by Maz Evans
She looked at Dave. Why wasn’t he doing something?
The men were putting her things in boxes. Josie wanted to tell them to leave, but it was like she was invisible. No one was listening to her and everyone was shouting. She couldn’t bear it – there was so much noise, so much confusion . . .
She screamed.
For a moment, the world stopped. She could feel everyone looking at her, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands over her ears, screaming. The sisters had tears in their eyes. Dave had nothing in his. Patricia just smiled.
‘Carry on,’ she said. And the men went back to packing Josie’s things, smothering generations of stories in bubble wrap, so no one could hear them, before stuffing them in boxes.
The men started to take the boxes outside. Josie could feel her memories being plucked out of her house like they had been plucked out of her mind. The boxes were loaded into a van and driven away. She had no idea where they had gone.
Someone had taken her memories away. And she didn’t know if she’d ever get them back.
Josie tried to rise to her feet. She had to stop that van. She had to save her memories.
With every atom of her being, Josie found the strength to stand. But then the strangest sensation overtook her. It was as if she were coming away from her own body, almost as though she was flying, leaving behind the body that had shackled her for so long. She felt light, free, almost as if she could float away altogether . . .
‘Josie!’ the dark-haired sister screamed and ran towards her.
But Josie heard no more. She had already started to fly.
23. After Life
‘Well. I guess this is as good a place to die as any,’ said Elliot, looking around uncertainly.
Circe had directed them to the only green space on her island – a disused football field that she now planned to use for her first Pilates retreat. Elliot looked around the brown, worn grassy spot. This felt seriously weird. Elliot had often wondered how and when he would die. But he’d never wondered where.
‘You’re not going to die,’ said Zeus, as if reading Elliot’s thoughts. ‘You’re just visiting for a bit. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Elliot looked at Zeus’s lined face. Who was the King of the Gods trying to convince? Elliot? Or himself ?
‘Is there anything I need to know about this Tiresias?’ he asked, trying to ignore the fear swirling around his chest.
‘Don’t think so – super chap,’ said Zeus. ‘Poor soul got stuck in the middle of a ding-dong between Hera and I once.’
‘Did you kill him?’ asked Elliot.
‘Heavens, no!’ Zeus laughed. ‘But he did end up spending seven years as a woman.’
Elliot paused. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
‘I’m sure he’ll do everything he can to help you,’ said Zeus. ‘And we’ll be waiting here for you. Won’t we, Virgo?’
‘Dunno,’ groaned Virgo as she gnawed on a chicken leg in front of the Lotus. Elliot swore he could see a zit growing on her forehead.
‘Don’t worry – we’ll sort her out,’ Zeus whispered, wrestling the Lotus away from Virgo, who made sluggish protests. ‘Are you ready for the off ?’
Elliot pulled the herbs out of his pocket, the herbs that – however temporarily – would kill him. Could anyone ever be ready for that?
‘Yes,’ he said weakly.
‘Don’t worry – dying can’t be that bad,’ said Hypnos, stretched out on the patchy grass.
‘That’s a huge comfort, coming from an immortal who has never had to do it,’ snapped Elliot. He sat down on the ground. He figured that if he was coming back to life again, he didn’t want to wake up to a broken arm, having fallen down dead on the grass.
‘Here,’ said Hypnos, handing him a sundial watch from his wrist. ‘I’ve set a timer for fifteen minutes – when it goes off, you only have five minutes to return to your body.’
‘Thanks,’ said Elliot quietly, strapping the watch to his own wrist.
‘I’m not happy about this,’ said Zeus. ‘Not happy at all.’
‘It’s the only way,’ said Elliot. ‘I have to save Mum. And you swore you’d do whatever it took to help me.’
‘So let me go,’ Zeus insisted. ‘I’ve lived umpteen lives – you’ve barely started yours . . .’
‘You heard Proteus. Tiresias is expecting me. It’s fate.’
‘I don’t believe in fate,’ said Zeus. ‘I believe in choices.’
‘Well, this is the only one I have,’ said Elliot quietly. ‘But if this goes wrong . . .’
‘It won’t,’ Zeus whispered. ‘It can’t . . .’
