At the next table, a Cameron Diaz was talking quietly to a Beyoncé. Next to them was a Sienna Miller with her arm draped lovingly over a Jude Law. Each in their designer clothes, each looking like a million dollars. ‘Maybe I’ll think about it,’ she said to Bill in a brittle voice.
‘Of course, you don’t have to,’ he replied, then laid both hands on the table, palms down. For a moment it seemed that he was about to push himself upright. Instead he leaned over the table and lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Lorna. I most certainly didn’t mean to suggest that you should be someone else. From where I’m sitting,’ he said, looking her up and down, ‘you are one fine-looking woman.’
Lorna was unused to flattery and blushed, although it did confirm that Bill was chatting her up. It had been a long time since anyone had complimented her. ‘So, if changing bodies is a game that everyone likes to play,’ she asked, ‘why doesn’t God join in?’
Bill seemed to find this immensely funny and rocked back in his chair. ‘God is God,’ he said eventually and struck a match. Cigar relit, he tossed the spent match onto the sand. Lorna watched it dissolve into the beach, a small piece of litter becoming nothing.
‘Well, the truth is that religious faith came as a bit of a shock to him. He was warned, of course, but didn’t pay any attention. Transferring all that genetic code was always going to cause trouble, but would he listen? No. However, once it became clear that people on Earth had actually started to believe in the old fool, he realised he had to do something about it. He couldn’t very well give you faith then ignore you completely. He realised, Lorna, that he had a certain responsibility towards his creation, over and above his other responsibilities to the crew. In other words, he decided to play at being God.’ Bill grinned and blew out smoke. ‘Anyway, in terms of his physical appearance, you invented that for him. A father figure, venerable and unthreatening. Somebody to keep you safe, somebody old and wise. You can’t be a god and look like a rock star. People simply wouldn’t believe in you. You have to look the part. God in his divine vanity decided to go along with the charade you’d created for him. You see, not only does he actually like playing at God, he enjoys looking like God. Ridiculous, of course,’ said Bill and shrugged his ample shoulders. ‘Why are you here?’ he finally asked. ‘We don’t get many dead people in Heaven.’
Lorna felt momentarily chilled, still unwilling to think of herself in the past tense. ‘I don’t know,’ she conceded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. ‘He chose me, so he says.’
‘Well, he usually does,’ said Bill. ‘But always for a reason.’
‘He won’t say why.’ She looked out at the sea where a dying sun was weaving a tapestry of sparkles. ‘What’s he really like?’ she asked.
‘You mean, is he a good God?’ Bill’s eyes twinkled. She looked down then lit a cigarette. Their smoke met over the table. ‘Well, I suppose he is, not that we see much of him. Keeps himself to himself, and mostly lets Trinity get on with things. He spends most of his time in his quarters, keeping watch over you and wishing he could be a proper God. Sometimes, of course, he can’t help but interfere.’ Bill examined the fingernails of one hand. Lorna felt a breath of wind off the sea, struck by another sudden absurdity. She knew this place. She’d been here before, or somewhere like it. ‘Some of the crew still blame him for getting us stuck here but, well, what’s done can’t be undone. No use crying over spilled milk, eh? We’re here and that’s an end to it. He has tried to make up for it, I’ll give him that. Radio and television, that kind of thing. Inventions to keep us entertained, Lorna, while we while away the centuries.’
‘Will he be here tonight?’
‘Good gracious, no. He hates having fun. Oh, hi, Irene.’
Since escorting her to the party, Lorna hadn’t seen much of Irene. She’d told Lorna not to be nervous, but she’d been terrified. How could she not be? She was about to meet a bunch of people that she would be sharing the rest of her life with, and that was going to be an infinite amount of time. Lorna had gripped the handrail of the transporter with ferocious strength, and almost had to be physically prised from it.
