Heaven Can Wait Page 2

  ‘I’ve done stuff too,’ he said, looking longingly in the direction of his red Mini. ‘I booked the DJ for the reception.’

  ‘Wow. You rang up one of your mates and asked him to bring his decks along. Well done you.’

  Dan looked shocked. ‘Do you know how long I spent going through all our records looking for the songs for the playlist? I wanted each song to be perfect, to represent special moments in our relationship to—’

  I threw my hands in the air. ‘So you listened to a few records, did you? God, how taxing for you, Dan. Because you hate listening to music, don’t you? It’s such a chore. I’d have liked to have sat on the floor drinking beer and playing tunes too, but instead I had to drive all over town picking up cravats and buttonholes and wedding favours and—’

  ‘Can we just stop arguing now?’ Dan interrupted, looking at me as though I was the one being exasperating. ‘I thought I was supposed to leave. I thought that was what you wanted.’

  ‘What I wanted, what I want, is for you to take our marriage seriously. You’ve been a real a pain in the arse today, Dan.’

  He shrugged, opened the gate and nearly tripped over his own feet as he stepped off the pavement. ‘I love you, Lucy Brown,’ he shouted as he rummaged for his keys and let himself into his car.

  I closed the front door, rested my forehead against the hallway wall and took a few deep breaths. Oh God. What was wrong with me? It wasn’t like me to overreact to a bit of gentle teasing, but it was as though all the stress of the previous few months had just built up and up until I couldn’t keep it in any more. Even so, I shouldn’t have had a go at Dan. He’d just done what he always did when I was tired or stressed – tried to make me laugh. True, he could be an idiot sometimes, and more than a bit lazy, but he was still perfect for me in every other way. He was tall (I was five foot seven), dark-haired (me too, well, mousy but dyed) and quirkily handsome. I loved everything about him; from his firm bum and his warm brown eyes to the little kink in his nose from an over-enthusiastic rugby match when he was a teenager. And he loved me, even if I did suffer from an extreme sense of humour failure in times of huge stress. Not to mention being gullible, ridiculously over-emotional, and prone to hypochondria!

  I’d call him before I went to bed, I decided as I sprinted up the stairs, to say sorry for being such a horrible bridezilla. I hadn’t even said, ‘I love you too,’ when he’d left and I’d never done that before. I always said it back.

  I paused at the top of the stairs and rummaged in my jeans pocket for my ‘things to do’ list. Next to item number ten – wedding present for Dan – was a question mark scribbled in biro. I’d bought him some silver cufflinks, but they weren’t special enough. Cufflinks don’t exactly say, ‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ do they? More like ‘I’m a very unimaginative girlfriend. Next year I’ll buy you a drill for Christmas.’

  I shoved the piece of paper back into my pocket and wandered into the bathroom. There was less than an hour before Anna and Jess came round for a pre-wedding night of champagne and music and I needed to calm down and think. I threw off my clothes, turned on the radio, eased myself into the warm bubbles and thought happy thoughts. In less than twenty-four hours I’d be Lucy Harding, Mrs Daniel Harding. Goodbye, Lucy Brown!

  When my fingers and toes were as wrinkled as raisins I stepped out of the tub and reached for a towel. That’s when it hit me – the perfect present for Dan was in the attic. I’d gone on a decluttering spree two weeks before and he’d moved my wooden box of keepsakes into the attic for me. It was stuffed full with memories of our life together: flyers for gigs, photos, trinkets, letters, shells, postcards, and a cinema ticket from our first date. If I put the cinema ticket into the cufflinks box and gave it to Dan after the ceremony, it would be perfect – something new to celebrate our marriage and something old to commemorate our first date.

  I just had to find it first.

  I unclipped the hatch to the attic with the pole and stamped wet footprints into the carpet as I dragged the stepladder across the landing. I stepped up to the top rung of the ladder and reached up. The box was a few millimetres away from my outstretched hand.

  ‘Shit.’

  It was tantalisingly close. If I could just stretch a little bit further, I’d have it. I stood on tiptoes and lunged towards the edge of the box. The ladder squeaked and jolted, then tipped to one side. I screamed and grabbed at nothing as my towel slipped from my body and I fell through the air.

