Around midmorning, he heard Alice get out of bed and go into the shower, and a bit later she came into the kitchen, her hair hanging down wet around her drawn face, wearing her jeans from yesterday and Neil’s T-shirt over the top.
“Sorry—” she began.
“Don’t,” said Neil. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
“Thanks for the tea,” said Alice, “and for letting me stay. You’re a good friend. I don’t deserve you.”
“Please don’t say that. You deserve . . . you deserve anything. Everything. Everything good.”
“No, I don’t,” said Alice, shaking her head.
“Alice—”
“No. You don’t know, so . . .”
“Then tell me,” said Neil.
“I can’t. You’d be so ashamed of me.”
“I couldn’t possibly be ashamed of you, Alice.”
Alice just shook her head.
“Look,” said Neil. “It’s a lovely day. Why don’t we go for a walk? Just as far as the park. It might take your mind off things and it’s better than sitting in here all day.”
“With you?” said Alice.
“Of course with me,” said Neil.
“You don’t have to. I’ve disturbed you enough—I can see you’re working . . .”
“Don’t be silly,” said Neil. “It’s just work. It can wait. Come on, it’ll be nice.”
And it was nice, at first. The sun was actually warm, warm enough that Neil only needed a denim jacket over his shirt, and Alice left her winter coat behind and wore a sweater of his instead. They didn’t talk much, but they never talked much, and there was something companionable about the silence. Neil wanted very much to take Alice’s arm, but he sensed that she was still too fragile to cope with that, so he didn’t. But he enjoyed walking beside her, even though there was nothing special about the walk up to the park: just unremarkable residential terraced streets, the odd ugly lump of a council estate, and then the high street, all kebab shops and discount stores and the kind of estate agencies that made you think twice about wanting to move to the area. There were other people around, other couples, and Neil wondered whether he and Alice were going to be a couple one day, and he felt guilty for wondering that at a time like this, but he wondered it all the same. He wanted to take her arm so badly that he had to put his hand in his pocket.
At the gate to the park, Alice stopped and looked him straight in the eye, very serious. He realized that Alice never looked him in the eye; she usually addressed all of her remarks to somewhere in the air just above his shoulder.
“What is it?” said Neil.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “I need to tell you about what happened yesterday.”
“Okay,” said Neil.
Alice rested her hand on the park railing. She seemed to be holding herself up.
“It’s very bad,” she said.
“Okay,” said Neil.
“And it was my fault,” said Alice. “All of it.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t—”
“It was my fault,” insisted Alice.
Neil nodded.
“There’s two parts to this. The first part . . . the first part is bad. I don’t want to tell you about the first part. But I have to. Because without the first part I can’t tell you about the second part, and I have to—” Alice choked.
“You don’t have to do anything,” said Neil.
“I have to,” said Alice, “because I have to tell someone and you’re the only one I can tell. So, okay. The first thing is, I kissed Apollo.”
Neil had been expecting it, but anticipating the punch doesn’t make it hurt any less. He thought he might be sick, but when he opened his mouth, that wasn’t what came out.
“It’s okay,” he said, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” said Alice.
And she let go of the railing and reached out, and Neil thought she was going to touch his arm, or even his face, but at that instant the light disappeared and a cold wind blew in from nowhere, as if they had been picked up and dropped into a completely different day.
“What on earth . . . ?” said Alice, looking up.
Neil looked up at the clouds that had materialized, ink black, seething and swirling; just clouds, yes, but like some kind of angry vortex that could consume them, and then he saw a face in the clouds, of an old man, and the face was distended with fury, and a peal of thunder rang out, louder than anything he had ever heard in his life, and a dagger of lightning hurled down directly toward them, as if guided by some kind of intelligence that was seeking them out.
21
WHEN ALICE OPENED her eyes, she was surprised to find herself lying on the ground outside the park, enclosed by a wall of rain. Her ears were filled with the shrill shrieking of car alarms—it seemed that every one within miles had been set off. She couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. Something must have happened, or she wouldn’t be lying here, but she felt fine. That wasn’t entirely accurate: she didn’t really feel anything at all. She decided that she must be in shock. In shock from what, she wasn’t sure. It occurred to her that maybe the street had been struck by lightning.
She saw feet running toward her, lots of feet. People were panicking. Afraid that she would be trampled, she pushed herself upright and stood. She looked for Neil but she couldn’t see him. She felt a pang of terror that something had happened to him. Then through the crowd she spotted a form lying on the ground, and she ran toward it, wheeling around the people coming in the opposite direction, knowing even before she could see him clearly that it was Neil.
Neil was lying on his back, eyes open, staring upward. Alice dropped to her knees beside him. For one long, grotesque second she thought he was dead. Then he moved. Just his hand, at first, but it was enough.
“Neil, are you all right?” said Alice. “Say something, please.”
“It’s okay,” said Neil, a little too loud. “I’m fine.”
