Heaven Can Wait Page 16

  ‘I like you, Archie,’ I said, fiddling with my empty wine glass. ‘I like you a lot … ’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I see you as a … as a … little brother.’

  ‘Brother?’ He laughed tightly. ‘Right. Thanks for that.’

  ‘No,’ I said, reaching for his hand. ‘Don’t be angry, please. I just wanted to help you meet someone.’

  ‘Why would you do that, Lucy?’ He snatched his hand away and left mine trailing alone on the tablecloth. ‘You hardly know me.’

  His cheeks were flushed and he was glaring at me, his hands clenched into tight, white fists. I’d never seen him look so angry and hurt. But what could I say? I couldn’t tell him the real reason why I was trying to find him a soulmate.

  ‘You looked lonely,’ I said.

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘But, but,’ I stuttered. ‘I don’t think you’re in love with me, not really. Maybe you just like the way I make you feel about yourself.’

  ‘Could you be any more patronising, Lucy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not some kind of desperate lost cause, you know,’ he said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes cold. ‘I didn’t ask you to take me under your wing and find me someone to love, did I? I was doing perfectly fine on my own, you know.’

  ‘Were you?’

  Archie opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again, shaking his head. Then he was up, out of his chair and halfway to the door, before I knew what was happening.

  ‘Archie,’ I called. ‘Archie, don’t go. Please. Let’s talk about this.’

  He turned back and stared at me. ‘Oh just fuck off, Lucy.’

  And then he was gone.

  I drank three large glasses of wine and then left the pub and started walking. Cars beeped and honked and frustrated commuters elbowed me out of the way, but I kept on going. I walked until the sun set and the street lamps flickered pools of amber light onto London’s dark streets.

  And then I stopped.

  Outside 33, White Street. NW6. My old house.

  I sat on a wall on the opposite side of the road and looked at my watch. It was just after eight, but all the lights were off in the house and the curtains were closed.

  But I didn’t need to look through the window to remember my house. I just had to shut my eyes.

  The living room … where Dan and I had made a bed on the floor using blankets and duvets while we waited for our new bed to be delivered. We didn’t sleep a wink, but giggled like children playing at sleepovers until we only had four hours sleep before had to get up to work. The dining room … I’d bought a gorgeous antique wooden table and eight matching chairs so we could have fancy dinner parties with cotton napkins, candles, starters, main courses and desserts. We only had one dinner party in the end because we all felt so awkward and silly, dressed up in our finery making polite chit-chat, that I moved everyone into the living room instead and we ate our meals on our knees in front of the TV, laughing like loons at how we’d never be proper ‘grown-ups’. The kitchen … our beautiful yellow kitchen. It was monochrome and steel, with white walls when we moved in, but I’d always dreamed of a yellow kitchen and I told Dan as much. One day I returned from work to discover he’d taken the afternoon off from his job at Creative Ink Advertising Agency to paint it the most beautiful primrose yellow. He hated it, he told me later, but it had been worth it just to see the look of delight on my face when I walked through the door …

  Someone coughed and my eyes flew open. Dan was standing beside me.

  ‘You again!’ he said, staring down at me, his eyes wide with surprise. ‘If you’re stalking me you need to start being a bit more subtle.’

  I should have jumped up and run away, but I couldn’t move. I stared up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was holding a black umbrella over his head while fat, wet droplets bounced on my cheeks and dripped off my jaw. I hadn’t even noticed it was raining.

  ‘Why are you staring at my house?’ Dan perched on the wall beside me and my breathing quickened. I was hyperventilating with longing. ‘There’s nothing worth nicking, you know.’

  It’s our house, I wanted to say. Mine and yours. Why can’t you tell that I’m sitting beside you? Why can’t you sense it’s me?

  ‘You’re shivering,’ Dan said, holding the umbrella over my head. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want from me, but you’ve got to stop doing this. Otherwise I’ll call the police or’ – he looked me up and down and shook his head – ‘social services.’