  My first thought as I tumbled towards the carpet was – shit, I forgot the safety-catch. The second was – this is really, really going to hurt.

  And it did, but only for a split second.

  My head collided with the banister, my neck twisted, snapped, and I hit the carpet with a thump.

  And that was that. I was dead.

  Chapter Three

  When I opened my eyes all I could see were grey, blurry legs stepping over me. Not one person stopped to ask if I was OK. Oh great, I thought as I rubbed my head, I’ve obviously collapsed in the middle of Oxford Street. How the hell did that happen?

  I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at my body to check for clues.

  And realised I was stark bollock-naked.

  ‘Nooooo,’ I whimpered as I curled into the foetal position. ‘No, not the naked shopping dream again.’ If I didn’t get up quickly, I’d progress to part two of the dream, where all my ex-boyfriends show up to point and laugh.

  I waited for a lull in the legs and stood up slowly, one hand covering my pubes, the other clutching my boobs. I was surrounded by people of every age, race and religion on earth. They were wearing business suits, yashmaks, evening dresses, hospital gowns, wetsuits, overalls and nightclothes. And everyone was a pale, almost translucent, grey. It was as though I’d been invited to the most bizarre fancy dress party in the world.

  Not that there was any music.

  The whole place was silent apart from the shuffling of feet, the occasional moan or groan, and a distant whirring sound. Everyone stared straight ahead and when I did make eye contact with them, they looked at me blankly. It was like being a fresher at university again. But there wasn’t any beer. Or DJs. Or disco balls. There weren’t even any walls, just a great, dark cloud hovering ominously above us.

  It was, I decided, the crappiest party ever. And it was time to leave.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, nudging the arm of a young woman wearing a Victorian costume.

  She stared through me and carried on walking. I hurried after her, then stopped suddenly. My hands and legs were as grey as school rice-pudding.

  ‘What’s happened to me?’ I said, grabbing the arm of a very old man with wild, wiry hair. ‘Why have I gone grey?’

  He shook me off and hobbled away.

  ‘OK, enough now, I want to wake up,’ I shouted. ‘I’ve got a wedding to sort out.’

  When nothing happened I felt light-headed and tingled all over. I hadn’t suffered a full-blown panic attack since my parents had died, but I still remembered the warning signs.

  ‘Lucy,’ a male voice shouted over the hum. ‘Lucy Brown, stay where you are.’

  I froze. Someone knew who I was.

  ‘Over here,’ I shouted, releasing a boob and waving a hand in the air. ‘I’m over here.’

  The crowd parted and I spotted the top of a golden bald head moving towards me. I immediately squatted on the ground and tried to cover myself up with my hands. ‘Oh God, please don’t let it be an ex-boyfriend. Pleeeeeease.’

  A couple of seconds later, a short, squat man burst through the crowd and held out his hand.

  ‘You must be Lucy,’ he said breathlessly. ‘So sorry I’m late. I should have been here to greet you when you arrived.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I said. ‘I’m naked!’

  ‘Ah, so you are,’ he replied, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘Do you want a sheet?’

  I watched as he rummaged in the inside pocket
of his jacket and extracted a white sheet like a magician pulling scarves from a hat. He handed it to me with an apologetic look on his face and I wrapped it around me and stood up. My new friend was very short and very golden. He literally glimmered from the top of his shiny head to the tips of the rather hairy toes peeping out from beneath his tailored tweed suit. Thick bushy eyebrows framed his eyes and a wide nose sat in the centre of two very fleshy cheeks and above his smiling mouth. He was the spitting image of Bob Hoskins.

  ‘Is this a dream?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m Bob,’ said glowing man, holding out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  I knew it. I just knew it. Stress always made me dream about famous people, which sounds cool but isn’t – especially when you end up dreaming you’re having sex with Noel Edmonds. I couldn’t watch Deal or No Deal without cringing for months after that one.

  ‘Hoskins, right?’ I smirked, shaking his hand.

  ‘No,’ he said, looking confused. ‘Saint Bob, cousin to Peter. Come with me.’ Before I had chance to respond, he grabbed my hand and launched himself back into the crowd. I stumbled and tripped as he dragged me behind him.