‘But if it does. If I die,’ said Elliot, ‘promise me . . . promise me you won’t tell Mum.’
‘What?’ cried Zeus. ‘Why would I . . .’
‘She’s probably already forgotten me,’ said Elliot. ‘Don’t remind her, just for her to lose me again. Promise me.’
Zeus let out an exasperated sigh. But slowly, his head began to nod.
‘Right, then,’ said Elliot, putting the herbs to his lips. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘Good luck, Elliot,’ said Zeus, taking his position on Elliot’s right as Hypnos moved to his left. ‘We’ll stay here, right by these three trees that form a triangle, so you can find your way back. We’ll see you soon, old chap.’
Elliot nodded. He brought the enchanted herbs to his mouth . . .
‘Wait!’ Virgo suddenly shouted, shattering the tense moment as she struggled to her feet. ‘Elliot . . . ?’
‘What?’ Elliot cried. It wasn’t like he was in a big hurry to die, but still.
‘I just wanted to give you my sincerest wishes for your safe return,’ stammered Virgo. ‘And . . . and . . . and . . . THIS.’
She launched herself at Elliot, in what he eventually realized was a hug.
‘Gross,’ he murmured and, before he had time to think about the crazy thing he was doing, he swallowed the herbs down whole.
Immediately, he felt as if he were falling. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation – he’d had a similar feeling when he’d challenged his best friend at primary school to a breath-holding competition. The world started to fade out of focus – he could see and hear Zeus and Virgo, but they were growing very faint. He had a sudden urge to stand up, so he clambered to his feet, before looking back at the patch of grass he’d been lying on. There, deathly still, was his body. That was strange. And he really needed a haircut.
He looked around the football pitch – it was precisely the same as before, just with his friends so faint he could hardly see them.
‘Tiresias!’ he called. ‘Tiresias, where are you?’
A low moaning came from the other side of the field. Elliot froze. That didn’t sound good. The ground beneath him started to quake rhythmically, as if thousands of feet were hitting the ground at once. He turned away, but the moaning sound began on the other side of the field too. The ground kept rumbling – he was right, he could hear the footsteps now. Something – or someone – was coming for him.
Elliot looked around for a place to hide, but the open space offered him nothing. He was a sitting target.
The footsteps sounded closer and across the grass he could see an army of glowing forms coming into focus. Their arms were stretched in front of them like zombies and they continued their low moaning as they advanced. Elliot pulled away towards the other side of the field, but that was soon filled with more moaning figures coming towards him. There was nowhere to run. He looked back at his lifeless body. Should he just take the herbs and come back to life?
No. He only had one chance to save Mum. He wasn’t going to chicken out now.
The zombies continued their slow, moaning march. Elliot tried to think about all the zombie movies he’d seen. Was it garlic they were allergic to? Or was that vampires? And there was no garlic. In any case, as the zombies started to crowd around him, there was no time. He closed his eyes and awaited their attack.
‘For
heaven’s sake, will you look at yourselves!’ yelled a wonderfully familiar voice. ‘Carrying on like a bunch o’ bananas. Pack it in!’
Elliot’s heart swelled with joy. He’d know that voice anywhere. And if anyone could defeat killer zombies, it was . . .
‘Nan!’ he cried, and he turned to see the glowing soul of his beloved grandmother.
‘My boy!’ screamed Audrey Hooper, running to embrace her grandson. ‘Wilfred! Wilfred, will you get over here!’
Elliot looked at the zombies, who were standing around laughing and cooing at Elliot and Audrey’s reunion.
‘Er, who are they?’ he began.
‘Oh, don’t you pay them no mind, they’re having you on,’ said Nan, shooing them away with a tea towel tucked inside her apron. Elliot smiled – he’d received more than a few swats from that tea towel when he’d tried to steal Nan’s baking. ‘The old souls do it to all the newcomers, they’re as harmless as a newborn runt.’
Elliot looked at the sea of smiling faces waving at him. For dead people they looked kind of . . . happy.
‘Now what on Earth are you doing here?’ said Nan. ‘It’s not your time.’
‘I know I’m a bit young to die,’ said Elliot.
