by Marian Keyes
“And then you become one,” Lizzie muttered. “Maybe I did.”
“Remember one time when you tried to give up smoking and couldn’t? And Sinead said to you, ‘Don’t worry, life’s too short.’ Remember?”
Lizzie nodded uncomfortably.
“Do you deny that you replied, ‘No, it isn’t, life’s too bloody long’?” Jim paused and looked gravely at her over the top of his glasses. “Need I go on?”
“Well, I didn’t mean those things … I was only joking …” she trailed off awkwardly.
A shock of terrible regret and loss swept over Lizzie. If she really was dead, there was so much that she hadn’t done. “I never had a child,” she said, sadly. “I never went to India, I never even did a bungee jump.”
Jan looked through a list on her desk and said briskly, “Yes, that’s absolutely correct.”
She ran her finger along the page and continued, “Also, you never read War and Peace. Never learnt a foreign language. Never won money on a horse. Never joined the Mile High Club. Never tasted caviar, not that you’d want to, dear, take it from me. Never returned next-door’s corkscrew after that party you had last year. Never dyed your hair red and had it cut short – and you have gone on about doing that for most of your thirty-two years, haven’t you? Never understood Cubism and …” Jan stopped suddenly, “Sorry, am I upsetting you?”
“What do you think?” Lizzie demanded.
“Sorry,” Jan said, “I haven’t been doing this for long.”
“Ah now,” Jim said. “She’s doing her best.”
“But why didn’t anyone warn me?” exclaimed Lizzie. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that I’d feel like this?”
“But you were warned.”
“WHEN?” Lizzie was horrified. To think that she could have avoided this!
“Didn’t you ever hear the saying, Life is not a dress rehearsal?” Jim prompted.
And when Lizzie thought about it, she remembered that someone had said it to her only about a week ago. She’d paid no attention to it. Well, how was she to know that she was going to die!
“And how about, You get no second chances in this life?” reminded Jan.
And yes, Lizzie had to admit that she’d also heard that little saying. A little saying that she had dismissed as annoying nonsense for most of her life.
“Not to mention, You only get one life, so make the most of it?”
“All right, all right! So I got plenty of warnings. I just didn’t know that’s what they were. I wish I had,” she said sadly. “I’d give anything to have another try. I’d really do things differently if I could go back. Just for a week. Or a couple of days. Even a few hours would do. I’d sort things out with Neil. I’d ring my father and tell him that I love him. I’ve never told him that since I was about five years old.”
Suddenly Lizzie was hit by a great idea. “Hey, is this like that film? The one with Jimmy Stewart in it?” she began, in wild excitement. “Where he said he wishes he had never been born. Then an angel makes it happen. But the world is far worse without him. So he gets to go back and he’s really glad he’s alive?” She stared at them, her face mad with hope.
Jim and Jan shared a sad look.
Jim shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who latch onto that idea.”
“It’s a Wonderful Life, that’s what it’s called,” Lizzie said, still clinging to hope.
Jim shook his head again. “Sorry, Lizzie. I’m afraid that if you’re dead, you stay dead. There are no second chances.”
“Please,” Lizzie begged, her voice tiny.
“It’s not up to me,” Jim said.
“Ah, go on.”
“Honest. It’s not up to me. The whole point is you had plenty of time while you were alive. People only come back from the dead in children’s fairy tales. Oh yes and the Bible, of course,” he added.
Jan gave Jim an admiring look. He was so tough. Would she ever be as good as him? she wondered.
Lizzie sat very still. She was furious at the thought of all her missed chances.
“So what happens now?” she spat. Her voice shook with rage and grief. “Do I go to Hell or what?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be going to Hell.” Jan looked into a file on the desk. “You haven’t led a bad life. Not entirely blameless either; I don’t think anyone will nominate you for the sainthood.”
She paused to tinkle at her own wit while Lizzie gazed at her sourly.
“Ah, sorry. Just my little joke,” Jan said, humbly. “But you have worked here for a very long time. And you did go out with an estate agent for a while. Both of these will go on your account as a credit under the ‘Hell on Earth’ scheme.”
She laughed again and Lizzie wanted to kill her. “Give me that!” She tried to grab the file.
“I’m sorry, it’s none of your business.”
“But this is my life we’re talking about!”
“Not any more, it’s not,” Jim said. “In fact, strictly speaking, it was never really your life to begin with. It was given to you on loan but could be recalled at any moment, without notice. As you found out to your cost.”
“I see,” Lizzie said bitterly.
“I was only kidding about Hell,” Jan smiled. “There’s no such place. By the way, in case you haven’t already noticed, there will be some unpleasant side effects as a result of your death.”
“Yeah like being dead!” Lizzie was in no mood.
Jan stared at her with patient and gentle eyes. Then she continued, “You might experience nausea, feelings of doom, fear and loneliness,” before adding kindly, “a bit like a bad hangover.”
Lizzie sat in sulky silence. Until, out of curiosity, she was forced to speak. “Look, what’s going to happen to me?”
“You’ll be fine. In a few days you’ll see.”
“So what am I supposed to do until then?”
