Heaven Can Wait Read online

1) There were no free tables on that side of the bar

  2) I didn’t want to get too close and risk Dan thinking I was stalking him.

  I sipped at my wine and frantically gazed around the room. There was a stool at the bar, about a metre away from Dan and Anna’s table, next to a blonde man who had his back to me. There was only one thing for it. I had to pretend to chat him up whilst secretly listening in to Dan and Anna’s conversation. I necked most of my wine, dipped my fingers into the little bit left in the bottom of the glass and rubbed at the stain on my T-shirt (the printer at work wasn’t working so I’d tried shaking the cartridge to see if it was empty. It wasn’t). Instead of making it look better, it made it look as though I’d spent the day working down the mines. Shit. I pulled on my jacket and buttoned it up to the neck. I looked like Miss Jean Brodie, but I had no choice. Dan and Anna already looked deep in conversation. I stood up and ever-so-casually sauntered over to the bar.

  The barman tore himself away from the magazine he was reading just long enough to pour me another glass of white wine while I plotted my next move. The blonde guy who, on closer inspection, was actually peroxide blonde, still had his back towards me and was totally oblivious to my presence.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, tapping him on the shoulder. ‘Do you mind if I sit on that stool?’

  He span round and looked me up and down. There was something very familiar about his glazed pale-blue stare and the metal ring in his nose.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said.

  I manoeuvred my way around him, aware that if I reached out my left hand I could stroke the top of Dan’s head, and stepped up onto the stool. Peroxide Guy downed a shot of what looked like tequila and followed it with a large gulp of his pint. I took a sip of my wine and glanced across at Dan just in time to hear him say, ‘I miss her too, Anna, but sometimes I …’

  The rest of his words were lost in the hubbub of pub chatter and I felt like screaming. Sometimes what? Sometimes he forgot about me? Sometimes he thought life wasn’t worth living?

  I felt a sudden pain in my forearm. Peroxide Guy was prodding me with the grubby finger of his right hand.

  ‘Hey,’ he slurred. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  I was going to ignore him, but Dan was staring right at me. He’d obviously noticed I’d moved table. Crap. I had to do something to stop him from freaking out and leaving the pub. I forced a smile in Peroxide Guy’s direction.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me who you are?’ I said, lightly stroking the top of his hand in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner.

  ‘You heard of the Lu$t Boys?’ he slurred, lurching so far back on his stool I was worried he was about to fall off. And the penny dropped.

  ‘You’re Keith Krank,’ I said.

  At the table to my right Dan’s eyes were welling with tears.

  ‘When I was a little boy,’ he said, ‘I said I’d marry the first woman who liked Indiana Jones. Do you have any idea how excited I was when I called Lucy to arrange a second date and she told me she was watching a repeat of Raiders of the Lost Ark on TV? It sounds silly, but I really thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together and then she, she, left me …’

  My stomach twisted with pain. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t fair.

  ‘Oi,’ Keith said, jabbing my ankle with the tip of his pointed, patent boot. ‘If you know my name, then you do know who I am, you big liar.’

  I tore my eyes away from Dan and glared at Keith (totally forgetting I was supposed to be flirting with him).

  ‘I wasn’t lying. I just didn’t recognise you straightaway.’

  ‘Liar,’ Keith said, grabbing his crotch. ‘You want a bit of Keith meat.’

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I just ate my dinner.’

  I could only see the back of Anna’s head so I couldn’t see her expression when she reached across the table and placed her elegantly manicured hand on top of Dan’s. He pulled away and swiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  ‘Hey.’ Pale fingers waved in front of my face. ‘Hey, did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You want some Keith meat?’ he said again, leering at me.

  Why did drunks always forget what they’d said five seconds before?

  ‘No thanks, Keith,’ I repeated. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Horny? Yeah, that’s more like it.’

  Oh for God’s sake. What was it Claire had said about Keith? That he was sensitive and a poet? He was about as sensitive as industrial sandpaper and his incessant drunken rambling was preventing me from listening in to Anna and Dan’s conversation. I looked around the pub, desperate to find something to distract him.