“Thank goodness,” said Alice. “I was so worried. Do you know what happened?”
Neil sat up, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at Alice. He was looking past her, toward the park, at the people who were running away from where they were.
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “Do you think somebody’s been hurt?”
Neil didn’t speak. He stood up and looked around. He seemed dazed. Alice stood up too.
“Neil, what is it? Can’t you hear me? Can you see anything?”
She reached out a hand to touch him, but he stepped forward, past her, following the other people who had now clustered together in a group near where Alice had fallen. Alice could hear a woman crying and the sound of an approaching ambulance. Someone must have been badly injured; maybe several people. Of course, it was just like Neil to try to help.
She hurried after him. He was stumbling blindly forward. When the other people saw him coming, they stepped aside to let him through, but they closed together before she could follow him. She stood at the back of the group, seeing nothing. For a few moments nothing happened. Then someone said, “She’s not breathing.”
Alice felt a pang of sorrow, of guilt to have been so relieved that Neil was all right when there were other people suffering.
“I know first aid,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
Everybody ignored her. Nobody even turned around. And then she heard Neil’s voice.
“Her name’s Alice,” he said. “She’s with me.”
“But I’m here!” shouted Alice, not caring who heard her as long as Neil did. “Neil! I’m fine!”
“Is she going to be okay?” he said.
“I’m fine!” screamed Alice. “Neil, I’m back here! I’m fine!”
Nobody turned around.
“I’m doing my best but I don’t think it’s going to help,” said another voice she didn’t know, out of breath.
“Let me through!” said Alice.
Nobody turned around.
So
she stepped forward to push her way past, even though she hated pushing, and she grabbed the arm of the man in front of her, even though she hated grabbing, only instead of grabbing his arm, her hand went right through it.
Neil awoke, lying alone on the pavement, dazed. He became aware that it was pouring rain. Hard. The rain felt oily. People started running, and he said to them, “It’s okay, I’m fine,” but they weren’t running toward him. He pushed himself up and looked around for Alice, but he couldn’t see her. By the park railings, where he had been standing only a moment ago, was a cluster of people, and he could hear a woman wailing. Then he heard the sound of an ambulance siren, quite a long way away, coming closer. He walked over to the crowd, but he still couldn’t see Alice. His wet clothes were sticking to his body, his hair to his forehead. He was cold. Someone was saying, “She’s not breathing.” With eerie calm, he thought to himself, That’s Alice they’re talking about. If I push to the front of this crowd, I’ll see her, lying on the ground. So it seemed quite natural when that was exactly what happened.
“Her name’s Alice,” he said.
Somebody put her arm around his shoulders. It seemed odd to him that he could feel his shoulders. Somebody else was squatting over Alice’s body, blowing air into her mouth, pumping up and down on her chest with his hands. It looked violent, obscene. He wanted to tear him off her. Underneath this brute, Alice was perfect. There was nothing wrong with her. How could there be anything wrong with her?
“Is she going to be okay?” he said.
Alice walked through the people. She didn’t want to walk through the people, but Neil was on the other side of them. So she walked through them. It felt like nothing. They were nothing but air.
She saw Neil before she saw herself. He was standing at the front of the crowd, a little apart from the others, except for a woman who was standing beside him, holding his shoulders. He was looking down at a body on the pavement. Her body. Someone was giving her CPR. How could anyone be giving her CPR when she was standing right there? She stared at herself and the man pushing down on her breastbone. It was completely wrong. She should not be looking at her own body. She looked back at Neil. He was shaking.
She walked over to where Neil was standing and finally put her arms around him as she had always wanted to do.
“I’m here,” she said. “I love you.”
Neil took a step away, out of her arms and toward her supine body. Alice started to cry. Nothing came out of her eyes.
The following minutes—hours?—felt like slow motion and fast forward at the same time. The ambulance came; the crowd stepped back. Paramedics pulled up the sweater and T-shirt that Alice was wearing—Neil’s sweater and T-shirt—and used paddles to shock her. It didn’t work. More CPR. It didn’t work. They talked in low voices; one took Neil aside while another covered Alice’s face.
The true meaning of what had happened, that they had watched someone die that day, began to pass through the crowd. As the realization took, people began to leave so that they could start the process of forgetting as soon as possible.
“Are you family?” the paramedic asked Neil.
“No,” said Neil.
“Are you her boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Is there anybody that we should call?”
“Me,” said Neil. “She always called me.”
They were taking her body away. They were putting it into an ambulance and taking it away. Alice felt panic, horror. She tried to climb into the back of the ambulance but she couldn’t get in; she physically couldn’t get into the vehicle. She just went straight through it.
And then, still worse, the paramedic guided Neil into the ambulance too.
“There’s so much I wanted to tell her,” Neil was saying.
“You still can!” cried Alice. “I’m still here! Neil, I’m still here.”
