to give up to get everything done while he went out drinking with his mates or watched films with his feet up? And had he ever thanked me? Had he ever said he appreciated all my hard work?
‘That’s not funny, Dan,’ I said. ‘It’s really not funny.’
His grin slipped and he shrugged. ‘You need to chill out, Luce.’
Chill out? Why do men always tell women to chill out when we’re being perfectly rational? Besides, I had every right to be pissed off. At breakfast he’d tried to convince me he was going to say ‘my awful wedded wife’ during our vows and, during lunch, he’d lobbed a bread roll at me, claiming he was going to start a food fight at the reception. Now he was joking about cancelling the wedding. Was there no end to the hilarity? I tried to bite my tongue but the words tumbled out anyway.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, Dan, I’ve spent the last year of my life organising this wedding and I haven’t slept properly in days.’