Ralph was still feeling angry, sad, and very guilty for being the cause of this person’s death.
Caught up in this flurry of emotions over the other accident victim, he temporarily forgot about himself. With a start, he returned to the moment and moved with alacrity towards the emergency entrance.
He arrived in time to see the stretcher being wheeled at full pelt down the corridor by nurses and orderlies. A surgeon was busy shouting and gesticulating towards the operating theatre.
Then all hell broke loose, in a manner of speaking.
He distinctly heard a loud gasp, like someone coming up from the bottom of a swimming pool after being down for too long.
Then there were several more gasps. Only, these were from the hospital personnel pushing the dolly. The dolly slewed across the corridor as one of the nurses let go of her side and the burly orderly on the other sent it hurtling towards the right-hand wall. The surgeon grabbed it just in time, and hauled it to a standstill in the middle of the corridor. In the midst of all this commotion, the figure on the stretcher sat up and smiled.
2: ‘Welcome Back’
The first thought to enter Ralph’s mind was, thank God, I’m alive. For a few moments, he just stood and watched as everyone around him laughed or sighed with relief.
The surgeon was smiling broadly as he approached the stretcher.
‘Welcome back. I thought we’d lost you for a moment there.’
Ghost Ralph said to himself, phew, glad to be back, I was scared witless.
‘How do you feel?’ the surgeon asked.
‘Top of the world, actually,’ Stretcher Ralph replied.
Yeah, me too— now hold on just a minute, thought Ghost Ralph. I can’t be alive and dead. What the hell’s going on here?
Then Stretcher Ralph made a gesture that was so distinctive, so easily recognisable, that it made the blood freeze in Ghost Ralph’s veins; metaphorically, of course.
Stretcher Ralph was talking to the crowd surrounding him, so Ghost Ralph’s view was partially blocked. He heard rather than saw the gesture.
There was a click of fingers and three words, ‘Just like that!’
Ghost Ralph knew of only one person who did this. Fred Johnson.
Ghost Ralph moved forward to get a better view. The crowd around the stretcher parted as if they knew he was approaching. However, they weren’t moving for him, but for Stretcher Ralph, who had swung his legs over the edge of the dolly.
‘I think you should stay over for at least the rest of the day . . . er . . . Mister . . .?
‘Fenwick,’ said Stretcher Ralph.
‘Well, Mister Fenwick, we really ought to run a few tests. Just to be on the safe side,’ the surgeon said.
‘No, honestly, I feel absolutely marvellous. Better than I’ve felt in years, in fact. I appreciate all that you’ve done. I really do. But there is nothing to worry about. I’m top-notch.’
He was smiling and laughing to himself as much as to the staff.
‘Well, we can’t hold you against your will, of course, Mister Fenwick . . .’
‘Please, call me Ralph. Life’s too short for formalities,’ Stretcher Ralph said.
‘Well . . . Ralph, if you insist on leaving, you must sign a release form. But really, you shouldn’t be running around two minutes after suffering such serious head trauma.’
Stretcher Ralph looked up from buttoning his shirt and made a gesture suggesting he wanted the release form. Someone passed him a clipboard and a pen: it looked like the duty nurse from reception.
As news of the miraculous recovery spread through the hospital like wildfire, people immediately stopped what they were doing, and made a beeline for the scene to see the patient who had just come back from the dead.
Stretcher Ralph scribbled his signature on the release form and handed it back to the nurse. He jumped off the stretcher and shook hands with the surgeon and as many of the others who thrust hands at him. Still smiling, he walked down the corridor and out of the emergency entrance.
Ghost Ralph was stunned, or gobsmacked as the current favourite colloquialism went.
He raised his arms in the air in appeal, and yelled, ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’
A small voice off to his right said ‘May I be of assistance?’
Ghost Ralph turned sharply towards the sound.
‘What the hell . . .?’
‘Not quite,’ replied the small black cat that was sitting on a trolley full of sheets.
Ghost Ralph merely gawped. A talking cat?