  ‘Keith,’ I said, beckoning him with a finger.

  He lurched forward. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Why don’t you wait for me in the ladies’ loos and I’ll join you in a second.’

  His mouth fell open with delight. ‘You’re gonna do me in the bogs?’

  ‘Yes.’ I cringed. ‘I’m going to do you in the bogs. Go and wait for me.’

  ‘All right!’

  He slipped off his stool, staggered to his feet, and took a few unsteady steps. He was halfway across the room when he stopped and lurched his way back to me. ‘Where’s the Ladies?’

  ‘Follow the bar round until you get to the end,’ I said, pointing in the general direction, ‘and they’re right in front of you.’

  Grinning wildly, he wandered back across the bar, knocking into punters and spilling drinks as he moved. Below me, Dan and Anna were still deep in conversation. Anna’s body jolted back and forth as though she was crying and Dan reached forward and wrapped her hands in his.

  ‘I thought I’d feel her presence around me but I can’t,’ he said. ‘She’s definitely gone.’

  Don’t give up on me, Dan, I silently begged, please don’t give up on me. I’m coming back.

  ‘The last thing Lucy said to me,’ Anna said, ‘was, “see you later, gorgeous, we’re going to have so much fun.” That really sums Lucy up, I think.’

  Dan nodded and said nothing. I could tell what he was thinking. He was thinking about how we’d argued about the wedding preparations and who’d done what before I’d died. Please, I silently begged Anna, please don’t ask him—

  ‘What,’ she said, ‘were Lucy’s last words to you? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  Dan shook his head. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

  I didn’t get to hear Anna’s response because, right at that second, Keith Krank lurched back into view.

  ‘Hey,’ he bellowed. ‘You didn’t come. I waited for ages.’

  I tried to speak but I was choking on my own misery. I could barely breathe.

  ‘Hey,’ Keith shouted. ‘You were going to fuck me, you said.’

  The noise and chatter immediately stopped. Everyone in the pub was staring at us. Keith put his face so close to mine I could smell the beer on his breath.

  ‘You were going to eat the Keith meat!’ he shouted. ‘Why didn’t you eat the Keith meat, you dick-teasing slag?’

  I pushed him away and slipped off my seat.

  ‘Hey.’ He grabbed my shoulder as I tried to slip past him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  I pulled away from him, but he had a tight grip on my coat.

  ‘Oi,’ said another voice. It was Dan. He was standing up and glaring down at Keith. ‘Let go of her.’

  Keith looked up at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘Piss off, Lanky Boy.’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Dan, grabbing hold of Keith’s hand. ‘She hasn’t done anything to you.’

  Before I knew what was happening, other people were scraping their chairs on the floor and standing up. Keith’s bravado faded quickly and he let go of my coat.

  ‘She’s a slag,’ he said as he pushed me roughly away. ‘You can have her.’

  His shove pushed me right into Dan’s chest. I froze, my face pressed against the warm wool of his jumper.

  �
��You OK?’ Dan asked, wrapping an arm around me. ‘The barman’s having a word with that jerk. Why don’t you sit down? Have a drink with my friend and me?’

  The smell of his aftershave and his tender, reassuring hand on my shoulder was more than I could bear. I wriggled out of his arms, looked up into his gentle, puzzled face, and ran from the pub.

  Later, in bed, I wrapped my arms around the enormous pink elephant Dan had won for me on Brighton Pier and buried my face in its soft fur. I could still remember the spicy musk of Dan’s aftershave, the warmth of his body as he’d wrapped a protective arm around me after Keith’s drunken shove. The last time he’d worn that green jumper was when he’d surprised me with a visit to Disneyland Paris in December the year before. I’d complained to Dan about how stressed I was about a late-running project I was working on, and he’d suggested a weekend away to cheer me up. I’d got really excited until he said that some home-cooked food at his parents’ house in the Norfolk countryside was just what I needed! When he insisted I pack comfy shoes and thick jumpers I didn’t suspect a thing (his parents’ house was freezing!), but when he insisted we hop off the Metropolitan Line at St Pancras instead of Liverpool Street, I knew something was definitely up.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked as he squeezed my hand tightly and led me to the Eurostar terminal. I stared up at the gleaming roof that curved above our heads like a metal cathedral ceiling and gawped at the champagne bar. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you,’ Dan said, his smile reaching all the way up to his eyes, ‘my parents emigrated to France last week.’