But she needn’t have worried; the ship’s crew were welcoming, shaking her hand, asking how she was getting on, and, like Bill, why she was here. Their curiosity was charming; their film star lips all smiled. I’m getting on OK, she said, but it’ll take a bit of getting used to. No, I have no idea why I’m here, repeated over and over. The first hour of the party was a blank. She was passed from new face to new face, making small talk with superstars. She’d chatted to two John Lennons, a Tiger Woods, and, despite misgivings, had even danced with a Tony Blair, and had to refrain from slapping him across the face for invading Iraq, before remembering that he wasn’t the real Tony Blair. But he was a useless dancer, which made her feel better about being with him. It was Blair who had introduced Lorna to Bill Clinton.
‘I brought you a refill,’ said Irene, and plonked a new glass of ouzo on the table, then threw the empty glass onto the sand where it turned to liquid and was absorbed. Lorna stared at the damp patch, watching it disappear, once more mesmerised by the small things. ‘Well, how do you like the place?’ asked Irene.
‘It’s very Greek,’ she replied.
‘Excellent!’ said Irene. ‘Every so often, Trinity asks the crew what kind of a beach they’d like and then goes about the building work. She’s terribly clever, absolutely hates to get things wrong. Last year, it was Hawaii, the year before Spain. This is supposed to be Crete. Have to take Trinity’s word on it, of course, but she does do heaps of research.’ Irene gestured over her shoulder to the ramshackle beach bar. ‘If you’re hungry, there’s food inside. However, it mainly comprises of things like stuffed vine leaves and bits of squid in tomato sauce. Things, sweetie, that I don’t believe should be categorised as food. Personally, I’d recommend the barbeque.’
Further down the beach, Lorna could see flames. Shadows were mingling around it. A woman was laughing, rich and infectious. It could easily have been Suzie, laughing about nothing.
‘Trinity doesn’t, however, replicate everything,’ said Irene, who had helped herself to one of Lorna’s cigarettes, ‘just in case you were worried. You don’t therefore have to worry about jellyfish or spiky sea urchins. Such unpleasant things serve no function and are, in any case, aesthetically displeasing.’
‘So I won’t get eaten by sharks?’
Irene didn’t smile. ‘The sea is artificial, Lorna. It waters our fruit and vegetables, we drink it, and we flush it down the loo. Absolutely clean and containing no organic matter.’
Lorna looked out across the beach, wanting to dip her toes in the water. A full moon was trapped on its surface, silhouetting the barbeque and, she now saw, a solitary chef behind it. He seemed to be turning things over, shying backwards from the flames and smoke, wafting at the heat with one hand. Despite lunch, she was hungry and she’d always liked barbeques. The Pussycat Dolls were blaring from the speakers.
‘Would anyone like a hamburger?’ she asked.
Neither of them did.
* * *
It turned out that Lorna had met this particular Keanu Reeves earlier, but had still to recognise the nuances of character that allowed you to tell each one of them apart. The Kate Winslet that was Irene was easy. Irene didn’t smile much, smoked constantly, and exuded authority. The other Winslets she’d been introduced to seemed more demure and authentic.
Keanu was wearing beige shorts and black singlet; a pair of sunglasses was perched on his forehead. I’m not much into clothes, he said, holding out his hand again. His name was Nico, and he liked cooking. Most evenings he came to the beach with his barbeque. It’s a popular place, he said, indicating the bar. In his apartment was a proper cooking stove, he told her, begrudgingly provided by Trinity who saw it as a rebuke to her own cooking. He liked making things, he explained; he avidly watched cookery programmes. He was thinking of opening a proper restaurant, with a real kitchen,
serving food that wasn’t artificially prepared by Trinity.
He explained that his girlfriend Simone had opened a cocktail bar upstairs, the Broadway. You should come along this Friday, he said. Simone’s putting on a medieval night. People think we’re a little odd, he confided, lowering his voice. But I enjoy cooking and she enjoys mixing cocktails. Most of the ship’s crew, he said, lie in bed all day and watch films. Work isn’t compulsory, he added.
Although nobody was eating his burgers, Nico had put on another batch. ‘Trinity does everything for us, so there’s no need to do anything. Not being nosey, but why are you here?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I wish I did, but I don’t.’
‘So, nobody’s told you anything yet?’
‘I mean, I know I must be here for a reason.’
‘But nobody’s told you what that reason is?’ Nico lifted a hamburger off the flames and inserted it into a bun. ‘Well, no doubt God will get around to it sometime,’ he said, and wrapped the hamburger in a paper napkin.