  ‘Not far now,’ he gasped. ‘Nearly there.’

  Just as I was about to beg for a breather, we squeezed through the last few people and approached a wide, wooden door. Bob let go of my hand and rooted through his pockets.

  ‘Aha!’ he said as he pulled a key from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then opened the door. ‘Do go in and sit down.’

  I squinted around the room and tried to locate a chair. Everything glowed with light and I couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Bob, reaching into his jacket again. ‘These might help.’

  He handed me some sunglasses. They looked like something Elton John might have worn in the seventies, but I suppressed the urge to call the fashion police and slipped them on. Everything immediately dimmed and I blinked like a demented camel in a sandstorm.

  The room was bigger than I’d first thought. It had a huge arched ceiling inset with carvings of plants, people and animals and a dark polished wood floor. Bang in the centre was a wide mahogany desk with two leather Queen Anne chairs at either side. Bob was sitting in the chair facing me.

  He smiled. ‘Take a seat, Lucy, let’s have a chat.’

  I gingerly lowered myself into the empty chair, fully expecting it to turn into a celebrity and shout, ‘Get off me, fat arse.’

  ‘Is this a dream, Bob?’ I asked, tucking my feet under me when the chair failed to react.

  He shook his head. ‘What’s the last thing you remember?’

  ‘I got on a ladder to try and get Dan’s present out of the attic,’ I said, the words rushing out, ‘and then I fell off and I hit my head.’ I took a breath. ‘I’m unconscious, aren’t I?’

  Bob shook his head again.

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘ I’m in a coma in hospital and Dan’s standing by my bedside playing me ‘My Heart Will Go On,’ by Celine Dion to try and get me to open my eyes, only he calls it ‘My Fart Will Go On,’ after our first date when I—’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes, Bob.’

  ‘You’re not going to wake up.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Lucy,’ Bob whispered, leaning forward, ‘you’re dead.’

  ‘I’m going now, Bob,’ I said as I stood up and moved towards the door. ‘I’m going to tell Dan that I love him, that I’m sorry about the argument, and I can’t wait to get married to him tomorrow and that … ’

  I tugged the door open. The mass of grey people swirled around outside.

  ‘Wake up, Lucy,’ I said, pinching myself hard on the arm.

  The pinch didn’t hurt so I slapped myself around the face. What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I feel anything?

  ‘Lucy,’ Bob called, ‘please come back in.’

  I traipsed back into the office and gripped onto the back of the chair. ‘Help me wake up please, Bob. I can’t do it by myself.’

  He stood up, straightened his suit and walked towards me. His lips twitched into a half smile but his eyebrows were definitely frowning.

  ‘You’re never going to wake up, Lucy,’ he said. ‘This is limbo, halfway between earth and heaven. You really are dead, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Limbo,’ I joked, ‘is that a new nightclub in town?’

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  For a small man, Bob was remarkably strong. He caught me as I crumpled towards the floor and held me tightly. He was as warm as a freshly filled hot water bottle and the longer he held me, the more peaceful I felt. When he slowly lowered me into my chair I felt as relaxed as if I’d drunk a bottle of wine all to myself (and I didn’t feel sick).

  ‘You OK, Lucy?’ Bob asked.

  I nodded. I was dead and should have been freaking out. Instead I felt as though I was floating on a cloud in the sunshine while fat cherubs fanned me with their wings.

  I watched as Bob walked back to his chair and opened the large book on the desk. He flicked through the pages, pausing after each one to lick the tip of his stubby index finger.

  ‘Am I going to hell?’ I asked. My words slurred and my tongue felt loose in my mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to steal those earrings from H&M. They fell in my bag by accident.’

  He laughed. ‘No, Lucy, you’re not going to hell. You’re in limbo because you weren’t ready to die.’

  No shit, I thought, but was too zonked out to say.

  ‘So,’ he continued, running his finger down the page, ‘you’re Lucy Brown, aged twenty-eight, only child of Judith and Malcolm Brown, deceased.’