  ‘No way!’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s not true,’ he said, letting go of my hand and darting across the concourse before I could thump him.

  ‘But,’ I said, hurrying towards him, my suitcase rolling along behind me, ‘I haven’t got my passport. We can’t go anywhere.’

  ‘I’ve got your passport,’ Dan said, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me into him. ‘And we’re going to Disneyland, Luce.’

  My squeals of delight could probably be heard across the channel.

  Twenty-four hours later, my face was pressed into Dan’s jumper again as he held me close on a cold winter’s night and we watched a hundred colourful fireworks squeal and explode above the Magic Kingdom as Minnie, Mickey and Donald frolicked around on a float and a beatific Cinderella blew kisses into the crowd.

  ‘I don’t deserve you,’ I said, looking up at Dan, my throat tight with emotion. ‘I don’t deserve to feel this happy.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ he said. He touched my chin, gently tipped back my face, then kissed me softly on the lips. ‘Who else would I wind up, if I didn’t have you?’

  ‘So you only love me because I’m the most gullible girl in the world?’ I asked, sticking out my bottom lip and faking a sulk.

  ‘No,’ Dan had said, looking deep into my eyes, ‘because you’re the most beautiful.’

  I pulled the pink elephant closer to me, crushing it in my arms as tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked its soft fur.

  ‘I’ll find love for Archie, Dan,’ I whispered. ‘I will. Whatever it takes.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Friday 3rd May

  Day Seven

  I sprinted into work on Friday morning and paused in the doorway, gasping for breath. Bloody Keith Krank. It was his fault I’d slept through my alarm. If it wasn’t for him I’d have gone to bed at a normal time instead of sitting up for hours thinking about Dan and—

  Hang on.

  Archie was curled over his desk, his fingers on the keyboard, gaudy sweater hanging on the back of the chair. Wherever he’d been the day before, he was back! Project ‘Find Archie Love’ was back on.

  ‘Hi, Archibald,’ I said, mopping my sweaty forehead with my sleeve.

  ‘Mmm,’ he replied, peering intently at his monitor.

  ‘Good to see you back,’ I persevered. ‘Hope you’re feeling better now.’

  ‘What?’ he said, looking up.

  ‘You were away yesterday. I assumed you were off ill.’

  ‘Something like that,’ he mumbled, blushing from the base of his neck to his eyelashes.

  He looked so awkward I suspected he’d been suffering from an embarrassing illness like explosive diarrhoea or something. But there was no need to be ashamed. We all get ill.

  ‘Imodium is very good,’ I said. ‘I took it once when I had a prawn curry that was so bad I was on the loo for—’

  ‘I wasn’t ill,’ Archie mumbled, looking horrified. ‘I was doing a few … things …’

  Oh. OK … Time to go and sit at my desk.

  I’d only been logged on for ten minutes when an instant message popped up on my screen. It was from Graham:

  Hello, Lucy. Please come to my desk for a quick chat.

  Oh shit. ‘Chats’ at my old job normally meant a bollocking or the sack. I swallowed hard. What if Graham had rumbled my dodgy CV? I couldn’t lose my job. I still didn’t have Archie’s home phone number.

  Everything OK? I typed back, my heart beating wildly.

  Yes, we need to talk about the website, remember?

  I sighed so loudly Nigel stopped typing and peered at me over the top of his glasses.

  On my way I replied, ignoring my colleague and grabbing the notes I’d scribbled down the previous day. I had some bullshitting to do.