‘Good luck with the restaurant idea,’ she said.
Lorna took the hamburger down to the water’s edge, kicked off her shoes, and waded in, feeling the thrust and suck of water. Further down the beach, a couple had stripped off and were skinny-dipping, the girl shrieking as the man dived after her. Lorna couldn’t see who they were but, like mostly everyone, they looked young and lithe.
The burger was perfection; burnt on one side and almost raw on the other, just as she remembered. Her mother would have been proud of it. She discarded the paper napkin and watched it dissolve in the water’s margins.
Then she walked further up the beach, hearing an owl’s call. The moon was still reflected in the water, wavelets lapping on the shore. Well away from the beach bar, she sat in the sand and stared towards the horizon. Then she undressed in the shadow of sand dunes, the light breeze touching her skin. The sand was still warm, the water dark and cool. It folded her to its silence; then she broached the surface, tasting the tang of salt on her lips. She swam out then lay on her back, looking at the stars. They were the same stars as on Earth. She recognised The Plough, traced a path to the North Star.
Then Lorna lay on the beach and thought about Tom. Strangely, remembering that he’d died hadn’t come as a shock. All she’d done was remember something that was already there, tucked away at the back of a drawer, a fragment of memory waiting to be found. She thought about his Lego creations, his dextrous hands. She also knew it had happened a long time ago. She’d been a child when he died, and she’d come to terms with it, in her own way. Thinking about Tom, it seemed as if other memories were jostling on the edge of her mind, but memories that were still hidden, lurking just underneath the surface like fish motionless in a stream. When she looked, they were gone.
A faint breeze touched her skin, cooling her. She looked down the beach to the broken-down bar, hearing far-off music, laughter, and the sound of a door opening and slamming shut.
Lorna remembered Tom playing rugby, and leaving Austin in the rugby club bar when she stormed off to the airport. She had never really understood why she’d run out like that. OK, she’d felt used, and confused by his protestations of love, but that didn’t justify hurting him. But it was then, shivering on the touchline, that she’d remembered Tom darting up and down the field in his over-sized shorts, sliding in mud, and shouting hoarsely for the ball. She’d also remembered how she’d watch Austin play school rugby and how, sometimes, she’d look at him and wish that he was her brother. From the Bristol touchline Lorna had been assailed by that thought. It had distracted her from Austin’s try. She had finally realised who he really was, and who he could never be, and what had drawn her to him in the first place.
* * *
The door slammed again and Lorna opened her eyes. She stood up and brushed sand from her legs, supposing that she ought to be sociable and rejoin the party. For a moment she felt guilty about leaving – but, as always, the lure of the sea had been too much. Lorna had grown up beside it. It was part of her. She and Tom used to jump from the harbour wall, much to their mother’s dismay. It was stupid of them: they shouldn’t have told her. But Lorna had always floated easily. She couldn’t remember a time when she couldn’t swim. Jumping from the harbour wall was an adrenaline rush, not dangerous. But her mum had been insistent. She’d promised faithfully not to go harbour-jumping again, with or without Tom.
Except for her, the beach was deserted. The volleyball game had long since ended, although the party in the beach bar still seemed to be in full swing. A woman’s voice was raised in laughter. It sounded again like Suzie’s laugh, brazen and uninhibited, living for the moment. Suzie who, despite their different backgrounds, had always been her best friend, always looking out for her, always spilling of Lorna’s secrets to the world, including – worst of all – the episode with Austin in the sand dunes. At the time, she’d been livid with Suzie for blabbing it around town, then livid with herself for telling Suzie in the first place. But it wasn’t Suzie’s fault she couldn’t keep secrets and Lorna should have known that.
Secrets, she thought, feeling suddenly nauseous. Her left cheek had begun to hurt and she put a hand to it, feeling fearful. A shard of memory had twisted free and for a moment Lorna had seen Suzie’s face contorted with rage, felt Suzie’s hand against her face. Lorna took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She’d never hurt Suzie in her life. Suzie therefore had never had cause to be angry with her. They were best friends and always had been. The pain in her cheek immediately faded, the fragment of false memory dissolving. But still she felt fretful and unsettled, an inner equilibrium disturbed. Lorna took another deep breath and, looking over the beach to the dark water beyond, vowed never to drink ouzo again.