  A jolt ran through me as he said my parents’ names. Oh my God. Mum … Dad …

  I hadn’t seen them since I was twenty-two. I’d returned home from university for the Easter holidays and was annoyed because they were going on holiday to Rhodes without me. Bloody finals; two weeks all on my own with just a cat and an experimental psychology textbook for company. I didn’t even have Dan to distract me from myself. He’d stayed up in Manchester to carry on working part-time as a waiter while he studied.

  I’d only been at home for two days when my parents packed up and left. When they pulled out of the drive Mum wound down the car window and stuck her head out.

  ‘See you soon, Looby-Lou,’ she’d shouted. ‘We love you.’

  Two police officers visited the cottage to tell me the news. The policewoman sat me down in a chair and said, ‘I’m so sorry,’ while her colleague clanked cups in the kitchen as he made tea. It was a car crash on a windy mountain road, she said, just four days into their holiday.

  The next two weeks were a blur. Dan came down to Brighton to be with me and all I was aware of was his arms around me and his soft voice in my ear. My parents’ death devastated me. I thought I was permanently broken and I’d never be fixed, but Dan held me every night and told me he’d never leave me. I really thought we’d be together for ever. I didn’t think either of us would die until we were old and grey.

  ‘Lucy,’ said Bob, his gentle voice interrupting my thoughts. ‘Lucy, are you OK? Want to take a break?’

  I put my hands to my face. My cheeks were wet with tears.

  ‘Where are they?’ I asked, my throat tight. ‘Where are my mum and dad?’

  ‘They’re in heaven,’ Bob said softly.

  I sat up with a jolt and reached across the table. ‘Can I see them? Can I talk to them?’

  ‘You could,’ Bob said. ‘But you have a decision to make first.’

  ‘What kind of decision?’

  He looked away and rubbed his hands over his smooth head. ‘You need to make a choice – between your parents and Dan.’

  ‘What do you mean choose?’ I asked, jumping out of my seat, no longer feeling the slightest bit calm. Bob grimaced and straightened his tie. ‘I think you’d better come with me.’

  I hurried after him as he s
trode towards a door on the other side of the hall. There was a way of seeing Dan again. But how? Maybe I wasn’t totally dead and Bob could wave his heavenly wand to bring me back to life. That’s why I wasn’t in heaven with my parents. Or perhaps Bob would be able to magic Dan to the flat just in time to give me CPR. I’d open my eyes and he’d say, ‘Thank God. Oh, Lucy, I thought I’d lost you,’ and we’d kiss and get married and live happily ever after. Everything was going to be OK.

  I held my breath as Bob fumbled the key into the lock. What was behind the doors? London? My street? My flat? A hospital ceiling? The doors opened with a creak. ‘Here,’ said Bob, bowing slightly and opening his hands, ‘are your options.’

  I felt my heart sink. Before me were two grey escalators. One had a glowing sign above it that said ‘Up’, the other ‘Down’. The one going up disappeared into the grey cloud above our heads and the down escalator descended into a green mist.

  Bob pointed at the up escalator. ‘That one,’ he said, ‘will take you up to heaven, where your parents are waiting for you.’

  I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t quite believe that, right at the top of the escalator, my parents were waiting to see me again. I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat, desperate not to cry again.

  ‘And that one?’ I said, pointing to the down escalator. ‘What happens with that one?’

  ‘That one returns you to earth.’

  I was right. I wasn’t really dead. I was just in some weird halfway house. I stared at the up escalator and my heart twisted in my chest as I imagined my parents waiting in heaven for me, their beautiful, loving faces smiling, their arms outstretched. What I wouldn’t give for a big bear hug from my tall, strong dad and a tight squeeze from my mum, the scent of L’Oréal hairspray and Christian Dior J’adore perfume filling my nose as she held me tightly. There were only three people in the world who’d ever made me feel safe and loved, and I was being asked to choose between them. How the hell was I supposed to do that?

  I looked from the down escalator to the up escalator, and back again, feeling like my head was about to explode. Should I choose my parents or Dan? My parents, who had loved me and cherished me throughout my childhood and teenage years, and who I hadn’t seen for six long, long years, or Dan who loved me more than anyone else in the world and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me?