‘No, you daft goose,’ said Nan, swatting him with the tea towel. ‘It’s really not your time. Look.’
She pointed up into the sky, where Elliot could see what looked like a massive arrivals board suspended in mid-air – he’d seen one in Waterloo when he and Grandad took their trips to London. The board was filled with lists of names, next to which was a time. Every time a new name appeared on the board, it gave a small ping.
‘What does it mean?’ said Elliot.
‘Just like I said,’ said Nan. ‘There’s no getting around it – when your time’s up, it’s up. This board just tells us when. Oooh, look – we can be expecting Karen Featherwick from New Orleans any second now . . .’
And, with a small jingle, the glowing soul of Ms Featherwick duly came into focus.
‘Ooooh,’ said Nan, ‘it’s not going to be a good evening for John Sanderson from Penge . . . But you, my boy – you aren’t there. You shouldn’t be here. And where is—?’
‘Elliot!’ puffed a warm voice. ‘Come here, you great lug!’
‘Grandad!’ exclaimed Elliot, hugging his grandfather. He buried himself happily in Wilfred’s cardigan, which still smelt of pipe smoke and hay. He felt a toffee being pressed into his hand.
‘Wilfred Hooper, I hope you’re not giving that boy sweets!’ squawked Nan, just like she used to do. ‘He’s still got all his teeth!’
‘Stop your nagging, girl!’ Wilfred winked, waving his walking stick in his wife’s direction. ‘You’ve got more chat than a two-headed parrot.’
‘It’s so . . . it’s so good to see you,’ said Elliot as he nestled between his beloved grandparents.
‘You too, boy,’ said Grandad, pinching his nose, just like he used to. ‘But you need to listen – you don’t have much time.’
‘I know – I’ve got to get back to my body in . . . sixteen minutes,’ said Elliot.
‘It’s not just that,’ Grandad began, before receiving a swat from the tea towel.
‘Wilfred, I’m telling you – hush!’ Nan warned.
‘What’s going on?’ said Elliot.
‘Nothing you need worry about,’ said Nan firmly, shooting Grandad one of her ferocious ‘don’t you dare’ stares. ‘Grandad’s just got the wrong end of the stick, that’s all.’
‘Something’s not right,’ murmured his grandfather. ‘I know it . . .’
‘Any road – why are you here?’ Nan interrupted. ‘This ain’t no place for a growing boy.’
‘I need to find Tiresias,’ said Elliot. ‘Where is—’
‘Hello, Elliot,’ said a voice from behind his grandparents. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
Elliot didn’t know what he’d imagined a prophet to look like. But it wasn’t Tiresias’s beard trailing on the floor that surprised him. Nor the flowing grey hair. The flowery sundress, however – that was unexpected.
‘Dresses are so much more comfortable,’ said Tiresias, answering his silent question. ‘When you’ve had the benefit of my experiences and lived as both genders, you learn to adopt the best of both worlds. Overall, despite the lack of pockets and occasional tightness after pasta, they’re much better. Although you do need to be careful they don’t get caught in your pants. That’s embarrassing . . . Welcome.’
‘So this is the Afterlife?’ said Elliot.
‘Not so different, really, is it?’ said Tiresias, looking around. ‘During life, you see the body more clearly than the soul. Here in the Afterlife, it works the other way around. The soul is clearer than the body. It’s simply two sides of the same coin. Like love and hate. Or fear and ignorance. Or heads and tails on a coin.’
That kinda made sense. But Elliot wasn’t here for an explanation of the Afterlife.
‘I’m here because I need Panacea’s potion,’ he said, feeling the blood pulsing through his veins. ‘Please tell me you have it.’
‘Of course,’ said Tiresias. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
Elliot’s heart quickened. He was so, so close.
‘OK,’ he said, as steadily as he was able. ‘Do we need to go to some secret cave or something? Is it guarded by a dragon? Protected by dangerous enchantments? Tell me what I have to do.’
‘Oh, it’s in the safest place I know,’ said Tiresias gravely. ‘Somewhere I could be sure no one would find it.’
Tiresias put his hand to his shoulder. Elliot held his breath and watched intently. This was clearly some important prophet . . . ritual . . . thing.
