Читать книгу Make A Christmas Wish: A heartwarming, witty and magical festive treat - Julia Williams - Страница 12

There is a shout from somewhere, and suddenly I feel as though I have been yanked from the room I am in, and now I am floating in another, smaller white room, where a nurse is sitting down with a shocked-looking Adam and Joe, saying, ‘I am so so sorry.’

Joe is rocking backwards and forwards and I can feel his distress. I try to go to him, but I can’t reach him. I can feel the pain coming from him in waves, pain beyond anything that I have ever felt before, and I find myself howling with him. And then I hear Adam break down and I can see into his jumbled thoughts. One thing stands out very clearly: he is very very sorry and he loves me very much. Whatever else he has done to me, losing me has cost him dear.

Suddenly I am dragged into a long dark tunnel. I am screaming and shouting, ‘Bring me back! I need to go back!’ but to no avail. The darkness overtakes me, and after that there is nothing.

And here, now, in the car park in the dark, I hear a voice pipe up beside me: ‘And the penny drops …’

I would have jumped out of my skin if I’d had any to jump out of. I look around suspiciously in the dark, but I can’t see anything.

‘Oh my God, I’m—’

‘’Fraid so,’ says the voice cheerily.

‘Dead?’

‘Very,’ says the voice.

This is getting extremely weird.

‘Who are you?’ I say.

‘A friend,’ purrs the voice, which doesn’t exactly reassure me.

I look around me at the empty car park. I can’t quite believe it: I’m still here. I’m still standing. I feel the same. How can I be dead?

‘Common reaction,’ is the response. ‘But sorry, you’ve definitely shuffled off your mortal coil.’

‘Aren’t there supposed to be choirs of angels or something?’ I say. If I have really died, shouldn’t I be entitled to a fanfare of sorts?

‘That’s not quite how it works,’ says the voice smugly.

I’m beginning to dislike its owner intensely.

‘Why am I here, then?’ I ask.

‘Where do I start? You’re still here, because you’re not ready to pass over yet.’

‘What do you mean?’ I am instantly on edge. ‘Why do I get to hang about? If I’m dead, why can’t I just go on to wherever I’m supposed to go in peace?’

‘In the words of the trade, you have unfinished business.’

‘Damn right I have unfinished business,’ I say. ‘This is ridiculous. I have to get back to my husband and son. They need me. I want to talk to someone in charge.’

‘Afraid you’re stuck with me,’ says the voice patiently. ‘And your attitude ought to give you a clue.’

‘What’s wrong with my attitude?’ I say. ‘I’m a nice person. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘Well, for a start, why are you so angry all the time?’

I bristle again. I’ve been carrying my anger around for so long, I can barely remember sometimes what I’m so furious about. It’s the sort of thing Adam has been saying to me for years, and I’ve always thought he was exaggerating. But now I’m here alone in this car park, apparently dead, with a disembodied voice for company, I think perhaps he has a point. There’s a dark pool of fury inside me, something I’ve suppressed for years and one of a number of places I don’t want to go. But I am not going to tell the voice that.

‘Who are you?’ I say instead and, to my astonishment, a mangy-looking black cat wanders up and perches on a bin.

‘Call me Malachi,’ says the cat, stretching out its paws. ‘I’m your spirit guide.’ This is not in the slightest bit reassuring.

I must be delusional. It’s the bang on the head. I’ve fabricated that I’m dead and in a car park talking to a cat. In a moment I’ll wake up in hospital and see Adam and Joe peering worriedly at me and everything will be normal again.

‘Right, this has gone beyond a joke,’ I say. ‘I am going to leave now.’

‘You can try,’ says Malachi, ‘but you won’t get very far. You need to listen to what I say. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can ignore the rules.’

‘I can’t be dead,’ I wail again. ‘This isn’t happening.’

‘Sorry to disappoint, but you’re very very dead. Anyway, in the situation you find yourself in, what’s so odd about talking to a cat? This isn’t who I really am. Just a convenient shape I take on in moments like this. I could be a tramp, but the police would probably move me on. A cat’s more convenient. No one pays much attention to a cat scavenging through the bins at midnight. More to the point, I’m here to help you.’

‘Why?’ I say suspiciously.

‘Because it’s my job,’ says the cat wearily. ‘Though, quite frankly, I’ve had easier material to work with.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ I say, furious again.

‘Well, let’s start with untangling the mess you’ve made of your life.’

‘I haven’t made a mess of my life,’ I protest. ‘I liked my life. I’d really like it back please.’

‘Too late for that,’ says Malachi. ‘But we can put a few things right if you like. We can start with your past.’

‘Suppose I don’t want to,’ I object. I make a point of never looking back and wondering if I could have done things differently. That way madness lies, if you ask me.

‘Fair enough,’ says the cat. ‘But I can’t help you till you want to be helped. If you’re not prepared to listen to me, you’ll be stuck here until you’re ready to move on.’

‘I refuse to listen to this,’ I say. ‘Any minute now I’m going to wake up and this will have been a horrible nightmare.’

‘Your choice,’ he purrs. ‘You stay here guarding the bins then. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ve got better things to do with my time.’

With a flick of his tail he is gone. And I am left here alone, floating around Lidl’s car park, trapped on the very spot where I died.