Desperately Seeking Heaven (2 page)

His black hair, usually worn short and neat on screen, had grown longer and swept over one eye, offering him a mysterious air. Wayward tendrils skimmed the edge of his collar and I had to supress an urge to lean over and tidy them up with my fingers.

He was even more gorgeous in the flesh than on the screen, if that was possible, and my breath caught at the back of my throat as my pulse went into overdrive. Being a master in stating the bleeding obvious, I said, ever-so-not-so-casually, ‘You’re Jimmy Mack, aren’t you? Off the telly?’ Talk about losing all coolness and credibility in the space of a few seconds.

He turned his gaze on me, smiled a megawatt smile that sent my insides to mush, and nodded.

‘What’s your name, then?’ he asked, as if it had only just occurred to him that I might have one.

‘Alice. Alice Fletcher.’ Now it was me shaking my head. I couldn’t help imagining what everyone would say when I told them I’d acted as a guardian angel to probably the most recognisable man in the public eye and we were planning on sharing a cup of tea together. How amazing was that? Maybe I’d even get to appear on his show. “
Meet Alice Fletcher, the heroine who rescued our very own Jimmy Mack from his car wreckage
.” That was exactly the sort of sensationalism his show went in for.

Back at my flat in a flurry of heightened excitement, I clucked around him like a mother hen. I made him a cup of tea, put him on the sofa, threw a duvet over him and generally watched over him. I was desperate to contact someone, anyone to let them know what had happened, but he wasn’t having any of it. Maybe he was on his way to somewhere he shouldn’t have been, I mused, wondering about the private side to this very public man.

Probably once he’d had a rallying cup of tea, gathered his thoughts a little, I’d be able to get more sense out of him, but for the time being he wasn’t the most forthcoming of house guests.

‘I think I might just close my eyes for a moment.’ He put down his empty mug on the wicker coffee table and settled back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Is that OK?’

‘Yes, you go ahead. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with here. Just give me a shout if you need anything.’

A little thrill of excitement ran through me. Was Jimmy Mack really sitting on my sofa? Or was I part of some elaborate TV prank? He looked real enough to me. As his eyes flickered shut, I studied his familiar features more closely. The contours of his face, the strong turn of his jaw, the wide lips smiling even in rest; it was like looking at a member of my family. Weirdly, it seemed perfectly natural that he should be sitting there.

But then again…

What if something happened to him?

A ripple of unease rose in my throat. What if he fell into some sort of delayed coma? Or contracted hypothermia, ending up dead in my living room? That would take some explaining. Before I’d even had chance to grab a couple of autographs off him as well. Desperation bubbled up in me. Celebrity or not, I had to get him out of my flat pdq so that the responsibility of looking after the nation’s favourite presenter could be offloaded onto someone else.

For the moment though, he wasn’t going anywhere. He looked right at home on my squidgy sofa, his head resting on his arm. I supposed it was only natural he’d want to sleep after the ordeal he’d been through. It seemed a shame to wake him so instead I wandered into the kitchen, placing the dirty cups into the dishwasher. I threw some washing into the washing machine. Skimmed the pile of paperwork waiting patiently on the side. Checked my emails. Then I read my horoscope in the local newspaper.

“A chance encounter could bring unexpected results. Keep an open mind and go with the flow, you never know where it might lead you!”

Ha, I laughed out loud. There wasn’t much else I could do in the circumstances!

No, all I could do was wait. I drummed my fingertips on the worktop, frequently gazing over at my guest looking for any signs of life. And then I waited some more.

At eight o’clock with no sign of my visitor rousing, I made another cup of tea and a lot more noise in the process. I flung open cupboard doors, banged mugs down on the surfaces and hummed loudly. It was no good; a more direct approach was required.

‘Jimmy?’ I leant over him, whispering in his ear. A musky earthy scent reached my nostrils. ‘Jimmy,’ I said, gently shaking his shoulder, ‘would you like another cup of tea?’

He murmured something unintelligible which, after that amount of time, was an almighty relief I have to say.

‘Good,’ I said, sharply. ‘Then perhaps you’d like something to eat. Might make you feel a bit better.’ Then perhaps you’ll vacate my sofa and leave me alone to my weekend of domestic bliss, I kept to myself. ‘I’ll put the telly on, shall I? We can catch the news.’