“Whatever you like. Watch a bit of telly. Visit yourself in the funeral home. Or you could attend your own funeral. Most people seem to get a kick out of that.”
“When is it on?”
“The day after tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Lizzie realised something. All her life she’d been late for everything. People were forever telling her she’d be late for her own funeral. Well, this was her chance to prove them wrong.
CHAPTER NINE
Lizzie went home. She could have stayed at work, but why should she? Especially now that they’d stopped paying her. She passed the rest of the day lying on the couch watching good crap on the telly. Oprah and Countdown and Home and Away.
Spending a day like this was the kind of thing she’d longed to do when she was snowed under with work. But now that she had all eternity to do so, it didn’t hold the same appeal. She had to admit that it wasn’t much fun being dead.
But it wasn’t all bad. On the plus side she found she didn’t need her bike to get around. She could simply appear anywhere she put her mind to. She could have gone as far away as Italy or India. She could even have popped up in Brad Pitt’s bedroom if she really wanted. But she couldn’t be bothered. She wanted to stay close to the familiar. Things were difficult enough.
Later that day, as soon as she felt up to it, she visited her mother and father. She watched her mother cry as though her heart was breaking. The guilt was terrible.
“It’s too unnatural,” her mother wept, “for a parent to bury a child.”
Like most people, Lizzie hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye with her parents. Not that they’d been at each other’s throats either. But she realised now she could have spent more time with them. Should have spent more time with them. But she had always been so busy. There was always so much to do …
She was sorry now. Very sorry. With terrible tenderness she watched her mother. She hated the wails that were being pulled from her gut. But when she tried putting her arms around her, her mother shivered as though she was freezing.
Later she
went back to her flat and waited for Neil. He’d been running around all day with Sinead, organising the funeral.
When he came home that night, she tried to snuggle up to him in bed. But he shook so badly that she realised that it was better not to touch him.
The thing was, she kept forgetting she was dead. When she saw how upset Neil was by her death, she couldn’t stop thinking it was a good thing. That this was exactly what was needed to bring him to his senses. The commitment from him was as good as in the bag. Maybe they’d get married the following spring.
Then she’d think, But hold on a minute. I’m dead. How can we get married if I’m dead?
And then she was angry. She wasn’t finished yet. She wasn’t ready to let go of being alive. There was so much still to do. She was meant to live until she was at least seventy. And here she was, not even half that and already out of the game.
The following day, to pass the time, she dropped in to see herself in the funeral home. She couldn’t get over her shattered skull. “Ouch!” she winced. “Tense, nervous headache? I bet that hurt.”
And while she studied herself she realised something else. She’d been a nice-looking girl. While she’d been alive she’d never been happy with the way she’d looked. The usual list of complaints. Arse too big, boobs too small, hair too frizzy, ears too stickyouty. But she hadn’t known how lucky she was. Whatever about arses and hair and all the rest, at least her skull hadn’t been in twenty-seven separate pieces.
After that she went into work. She’d always wanted to be a fly on the wall. Just so she could find out who her friends really were. But it was no good. It was impossible to find out what any of the people she had worked with really thought of her. Because they were too busy saying all the things people say about dead people. “She was a lovely girl.” “God takes the good ones young.” “At least she lived life to the full.” “The place won’t be the same without her.”
When it became clear that no one was going to do the dirty on her, she hid a couple of highly important files. But her heart wasn’t really in it.
CHAPTER TEN
The morning of the funeral Lizzie popped along to the church to see herself lying in the coffin. Though her make-up was all right, she was very cross to see that she was wearing pink. “How could they?” She was raging. “Everyone knows it doesn’t suit me. I look like death.”
Her heart lurched when Neil appeared, looking handsome and grim in a black suit. Carefully he placed a huge wreath beside the coffin. Pity he didn’t give me those flowers while I was alive, she thought sadly. They’re very little use to me now.
At the very last minute, in ran Sinead. Sweet, sparky Sinead. “Sorry I’m late,” she gasped.
Lizzie admired Sinead’s suit. It was a nice, narrow-cut black one. But even though it was new, already the hem was hanging. Lately, Sinead always looked like she was fraying and unravelling. She needed a break.
Lizzie nearly burst with fondness – and longing. She missed her best pal. She hated not being able to talk to her. It was one of the worst things about being dead – apart from being dead, that was. With a real passion she badly wanted life to work out for Sinead. The way it hadn’t for her.
The funeral Mass turned out to be a well-attended affair – long-lost cousins and old school friends and neighbours all showed up. It wasn’t unlike Lizzie’s 21st birthday party. She really hadn’t known that so many people cared about her. She felt the by-now-familiar wash of bitter regret that she’d only found out when it was too late.
Everyone had lovely things to say about Lizzie. The priest just went to town on her. She was “kind, hardworking, a great story-teller. A good daughter, employee, friend.”
Paid her television licence. Always stood her round. As good as invented a cure for cancer.
“Ah stop.” Lizzie was hot with pride. “I’m mortified.”
Then Neil gave a speech and played a blinder. He spoke about his love for Lizzie. How he wished he’d shown it more while she’d been alive. He had them all in the palm of his hand. Seventy per cent of them were openly weeping. Then, all of a sudden, the mood of enjoyable sorrow was broken. By a horrible, quavery version of “The Camptown Races”.