  The skin below his eyes was crinkled with wrinkles but they weren’t laughter lines, neither was the ridge between his brows. He looked worried and tired, but he still cared enough to keep me, his mute stalker, dry while the rain flattened his hair to his head.

  I had to try and tell him what was going on. He had to understand.

  ‘Dan,’ I said. ‘It’s Lucy. I’m trying to get back to you but I think I’ve screwed it all up. The man I was supposed to find love for has fallen in love with me instead and I don’t know what to do.’

  He stared at my lips but said nothing. It was useless. He couldn’t hear a thing. I was just about to get up when he rummaged in his bag and held up a notepad and pen.

  ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying,’ he said slowly and loudly, as though I were deaf. ‘But if you write down what’s wrong, I might be able to help. Call someone or something.’

  He leaned towards me, the notebook in his hand, and I caught the warm, musky tones of his aftershave. I inhaled the scent of him, temporarily lost in a thousand tender memories, then reached out my hand. His fingers brushed mine as I took the pad and pen and a million volts of electricity sparked up my arms.

  This is Lucy, I scribbled desperately. I love you so much, Dan, and I’m so sorry we argued before I died. I was just stressed about the wedding and I should have said I love you, too, but —’

  Dan touched my hand. I stopped writing and looked up at him. Oh my God. Oh my God. Had he … had he actually understood what I’d just writ—

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘But I’ve got no idea what that says. Is it Arabic? Hindi? I don’t understand what you just wrote.’

  My heart rate slowed to a dull thud. Every tiny speck of hope I’d clung to so desperately had just floated away and disappeared. I tore the page from the pad, crumpled it up, and threw it into the gutter.

  ‘Come back,’ Dan shouted as I turned and walked away. ‘Let me help you.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I whispered. ‘Nobody can.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Claire was peering out of the hallway cupboard, the phone in her hand, as I trudged through the front door of the House of Wannabe Ghosts.

  ‘Lucy,’ she said. ‘It’s for you.’

  My heart skipped a beat. There were only two people who knew my home telephone number and one of them was Archie.

  ‘Is it Archie?’ I mouthed as I hurried down the hall.

  She shook her head. ‘No, and I think you’re going to get a bollocking.’

  A bollocking? What for? Oh God. Was it Graham Wellington?

  ‘Hello?’ I said, snatching the phone from her hand.

  ‘Hello, Lucy,’ said a familiar voice. ‘This is Saint Bob.’

  I nearly dropped the phone. Saint Bob? Limbo could call the house? Why hadn’t anyone told me?

  ‘Lucy’ – Bob’s tone was officious – ‘where have you been?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just now.’

  I was tempted to lie, but I had the distinct impression that lying to my celestial boss wouldn’t do me any favours.

  ‘I went to see my fiancé … I did something wrong, didn’t I?’

  ‘Lucy – have you read the manual?’

  ‘Parts of it.’

  Bob sighed. ‘Did you read the part about contacting people who knew you when you were alive?’

  I swallowed. Oh shit. They definitely knew where I’d been.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.<
br />
  ‘According to our records, Lucy, you have made two attempts to communicate with your fiancé. On the first occasion you attempted to speak to him and on the second, today, you attempted to speak to him and communicate with him through the written word.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was desperate,’ I said. ‘My task wasn’t going well and I was going to give up and …’

  The thought hit me like a juggernaut in the face. I didn’t want to give up. I didn’t want Bob to whisk me back up to limbo and load me onto the up escalator. I wanted to pass my task, no matter what. If Archie loved me, I could make him not love me. I could make him hate me, if I had to. I just had to get back to Dan.

  ‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Please don’t force me to go up to heaven. I’m sorry. Just give me another chance. Please, Bob, please.’

  ‘Lucy—’

  ‘Please? I’m begging you. Please.’