But the doors shut behind him and the ambulance drove off, taking with it everything she valued and leaving her completely alone on the pavement.
And then Alice heard a voice say her name.
22
“ALICE JOY MULHOLLAND?”
Alice turned.
“Hermes?”
“Yes,” said Hermes. “How did you know?”
He was leaning against the park railings, wearing his usual smart business suit and strange matching hat and boots with wings on them. And he was looking right at her, quite surprised, though not nearly as surprised as she was.
“I don’t understand,” said Alice. “What do you mean, how do I know? You know me. You said my name.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Hermes. “I know everybody’s name.”
“But you do know me,” said Alice. “I clean your house.”
Recognition bloomed.
“Of course,” he said. “Sorry. Out of context.”
He made a goofy little face.
“But . . . ,” said Alice. “You can see me.”
“Of course I can see you,” said Hermes. “You’re right in front of me.”
“No, but—” Alice stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to contradict you. But I . . .”
“What?” said Hermes pleasantly.
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “I think I must have hit my head. I just had the strangest—vision, I suppose you’d call it. I thought I was . . .” She trailed off. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.”
“You did hit your head,” confirmed Hermes. “But that’s not what killed you.”
“What?” said Alice.
“It was a lightning strike,” said Hermes.
“You mean,” said Alice, “you mean I am dead.”
Hermes cocked his head.
“Best to make sure,” he said.
He reached inside her chest and pulled out her heart.
“Yup,” he said. “Definitely not beating.”
He put it back.
Alice screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed, and as she screamed she became aware that the screaming wasn’t exhausting her or relieving her or even making her throat sore. The scream was having no effect on her whatsoever.
Eventually she stopped screaming.
“Are you done?” said Hermes, who had been standing still, watching her, all this time.
“Yes,” said Alice.
“Good,” said Hermes.
He took a pair of earplugs out of his ears.
“The screaming is a bit of an occupational hazard,” he explained. “Come with me. My motorbike is just around the corner.”
Hermes began walking away from her, and Alice hurried to follow.
“I don’t understand,” said Alice.
“You don’t understand much, do you?” said Hermes.
“If I’m dead,” said Alice, “how come you can still see me?”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Hermes.
“Well, no, I’m afraid it isn’t really,” said Alice.
“I’m a god,” said Hermes. “Have you ever been on a motorbike before?”
They had stopped beside a gleaming red motorbike that Alice had often seen parked in the street outside the house.
“I . . . ,” she said. “No. You’re a—? I haven’t. A god?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Hermes. “If you fall off, you won’t get hurt.”
“You’re a god?” said Alice.
“That’s what I said,” said Hermes. “Get on the back.”
Hermes swung his leg over the motorbike and looked at Alice.
“Come on,” he said. “I haven’t got all day. Well, technically I have, but it’s best not to bother you with the details.”
“Where are we going?” said Alice.
“To the underworld.”
“But I don’t want to go to the underworld.”
“If you stay here, you’ll be a ghost,” said Hermes. “The only people you’ll be able to talk to are TV mediums. Trust me
, the underworld is better.”
Alice didn’t move.
“I don’t think you understand me. It’s either coming with me or staying here by yourself. Think about it.”
Alice thought about it, and got onto the back of the bike.
“Good girl,” said Hermes.
Once he was sure that Alice was securely seated, Hermes pulled away through the car in front, the motorbike drifting silently along. Alice felt no wind resistance against her body; it was as if they weren’t moving at all.
“That’s one good thing about being in dead time,” said Hermes. “You don’t need any fuel. You don’t have to burn anything, because in one sense, you’re not actually going anywhere.”
“I don’t—” began Alice.
“Don’t tell me you don’t understand,” said Hermes. “You’ve only been dead for five minutes. Of course you don’t understand. Once you’ve had a few centuries to figure it out, then you’ll understand. In the meantime, just go with it.”
When Alice didn’t reply, he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry if I seem a little brusque. It’s just I have to do this every day, thousands and thousands and thousands of times a day, mostly with people who are just as shocked to be dead as you are. And that’s aside from having to keep the entire economy of the globe running smoothly. Which it never bloody does; you mortals are always interfering. So you see, your social niceties do just tend to go after a while. For what it’s worth, I thought you did a great job of cleaning our house. You’re going to be tough to replace.”
Alice pulled her eyes away from the insides of the cars and the people that they were riding through and fixed them on Hermes, who was still facing her and driving without looking where he was going.
“Oh no,” she said. “It’s sweet of you to apologize, but it isn’t that.”
“What is it, then?” said Hermes.
“I was just about to tell Neil—my friend Neil, he’s a lovely man—I was just about to tell him—” She broke off, jolted by a sudden wave of shock.
“What?”
“If you’re a god . . . does that mean that the others are too?”
“The others? You mean the rest of the family? Yes, of course. You’re pretty slow on the uptake.”
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