‘Well, yes. That’s exactly what I am,’ the cat acknowledged.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Ghost Ralph protested.
‘Not exactly, but that was the thought you had. Better that I explain. I can see you are having a hard time dealing with this. Understatement, that, I suppose,’ the cat concluded.
‘Who or what are you?’ Ghost Ralph asked, almost on the verge of panic.
‘I’m your guide,’ the cat said.
‘Guide to what?’
‘Before I get into that you have to stop thinking like a ghost, because technically you aren’t one. Can you do that for me?’ the cat asked.
Ralph nodded. He seemed too stunned to do anything else for the moment.
‘Okay, that’s a start. Let’s walk, shall we? We don’t want to let Fred get too far ahead.’
They started walking towards the hospital exit, Ralph feeling as if he were moving through no free will of his own.
‘Fred? It was Fred that I knocked over?’ Ralph was flabbergasted.
‘Knocked over? Fred? No, not at all. Fred had a heart attack outside your house,’ the cat told him.
‘Then . . . then what happened to the Mystery Tenant?’
‘Mystery Tenant? What are you talking about?’
‘He lives at number three, and— ’
‘Whoa, hold on a minute. I think we ought to backtrack a little. Just so we can both get our bearings as to what’s going on here. You can’t possibly understand what’s happened here; certainly not all the details; and that’s what I’m here for. So let me explain.’
Ralph nodded dumbly once more.
I’m having a conversation about death, my death, with a black cat. No, he protested to himself. I’m not dead. I can’t be!
‘Right you are there, Ralph. Not in the proper sense anyway. So let me fill you in on what happened.’ The cat seemed to compose its thoughts.
‘You were watching football highlights on Sky Sport when you realised you were going to be late for your meeting if you didn’t leave at once. Anyway, you were in such a rush that as you reversed, your foot slipped off the clutch and the car shot out of the driveway into the path of the ambulance. The ambulance that was coming for Fred. It crashed into the side of your car. The impact caused your head to smack against the side window and that was that, I’m afraid.
‘Now, my appearance on the scene is as a result of your thoughts. You have obviously heard that your life is supposed to flash in front of you when it’s time to pop off, right?’
Ralph nodded.
‘Well, I was one of your last thoughts. So when you called for help I was able to latch onto that thought and materialise into a recognisable form. The other thoughts were all jumbled. Mostly about the soccer, I think. I decided that a cat might be more believable than a talking football, not so?’
Ralph frowned, then smiled as he realised what he had been thinking about.
Well, I suppose it could be misinterpreted as a small cat.
The cat caught the gist of his thought and yowled.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ralph laughed.
‘Rather let’s not go there, please,’ the cat pleaded; then, seeing the funny side, added, ‘The mind boggles.’
‘It most certainly does,’ Ralph agreed.
When they had both regained a measure of decorum, the cat continued.
‘Do you have any cats, by the way?’
‘My wife did before we were married. But it
died, unfortunately. Why do you ask?’
‘Well if I remind you of it then we can give me a name, if you like?’
‘Seems reasonable,’ Ralph agreed. ‘Hendrix. It was a black cat, similar to you. How does that sound?’
‘Works for me. Hendrix it is. So, what’s a hendrix?’
‘Who, not what,’ Ralph corrected. ‘He was a musician. Died a while back. My wife thinks he’s brilliant.’
The cat seemed perfectly at ease with the situation, which was a million miles from how Ralph was feeling.
‘So, am I dead or what?’ Ralph asked.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes, but you’re not meant to be. Your number’s not up, as the saying goes.’
They had left the hospital and were now making their way back to Ralph’s house.
I wonder if not-really-dead people get tired, Ralph thought.
‘No,’ Hendrix answered. ‘Now stop interrupting and let me finish explaining what’s going on, okay?’
‘Sorry,’ Ralph apologised. ‘Coming to terms with being almost dead is not that easy.’
‘I realise. Now, if we play our cards right, we might be able to sort this out in the manner that it should have been in the first place. So, to continue.’
Hendrix cleared his throat.