Tiresias produced a clutch purse from under his left armpit.
‘Now, I know it’s in here somewhere,’ said the prophet, pulling tissues, keys and some ancient chewing gum out of his bag. ‘I saw it just this morning . . .’
‘So, you keep this magical potion, the only known cure for all illness . . . in your handbag?’ Elliot said slowly.
‘Oh, I keep everything in my handbag!’ said Tiresias earnestly. ‘Don’t understand why more men don’t carry one – so useful. Ah – here!’
Elliot looked at the small tube in front of him.
‘It says “Cherry Blush”,’ he said uncertainly.
‘Oh, sorry!’ said Tiresias. ‘Love that lipstick . . . no, this is it!’
He produced another tube from his bag. This one was filled with a swirling golden liquid. Elliot’s world stood still as he looked upon the answer to his prayers. This was it. This was Panacea’s potion. This would give him his mum back.
‘Does it . . . does it work?’ he asked tentatively.
‘It does,’ said Tiresias. ‘It will cure the afflicted. They will be as new.’
Elliot held back the tears. He had it. He had the cure for Mum. Everything was going to be OK.
But he did have one further burning question.
‘Tiresias – can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’ Tiresias nodded sagely. ‘I am a prophet blessed with eternal knowledge. What do you seek?’
Elliot tried to think of the politest way to ask his question.
‘Why are you wearing a girl’s dress?’
The prophet paused thoughtfully.
‘It’s not a girl’s. It’s mine,’ he said.
‘Yeah . . . you know what I mean . . .’
‘I do not. Where is it written that only certain people can wear certain things?’
‘It’s not,’ said Elliot. ‘But c’mon – most men wear trousers.’
‘Just because a lot of people do something, that doesn’t make it right,’ said Tiresias. ‘Look at war. Bigotry. Adult colouring books.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Elliot couldn’t summon up an argument. Talking to prophets was hard work. Besides, looking at Hypnos’s watch, he didn’t have time for more chat.
‘I have to get back,’ he whispered. ‘I have to save Mum. I h
ave to save Hermes. I have—’
‘No,’ said Tiresias, pursing his lips to apply his Cherry Blush.
‘No what?’ said Elliot, the familiar fist of fear wrapping its fingers around his heart.
‘Only one person will be saved by the potion,’ Tiresias explained gently. ‘It is destined.’
Zeus’s words rang in Elliot’s mind.
‘I don’t believe in destiny. I believe in choices.’
So, he’d have to choose. Elliot’s heart fell. Why was everything an impossible choice? He had to cure his mum, he just had to. But how could he let Hermes die? And how could he tell the Gods?
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tiresias, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Nothing is ever simple.’
Hypnos’s watch chimed on his wrist, yanking Elliot’s thoughts back to the moment.
‘I need to go,’ he said. ‘I need to take the Herbs of Life . . .’
‘What did you say?’ said a passing soul.
‘Nothing – it’s just if I don’t take the Herbs of Life in the next five minutes, I’ll be stuck here . . . er . . . no offence.’
‘You’ve got the Herbs of Life?’ said the soul, moving closer. ‘Give them.’
He swiped at Elliot’s hand.
‘Hey!’ said Elliot, dodging out of his way. ‘They’re mine!’
‘Did someone say Herbs of Life?’ shouted another soul. ‘I need to tell my wife where I really hid my life savings – give them here.’
‘My brother still owes me a hundred quid!’ yelled a third. ‘I want the herbs!’
‘Is this another game?’ laughed Elliot as the souls advanced.
‘No, it’s not!’ cried Tiresias, lashing out with his handbag. ‘Elliot, quick – run back to your body!’
As the spirits swarmed towards him, Elliot needed no further instruction. He sprinted across the field and could see his faint body lying on the grass. But the spirits were gaining. And there were loads of them.
‘Give them to me – I can solve poverty!’
‘I should get them – I can heal the world!’
‘I need them most! I never finished that jigsaw!’
The cacophony grew louder as the rabble drew closer. He was nearly at the spot where he had left his body, but so were the spirits. If he could just reach out . . .