  *

  Graham’s sombre blue tie had been replaced with a red bow tie and his bushy hair was gelled into a shiny side-parting. It wasn’t a good look.

  ‘Hi, Graham,’ I said, hovering in front of his desk.

  ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Miss Brown.’ He waved me towards a chair. ‘Sit down, sit down.’

  ‘I wrote a few notes about the website,’ I said, perching on the edge of my seat. ‘Should I just read them out, or would you like to take a look?’

  Graham propped himself up on his elbows and put his chin in his hands. ‘Read. You have my full and undivided attention, Miss Brown.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, my finger shaking as I pointed to the first item on my print-out. ‘First of – the colour. It’s too gaudy and it doesn’t portray a strong corporate image.’

  Graham frowned. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘The animated bits look cheap and tacky and distract the visitor,’ I said, getting into my stride. I might not know anything about coding websites but I knew bad design when I saw it. ‘The font is too big, the lay-out is skewed, the menu is in the wrong place, there are far too many random photos taking up all the white space and generally the whole website gives an impression of unprofessionalism. Whoever designed it is a colour-blind idiot.’

  Graham nodded. ‘Right, so if you could give any advice to the designer, what would you say?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give them advice,’ I said, pleased with his studious reaction to my critique. ‘I’d tell them they were sacked.’

  ‘Would you?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you can’t sack me because I’m the Managing Director.’

  Oh shit.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t think—’

  ‘I was a coder myself once, Lucy.’ Graham sat up straight in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Website design isn’t rocket science, you know. Any of the boys here could do the website, but they’re too busy. That’s why we employed you.’

  Ouch. Graham might not have wanted to fire me at the start of the conversation but he probably did now.

  ‘Right, of course,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite get round to listing the good points about the website.’

  ‘Which are?’

  I looked down at the non-existent positive notes I’d made. ‘The words that describe the voice-recognition software are good.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And, um, the photo of you using the software is very … informative.’

  Graham ran his hands through his hair and ad
justed his bow tie. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s great,’ I gushed. ‘The lighting is wonderful, the angles are great and, er, your desk looks very tidy.’

  ‘And the model?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I said blankly.

  ‘I think the word you’re looking for is handsome.’

  I gritted my teeth. ‘You look very handsome in the photo, Graham.’

  ‘Right then,’ he said, standing up, ‘off you toddle and sort out the website. Let’s see if you can do any better.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, a bead of sweat dribbling down my back as I turned to go. I was halfway back to my desk when Graham shouted my name.

  ‘Yes?’ I turned slowly.

  ‘If I don’t like it you’re fired.’

  I stared at him, my eyes wide.

  ‘Just joking,’ he said.

  By the time one o’clock rolled around, my head was buzzing with HTML tags, Javascript coding and photo libraries and I was desperate for a break. Archie had mysteriously disappeared again so I turned to Nigel.

  ‘Are you going to the pub again today?’

  ‘Nah,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m going to work through lunch. Me and Geoff are collaborating on a little side project.’

  I turned to look at Geoff, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

  ‘Some of the other lads are going though,’ Nigel added. ‘Apparently they’re going to discuss the pros and cons of server-side Javascript versus client-side. Why don’t you join in?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I said, shrinking into my seat. ‘I’ve got a few things I should get on with so I’ll probably just grab a sandwich.’

  Nigel glanced at his watch. ‘Sally the Sandwich should be round in a sec. She does a mean egg mayo with cheese.’

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, there was a booming thump at the office front door. Sally the Sandwich was obviously a mountain of a girl.

  ‘Come in!’ Nigel yelled.

  I turned, fully expecting to see a Russian shot-putter walk through the door.

  ‘Hello,’ boomed a tiny Chinese girl, her bleach-blonde hair tied in bunches on either side of her head. She was wearing a red and white checked shirt and a tiny little denim skirt, covered with a white apron with ‘Sally the Sandwich’ embroidered on the front in bright pink. On her feet were the most ridiculously oversized pink trainers I’d ever seen. She could have given the Spice Girls a run for their money.