‘After the ambulance hit your car and your head smacked the window, in effect you did die. But as I’ve already said, today was not your day. You were supposed to spend some time in a coma, recover with a little amnesia, and then get back to normal. But you were in such a hurry to get to the pearly gates that you caught everyone by surprise.’
‘Everyone?’ Ralph asked.
‘Those upstairs, of course,’ said Hendrix..
‘Those upstairs being?’ Ralph insisted.
‘Oh, right I forgot, you’re an atheist. Don’t you feel like a schmuck then?’
‘No, I don’t feel like that at all. When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it. End of story,’ Ralph said. Although now he didn’t sound so convinced. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you are a kitty-angel, and that would be ridiculous.’
‘And right you would be,’ Hendrix agreed.
Ralph made to speak.
‘Not so fast, mister there’s-no-such-thing-as-God-etcetera,’ the cat said. ‘I am not an angel, and anyway certainly not in the sense that’s running around in your mind. How it works is this. First, there are dead people. Now, when you die you get to cross the finish line, or whatever you want to call it. This is the light-at-the-end-of the-tunnel story. The one you almost experienced.
‘Then there is the other team. You know? The bad guys. Well, it’s debatable whether they really are bad guys or just those who are obliged to look after the bad guys among the formerly-living. It’s a moot point really. If your number is up with them, then you go the other way. Then there’s the not really dead. That’s you: and this is where the likes of me come into the picture. I’m basically a figment of your imagination. I’ve explained how, and to a point, why. You could say I am from the grey limbo; the space in between.’
An image of a sexy south-sea-island dancer popped up in Ralph’s mind.
‘Yes, quite. Well you had your chance, and you were at least in the ballpark, not so?’
‘S’pose,’ Ralph agreed.
‘Well my job is to help you reach the proper destination. In your case, right here. Only something more solid, if you catch my meaning.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Ralph.
‘We need Fred to give up what is not rightfully his - your body - and then he can be on his way. He knows it, they know it, and now you know it. But he has to vacate voluntarily. It’s not one of those things that can be forced.’
‘But what about the good guys?’ Ralph was not prepared to use the term God just yet.
‘They can’t interfere. They can no more cross from the spirit side than you can go there as a solid. There has to be some semblance of order, otherwise you would have all this to-ing and fro-ing. Imagine the chaos.’ Hendrix shook his head. ‘No, sorry, it’s up to you. You are on your own I’m afraid, without help from the good guys. Or the . . . others, for that matter.’
‘So if Fred is aware of what he’s done, why the hell, ‘scuse the pun, doesn’t he just get the he . . . heck out of my body and be on his merry way?’ Ralph asked.
‘Let’s try and put this into perspective shall we? Fred is/was sixty-six with a dicky heart. He’s been a widower for eight years and never remarried. Nor has he had any girlfriends or, how can I put this, female liaisons. Suddenly he finds himself occupying a body that belonged to a perfectly healthy, thirty-two-year-old male. What the flipping heck do you think he is going to do? Really, get a life!’
Ralph gave the cat a look of hurt and disgust.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong,’ Hendrix apologised. ‘Anyway, the point is this; Fred will probably want to hang on to what he’s got for a while. Unless he can be persuaded to give up the ghost. Or more precisely, give up the body. That, in a nutshell, is it.’
Ralph suddenly had a panic attack.
‘That randy old bastard is now occupying my body, isn’t he, so he . . . he . . . Geez! He’ll be in bed with my wife,’ he wailed.
‘Hold on there, Ralph. Just calm down a bit. That’s not going to happen,’ Hendrix assured him.
‘Won’t happen!’ Ralph yelled. ‘My wife is in Canada on business but she’ll be home soon . . . and . . . ’
‘Shut up a minute, will you. Firstly, if you were really dead, would you deny your wife the chance of finding someone else?’
‘I . . .’
‘Well would you?’
Ralph shrugged.
‘No, I guess not. But I’m not really dead, am I? And the thought of that wrinkly old bastard dribbling and pawing over Stephanie is just too disgusting for words.’