  ‘Lucy!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is your official warning, your only warning. We let the first offence go as it was your first day back on earth and you hadn’t read the manual, but this time you blatantly broke the rules. You have one last chance—’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I gabbled. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  ‘BUT,’ Bob said, ‘if you try anything like this again, you will immediately be returned to limbo and your task will be cancelled.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promised, twisting the phone cord round my finger. ‘I won’t try and communicate with anyone again.’

  ‘Good.’ Bob said. ‘You might want to remind Claire of the rules. She’s on her last warning too and we’ve noticed she’s come perilously close to breaking it recently. Goodbye, Lucy—’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. I’d just remembered the last conversation I’d had with Claire. ‘Can people find love in heaven? I mean, if someone didn’t find love when they were alive, can they find love up there instead?’

  ‘Of course they can.’ Bob sighed. ‘What kind of heaven do you think would let the loveless exist for eternity on their own?’

  I’d only just set the phone back on its cradle when Brian poked his head round the door.

  ‘Hi, Lucy,’ he said. ‘Sorry to burst in on you, but I was wondering if you were ready to help me with my task? You did say you’d help me today.’

  I was one breath away from saying no, but the desperate look on his face made me swallow my words.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll just go and change my clothes and then I’ll be down.’

  ‘Marvellous.’ He beamed at me and scratched his mop of dark hair. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

  ‘Oh, Brian,’ I said, as I climbed the stairs, ‘could you grab two of your railway magazines? We’re going to need them.’

  ‘Magazines,’ he repeated, looking confused. ‘Right.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was still raining when we hopped off the tube at Tooting Broadway and traipsed down the deserted high street. Brian stormed ahead, a look of steadfast determination on his face.

  ‘This is where Troy lives,’ he said, pointing at nowhere in particular as I trotted behind him.

  ‘OK,’ I said, staring around nervously. Even the street lights looked scary. ‘But is this a good idea? It’s quite late and there’s no one around. How will we find him?’

  ‘We’ll find him,’ Brian said, glancing back at me. ‘I know exactly where he’ll be.’

  I had no idea what a bunch of teenagers would be doing on a rainy May evening. Probably something they shouldn’t, I thought cynically.

  ‘OK,’ he said, stopping suddenly in the middle of the street. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘Where’s here?’ I replied, scowling as a man on a bike splashed through a puddle in the road and drenched my jeans.

  Brian pointed to the glowing arches above the nearest shop.

  ‘McDonald’s?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, pushing the door open. ‘Fancy a burger?’

  I traipsed in behind him, glad to get out of the rain, as he hurried to the counter. The place was packed. Everywhere I looked, teenagers were cramming chips into their mouths, slurping on milkshakes or slouching on the tables doing not very much at all.

  ‘OK,’ said Brian, waving a tray of stinky junk food under my nose, ‘now we’re here, how are you going to help me with my task?’

  ‘Don’t stress,’ I said, reaching for a chip and popping it into my mouth. ‘I’ll come up with something, but you need to tell me where Troy is first.’

  ‘See the two boys and the girl over by the door?’ Brian inclined his head and I nodded. ‘Troy is the boy in the grey hooded top, the black trousers and the white trainers.’

  ‘OK then,’ I said, nudging him, ‘let’s go and sit at the table next to them.’

  Brian visibly paled. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘Brian,’ I said, rolling my eyes, ‘how are you supposed to start a conversation with someone unless they can hear what you’re saying?’

  ‘I was kind of hoping you’d come up with some kind of plan that didn’t involve conversation.’

  ‘What, like kidnapping him and tying him to the bridge at Paddington Station until he agrees to become a trainspotter?’

  ‘Well …’ Brian shrugged. ‘Maybe not something quite so obviously violent, but —’

  ‘Brian!’

  ‘He called me a paedophile, Lucy. He’ll run a mile if I try and talk to him again.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Brian,’ I said, snatching the tray from him and heading towards the empty table. ‘Let’s just go and sit down and take it from there.’