I zapped the remote at the telly, popped into the kitchen to fetch the mugs of tea and came back into the living room. That’s when I received the third and most spectacularly freaky shock of the day. So much so that I screamed, dropping the mugs to the floor, the contents spraying my cream leather sofa and gardenia walls. That woke him, once and for all.

‘Jesus Christ! What is it?’ He leapt up from the sofa, only just escaping the spouting hot liquid, and looked at me accusingly.

‘You. It’s you.’ I looked from him to the screen. ‘On the telly.’ I pointed at the box in the corner of the room for good measure just in case he had any doubt as to what I was freaking out about.

We were standing a hair’s breath away from each other and I felt a surge of emotion rise within me, the air in the room suddenly electrified.

‘You!’ I repeated, my mouth gaping open like a befuddled goldfish.

‘Oh… yes,’ he said, having the grace to look a little sheepish, ‘perhaps I should have mentioned it.’

I sank down onto the sofa in the place recently vacated by Jimmy, my head falling into my hands. Maybe there’d been some kind of mistake.

‘You’re… you’re…’ I gulped, no it couldn’t be. ‘You’re… dead?’ I faltered, looking up into his eyes, which seemed so much greyer and deeper than before.

He shrugged, an apologetic smile forming on lips.

‘Yep, I am.’

No mistake then.

The whole country was in mourning following the tragic death of one of the country’s most well-known and well-loved celebrities in a freak accident. Grim-faced newsreaders repeated the news of the untimely demise of Mr Nice-Guy raking over the details of his last hours to find answers to the most unfathomable question. How exactly had Jimmy Mack died? Why had it happened? What private demons had driven Jimmy Mack to an early grave?

In the surreal surroundings of my flat which had taken on an other-worldly quality with the presence of Jimmy lounging on my sofa, the television confirmed to me what I really didn’t want to believe. I was now wrapped up under the duvet, having nabbed it back from Jimmy considering my need to be much greater than his. Hardly daring to surface, only my eyes peeped over the top of the cover at the screen, as tears rolled down my cheeks for the dead man standing beside me.

‘Oh, don’t cry!’ he said, pacing up and down and flapping his arms ineffectively.

‘Don’t cry? Are you serious?’ I jumped up from the sofa and followed him step for step across the carpet. ‘You are… a hugely famous TV star and you’re standing in my living room and if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough… you’re also… you’re also dead! How do you expect me to react?’

‘Yeah, well if it’s any consolation, it’s pretty weird for me too. Do you think I wanted to end up here? I should be on my way to the Heavenly Hilton or wherever it is you’re supposed to go, escorted by a couple of blonde angels.’

‘Oh God!’ I cried, attempting to hurl the duvet across the room, but only managing to tangle it between my legs. ‘Let’s just get this clear,’ I added, slowing my breathing, ‘you are actually… a ghost, then?’

‘Well, it looks that way.’ He actually laughed. As if this were a laughing matter. He glanced down at his moleskin trousers, the pale blue chambray shirt; his sleeves rolled to his elbows, with not even the tiniest speck of blood in sight. He looked real enough to me, solid, living, eminently touchable.

‘Oh, no, no, no. I just can’t get my head around this at all.’

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table and blew my nose noisily, looking at Jimmy accusingly. What the hell were we supposed to do now? Who should I call? The police, the doctor, an undertaker?

I took a deep breath.

‘So, um, tell me. H-how did it happen then? The accident?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing, I don’t really know. It all happened so quickly. I was on my way to my parents’ place in Mettlesham. It’s their ruby wedding anniversary this weekend and I was supposed to be taking them out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’ He screwed up his mouth, looking wistful. ‘I left the studio early afternoon and as it was such a beautiful day I decided to take the back roads instead of using the motorway.’ He paused as if reliving those last few moments. ‘I came round the bend and then, well, the steering just flew out of my hands. There was nothing I could do. The car flipped over and over. I didn’t think it was going to stop. And then my head hit the steering wheel or the dashboard, I can’t remember which. And that was it. Game over.’

My gaze settled on the innocuous-looking graze adorning his forehead.

‘Did it hurt?’ I didn’t really want to know the answer, but couldn’t stop myself from asking.