On her wrist was a Cartier bracelet; around her neck, a flawless diamond on a golden chain. She searched fruitlessly for her underwear in the sand dunes and smoothed out creases in her Dior dress.
‘Trinity, can I go home, please?’
Of course, Lorna. Floor-level lighting will guide you to the nearest exit which may be behind you. I trust that you had an enjoyable time?
‘Thank you, Trinity,’ said Lorna following small fairy lights that seemed to lie just under the sand. The trail ended at a transporter stop, seemingly set into the cliff face. She looked for a moment at the revelry on the beach then stepped inside. Moments later she was back in her apartment.
On the bed was the pair of knickers she’d just lost on the beach.
I didn’t think that you had discarded them intentionally, so I retrieved and washed them for you. You can, of course, trust to my utter discretion, even if it’s just lost underwear. To be frank, you’d be surprised by some of the things I get asked for. Mostly by the Hugh Grant lookalikes, although that may just be coincidence. My advice to you is simple: enjoy yourself and, above all, don’t feel guilty about being here. Many are taken, few are chosen. The countdown to transition has now begun. Shit! said Trinity, with just a hint of exasperation. I didn’t mean to say that. It is, I regret, yet another electrical fluctuation.
All the lights in Lorna’s apartment had gone out again.
* * *
A few close friends and family had been invited back to the golf club. Her mum thought the idea was preposterous, accusing her father of horrible things. Her dad said that some of them had come a long way; it was the least we could do. He’d have a word with the Secretary, he said. Lorna supposed that the golf club was usually a happy place for him. He went there often enough, as her mother was forever grumbling. Lorna saw him take out a small plastic bottle from his jacket pocket and swallow a couple of pills. Her mother was missing. This was a gathering she simply couldn’t face; Aunt Meg had taken her home and was staying with her.
Lorna would much have preferred to have gone with her mum. She didn’t know why they were having a party at her father’s golf club. It didn’t seem proper that they were having a party and Tom hadn’t been invited. She
would have liked instead to have gone to her bedroom and turned the TV up loud.
Although Suzie’s parents weren’t close friends with her parents, they’d come along because of Suzie. Like everyone else, Suzie also looked uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. Neither of them had been to a funeral before; neither knew what to say to the other. They’d have preferred to be outside, but it was still raining. Worse, Lorna had heard someone laugh. She didn’t recognise who it belonged to, but it didn’t seem right.
At first, Lorna wandered the room eating crisps. Then she gravitated to the only person in the room who was her age, who was sitting in a chair and swinging her legs.
‘I’m really sorry, Lorna,’ said Suzie’s mother.
There was an awkward silence. Suzie’s parents were smiling thinly. Lorna didn’t know if she was supposed to say anything.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said eventually.
‘It was the least we could do,’ said Suzie’s mother, and pulled her daughter from the chair. Like Lorna, Suzie had been eating crisps. ‘Why don’t the two of you go off and play?’ As she said this, Suzie’s mother frowned. She didn’t know what to say either.
The grown-ups were crowded round a long table, on which had been placed trays of sandwiches. The other end of the room was empty. Lorna and Suzie sat in plush armchairs and watched golfers proceed up the first fairway. She saw that they weren’t holding up umbrellas, then realised it had stopped raining. There was a patch of blue in the sky. A rainbow was arched over the town. Maybe they could go outside after all.
Lorna was wearing her best dress. It was dark red and knee-length. The last time she had worn it was to a birthday party, a happy occasion with cake and pass-the-parcel and lots of running about. Her mum had deemed it dark enough for the funeral; she didn’t want to dress her daughter in black.
Outside was a paved porch with wooden bench seats, each donated in loving memory of a dead golfer. Lorna wondered if her dad would donate a wooden seat for Tom, even though they couldn’t afford it and Tom had never played golf. The porch was sheltered by the overhanging roof of the clubhouse. Suzie and Lorna sat side by side on one of the wooden benches.
The Things We Learn When We're Dead Page 17