Everyone present turned and glared at the scarlet Sinead.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She looked at the caller-display panel, and switched the phone off. “My boss.”
Lizzie’s aunt leant over and muttered to Michael who worked at the offlicence nearest to Lizzie’s flat, “What kind of boss rings a person when they’re at their best friend’s funeral?”
And Lizzie had to agree. It was crazy carry-on.
When the service ended Lizzie suddenly became aware of certain changes in the way she felt. The nausea and feelings of doom and isolation were definitely getting fainter. When she saw her parents and Sinead and Neil crying, the sorrow wasn’t as bad as it had been a couple of days before. Now she could watch their grief with some distance.
And as for her own, as yet unknown, future, a calmness had crept in and settled inside her.
After she’d been buried and the mourners had gone their separate ways, Jim and Jan caught up with her.
“How was your funeral?” Jim asked.
“Lovely. You’d want to have seen the crowds!”
“And how do you feel now?”
“Not at all bad, actually.”
“Great.”
“There’s just one thing …”
There usually is, their faces said.
“I feel …” she tried to find the right word, “…regret about the way I only half-lived my life …”
Jim and Jan were looking at her. Their faces were giving nothing away.
“I wish I’d known,” Lizzie pushed on. “I’d have done things differently. I’d have made the very most of my life. And I wondered if there was any chance I could tell this to … some people?”
“What people?” Jim asked. “Neil?”
“Well, I’m not so worried about him. Neil is very good at living life to the full. It’s why he didn’t want to marry me – that’s very clear to me now. No, the person I was really thinking of was Sinead.”
Jim and Jan raised their eyebrows at each other. “Why not?”
“So what should I do? I don’t want to scare her.”
“Grand. Well, appearing in a dream is a popular way.”
“Can I pop by and visit my parents too?”
“Ah, sure, you might as well.”
“And Neil?”
“Go on then. While you’re at it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
First Lizzie visited her parents and had a lovely talk with both of them at the same time. She told them to make the most of the many years they had left. Then she told them that she was fine and that she loved them both. “Even me?” her dad pressed. “Even though I never spoke to you when you used to ring up.”
“Of course.”
“That’s nice,” he murmured.
“Shergar,” she added.
“Ah stop,” he said.
“I’m only messing. Bye Mum, bye Dad.”
In the morning they both remembered their dream in exactly the same way. Right down to the smallest detail.
“She called you Shergar,” Mrs. Whelan said.
“She did,” Mr. Whelan agreed.
They both agreed that she had actually visited them. It gave them some comfort, over the days and weeks and months ahead, when the grief got too much to bear.
Next on Lizzie’s list was Neil.
“I should have loved you better,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be unkind. You know …”
“… that was the last thing on your mind. Have some respect for the dead,” Lizzie chided with good humour. “Spare me the song lyrics.”
“Sorry. I did love you, I just wasn’t very good at showing it.”
“Well, you’ll know better the next time.”
“Will there be a next time?”
“Oh yes.”
“
With you?”
“Cripes no. Someone else.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Janey, there is a God.”
Last call to Sinead.
“How’s it going,” Sinead said sleepily. “But you’re meant to be dead.”
“Oh, I am,” Lizzie agreed. “I just wanted to have a quick word. I’d like you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t wait until you’re dead to want to live your life. Just do it. Go to Italy or Greece or Paris or somewhere. You’re always saying you’re going to.”
“Only when I’m drunk,” Sinead mumbled. “And what would I live on?”
“Teach English. Work in a bar – it doesn’t matter. Making a living isn’t the important thing. Living is.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re dead.”
“That’s right, and I should know.”
“I’m very busy right now,” Sinead said. “But I’ve got plans. For when the time is right.”
“Life is what happens while we’re busy making plans,” Lizzie said smugly.
“You’ve changed,” Sinead complained. “You usen’t be such a know-all.”
“That’s being dead for you,” Lizzie said cheerfully.
“Do you mind?” Sinead mumbled. “Being dead?”
Lizzie thought about it. The changes that had happened after the funeral had continued. The white, numb feelings of peace had grown stronger. Even the urgent need to talk to Sinead had calmed down a lot.
“I’m fine,” she promised Sinead. “Now swear to me that you’ll tell Ginger Moran to stick his job. Go on, life isn’t a dress rehearsal.”
“I’ll think about it. Call again,” Sinead invited sleepily.
“No. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Okay,” Sinead said slackly and fell back to sleep.
Her last visit completed, Lizzie was feeling wonderful. Far better than any dead person had a right to feel, she thought. So what happens next?
She looked down at her body, and was in no way surprised to see that it was gone. There was just silvery air where once she had been. The fantastic feeling of well-being built and swelled. She was calm, she was safe, she was joyous. And there was no alarm when she felt her spirit melting. Something rushed through her, then the last of Lizzie was speeding away like a genie spinning back into the bottle. Yet she sparkled through everything in a tingle of glitter. Reforming and reconnecting. Into every drop of rain, every blade of grass, every word spoken.