  ‘OK,’ he mumbled. ‘But if he calls me a kiddy-fiddler again, it’s your fault.’

  Troy looked up as we sat down, but he didn’t scream, run or pull a gun on us. Which was a good start.

  ‘See,’ I whispered, pushing a bag of fries towards Brian. ‘He doesn’t even remember you.’

  ‘Good.’ He looked relieved. ‘What now?’

  ‘Take out those two magazines I asked you to bring.’

  While I tried my best to look nonchalant, Brian foraged around in his bag and extracted two magazines, pristine in their clear plastic sleeves. I snatched one from him.

  ‘Careful,’ he hissed, jumping forward in his seat. ‘They might be collector’s editions one day.’

  ‘Keep your wig on.’ I wiped the ketchup from my fingers (and the plastic sleeve) and turned the first page. ‘So, what’s every railway enthusiast’s wet dream?’

  Brian gasped and almost fell off his seat. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What’s the one thing a railway enthusiast wants more than anything else in the world?’

  ‘I always dreamed of building a station on an old track bed,’ he said, his saggy face lighting up. ‘No, buying two stations and reconstructing the line so a steam train could run between them.’

  ‘Lovely.’ I glanced at Troy, who was furtively checking out the cover of the magazine I was holding. ‘Now, announce you’ve done just that. Say it loudly.’

  ‘But I haven’t,’ he protested.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Brian, just act. Weren’t you ever in a play when you were a kid?’

  ‘I was in the nativity.’

  ‘Great start!’

  ‘As a tree.’

  ‘Just pretend your greatest dream has come true,’ I explained, ‘and I’m one of your railway enthusiast friends and you’re telling me the news.’

  ‘I’ve bought two stations,’ Brian shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘And I’m going to run a steam train between them.’

  Troy stared at us. So did the rest of the restaurant.

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘I’ve, er …’ I glanced down at my magazine and speed-read the first few words of an article. ‘I’ve just come back from a trip to the Isle of Man Steam Railway.’

  ‘I’ve been there too,’ Brian bellowed. ‘It’s fantastic.’

  Oh God.

  Still, at least we had Troy’s atten
tion. But we had one major problem. He was sitting with two friends; two non-railway enthusiast friends. If we were going to get to Troy, we needed to get rid of them. And fast.

  ‘So, Lucy,’ Brian shouted. ‘What did you like best about—’

  ‘Brian, shhh.’ I glared at him. ‘I’m thinking.’

  How could I get rid of Troy’s mates? I could probably get the girl into the ladies’ loos with some kind of women’s problem (an urgent tampon request, maybe?), but that would leave the male friend behind. If I shouted ‘fire!’ everyone would leave the building (Troy included), so that was no good either.

  I scanned the table next to us, desperate for an idea. The three teenagers had a cup of coke each, but no food. What else? They were all fiddling with their mobile phones. Two of them had the same make, but Troy’s was different. That gave me a idea. A stupid one, perhaps, but it might just work.

  ‘Brian,’ I said loudly, but without shouting, ‘how many people did you sign up for the Sony Ericsson free Big Mac promotion?’

  He looked at me blankly, but I could tell I had the attention of the three kids on the next table. They’d stopped talking and were listening to me in that über-cool, ‘I’m so not listening cos you’re so sad’ teenage way.

  ‘I got a hundred,’ I said quickly, before Brian had chance to put his foot in it. ‘You only got ninety-eight, didn’t you? You’ll lose your job if you don’t get two more. You’d think kids would snap up a free Big Mac meal like that’ – I clicked my fingers together – ‘wouldn’t you?’

  Brian continued to stare at me, open-mouthed. At the table next to us, Troy’s friend was kicking the girl under the table. I put on my most winning smile and turned towards them.

  ‘I don’t suppose any of you have a Sony Ericsson, do you? My friend here will lose his job tomorrow if he doesn’t give out two more free Big Mac meals.’