‘Not really.’ He shrugged, pondering the question. ‘It was pretty instantaneous. There was a lot of noise. In my head. And lights, lots of flashing lights, but I didn’t really feel anything.’

‘No? Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ I sighed. ‘I am so sorry,’ I said, sinking back down onto the sofa, not knowing what else to say. What exactly do you say to a dead man? The thought of his grieving family, friends and whole legion of fans was uppermost in my mind.

‘Don’t worry about it. It’s hardly your fault. I appreciate this must be very strange for you, me being here, but please don’t cry over me. The whole dying thing… it’s not half as bad as you’d imagine.’

I felt like sticking my fingers in my ears and la-la-ing into oblivion, but Jimmy was looking at me intently.

‘Well, you’re looking better than when I first came across you, I must admit.’ A bit peaky still, but his voice sounded much stronger and his presence seemingly so much more vivid.

‘Hey, I bet I’m the best-looking dead man you’ve ever met?’

I couldn’t argue with that. He was the best-looking man I’d ever met. Living or otherwise.

When he laughed his grey eyes twinkled mischievously, but I was finding it hard to find anything to laugh about. This whole episode was making me feel very uneasy.

Jimmy went on, considering me thoughtfully.

‘It’s just that I think there may have been a few problems in the um, well I don’t know what you’d call it, but in the handing over process, I suppose.’

‘The handing over process?’ A feeling of trepidation filled every pore in my body. ‘Um, what do you mean?’ I asked, not certain I wanted to hear the answer.

He scratched his head, managing to look both vulnerable and gorgeous in equal measure.

‘For some reason, I seem to have got stuck here with you. Obviously not alive, but neither fully gone over to the other side either. Betwixt and between, I suppose. I think that’s why you were sent my way. To help me.’

‘Ha, ha!’ I laughed, rather too heartily, only now it was Jimmy’s turn to look serious. ‘But how can I possibly help you?’ I said slowly, quietly, the deep apprehension growing in my chest.

‘To get to the other side, of course.’ He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Chapter Two

Why me? It was a question I asked myself a dozen times over in the hours following Jimmy’s arrival in my life.

I liked to pride myself on my efficiency and capability. It’s what I’m good at. Throw a problem my way and I’ll sort it. Even if I don’t immediately know the answer, I’ll find someone who does. But whoever it was up there who thought my organisational skills stretched to finding homes for recently deceased people, however well-known and however gorgeous, was surely having a joke at my expense.

I tried to broach this sensitive subject with Jimmy.

‘Were you not given any idea when you, um, passed… what you were supposed to do? Where you were meant to go?’

In a short space of time, he seemed to have made himself very comfy on my sofa and was brandishing the remote control with authority, flicking between channels to get the most up-to-date coverage on his demise.

‘Huh?’ He looked mildly irritated as he turned his gaze to look at me.

‘When you… you know…’ I didn’t like to say the word aloud, almost as if I didn’t mention it then it wouldn’t be such a permanent arrangement. Instead, I made a genteel fainting motion.

‘Pegged it, you mean? Nope. There was no welcoming committee or induction manual, not even a map pointing me in the direction of the upwards escalator or the downward one.’

He didn’t look unduly concerned about the whole episode, he was much more interested in what was happening on the telly.

‘Would you look at him.’ He was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, jabbing his finger at the screen. ‘I don’t believe it!’

It was Barney Roberts, the young and dynamic presenter of Win, win, win! the daily quiz show, his usual cheeky-chappie persona replaced with a sombre mask.

‘We are all deeply shocked and saddened by the untimely death of Jimmy Mack, a much loved and respected colleague here at Studio 99. Our thoughts and condolences go out to his family at this very sad time.’

‘Jeez! What a bloody hypocrite! How he’s got the nerve to stand there saying he’ll miss my friendship and my support as though we were best buddies, I just don’t know. The guy’s always hated me.’

Secretly I was a bit of a fan of Barney Roberts. Much more of a fan than I’d ever been of Jimmy Mack, but now wasn’t the time to mention it.

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ I said, crouching down to look Jimmy in the eye, picking up his hand. I didn’t want to appear rude, but I couldn’t help myself from staring at his features. They were all so familiar, all so real. My thumb stroked the length of his long fingers. How could he possibly be a ghost when he looked and felt so normal? A shiver tormented my spine as my gaze drifted between Jimmy and the TV screen.