‘Ralph, he’s not a wrinkly old dribbling bastard. He’s a non-dribbling, yet possibly horny bastard in your body. Anyway, I have it on good authority that Fred would not touch your wife. He’s old-school. As much as he is likely to relish the position he has found himself in, he won’t go near her. Not in that sense. You will just have to believe me on that point. Which might seem good for you, but when your wife gets back from Canada she is going to be more than a little hot to trot, so to speak, and when her husband doesn’t give it up she’s is going to be more than a little miffed.’
Ralph ‘breathed’ a sigh of relief.
‘Hey don’t look so smug and self-righteous, chum. You have problems. If he’s out and about slotting the salami with every piece of skirt he can legally get his hands on, you might well have a lot of difficult explaining to do when – and I’m being optimistic here – you get your body back,’ Hendrix reasoned.
Ralph’s expression became uncertain.
‘Yeah, not quite so rosy now, is it? Might be better if old Fred did stay home and put his slippers under your bed?’
But that thought was worse for Ralph than the alternative. He shook his head.
‘No, I’ll take my chances with the first choice, thank you. At least my conscience will be clear.’
‘Pride before a fall, Ralph; pride before a fall.’
‘Rather let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Better still, let’s not get to the bridge.’
‘Good, a bit of positive thought at last. Now we’re talking. Oh, look, we’re home,’ said Hendrix.
3: Walkies
Click. ‘. . . it’s seven minutes past six and that was the news on Radio Two. And now . . .’ Click.
Fred switched off the clock radio. He stretched, sighed, and let his right arm drop back down onto the bed. Gwen’s side, he reminded himself, as he had done every morning at seven minutes past six for the past eight years.
He took a deep breath and smiled. Even after all these years, Gwen’s scent still lingered. That reminder of her had surprised him the most, especially as her clothes no longer hung in the wardrobe. Initially, he refused to get rid of them, and every mo
rning after the accident, he would invariably open the door on her side and run his hands along her dresses and blouses just to feel her presence. Those first few months after the accident he would always break down after the gesture, often burying his face in an item of clothing. No more, thank goodness.
The clothes had gone, donated to the Red Cross, and he had eventually come to terms with his loss. Mostly. Occasionally he would get a knot in his throat but the tears were over. These days he would smile with fondness. The image of her would come to mind easily for him, thank God. He had seen several films where a character had lost a loved one, and had complained that there were days when they couldn’t remember so-and-so’s face. Well, not him, Fred Johnson, and, on reflection, he doubted very much if anyone had ever been through what he had, in films or in real life.
Lately, when he thought about it, he had begun the somewhat disconcerting habit of laughing. He’d even laughed while discussing the accident with his G.P. during a visit for a check-up. The doctor had thought this behaviour a bit odd, and suggested that if the ‘habit’ persisted he should consider having a few tests.
But Fred knew he didn’t need tests of any kind. It was just a form of release; of letting go all the hurt. If Gwen was watching or listening, he knew in his heart she would have approved. Probably would have laughed too, for that matter.
The accident had occurred on the night of Friday the 4th, eight years ago. It was January, and the district had seen some rather heavy snowfalls over that past fortnight.
Had it been the thirteenth of the month this would have been the icing on the cake.
They had just finished dinner, so it was probably around six- fifteen. Fred had cleared the table and Gwen was busy stacking the dishes in the dishwasher when the dog, a beige-coloured Labrador named Blackie in deference to Gwen’s penchant for non-conformism, started doing its circular dance in the kitchen. This meant ‘walkies’ and ‘make it sharpish else I’m going to have an accident on the floor’. Both Fred and Gwen recognised the signs.
‘I’ll take her for a quickie over Bert’s. You finish clearing the kitchen. Give me thirty minutes then put the kettle on. I should be walking through the door by the time it’s boiled. Oh, there’s a trifle in the fridge. Dish two bowls and we’ll sit and watch TV.’
Almost Dead In Suburbia Page 2