‘If you’re sure now?’ the driver continued, and he seemed genuinely concerned for his fare. But Fred waved him away thanking him again. The driver called after him, ‘Take it easy. Have a cup of tea and a lie down. You’ll feel better.’
Fred nodded and mumbled that he would. The taxi pulled away from the kerb and went back the way it had come.
Fred stood on the pavement outside Ralph’s house. He was unaware of the accident involving the ambulance and Ralph’s BMW.
The glass and bits of plastic had already been cleared away and the damaged car pushed back in the garage until the insurance could be sorted out.
Cherry Blossom Close was quiet. Besides Ralph Fenwick and Mary Robbins, everyone else would be at work. Except Angela, of course, who was on maternity leave. She took her babies to the clinic on Tuesday mornings and wouldn’t be home until after lunch. She always popped in at her mother’s for a visit on Tuesdays.
It must be about nine thirty, he thought. He checked his wrist. There was no watch. Unusual, but then it wasn’t his wrist.
Fred turned towards the gate and heard the phone ring. It gave him a start, but he forced himself to relax. He wouldn’t reach it in time, so there was no point rushing. Besides, the call wouldn’t be for him anyway.
Absently he put his hand into the left pocket. There was a small bunch of keys.
He retrieved them and walked to the front door. Ralph’s key was similar to his own, a brass Yale, so it was easy to identify. There was no fumbling as he inserted it into the lock and turned it. The door opened for him. Did he really think it wouldn’t? He stepped inside and closed the door, temporarily shutting out all the drama of the past hour or so. How did he realise it had been that long?
Going straight to the kitchen and acting on the taxi driver’s advice, he made a cup of tea.
All the houses in the Close were similar, and the kitchen was a standard design in each of them. He only had to open two cupboard doors before he found the tea bags and drinking mugs.
While he waited for the kettle to boil he absently opened one of the kitchen drawers and removed a packet of Rothmans and a box of matches. Sitting down heavily in one of the chairs, he put the cigarette to his lips and struck a match. With it millimetres from the tip of the cigarette, he stopped himself.
‘Whoa. That’s one habit you are quitting right now, Ralph my boy.’ How did I know there were cigarettes in the drawer, he wondered?
The kettle boiled and he got up and poured the water into the mug. The sugar was right next to the jar of tea bags. He added one spoonful to the drink, squeezed the tea bag and dropped it in the waste bin under the sink. Then he resumed his seat and took a calming sip of his tea.
‘So, Fred Johnson. Just what the hell is going on here?’
5: Ralph Gets a Temp
Ralph, meanwhile, had arrived at the front door of his house just as Fred had gone inside.
‘Oh that’s great! Now how am I going to get in?’ he asked Hendrix.
The cat flexed its shoulders in a gesture that could only be interpreted as a shrug.
‘Well, you’re my guide, any ideas?’
‘I’ll go and scan the back of the house,’ Hendrix offered.
‘Great. That’s just what I need right now, a bloody cat-scan!’
‘Funny,’ Hendrix replied as he disappeared down the side of the house. A minute later, he was back.
‘Well?’ Ralph asked.
‘I looked through the kitchen window. Fred’s just sitting at the table drinking tea. Perhaps he’ll get up and open the back door?’
As they were about to head towards the back door, Ralph was struck by the realisation that even if he did manage to gain entry and confront Fred, in his present state he would be unable to effectively communicate with the man. He voiced his concern to the cat.
‘You have a point there, Ralph,’
‘Is there a way I can make my presence felt?’
‘Hmm,’ Hendrix mused. ‘Yes, there is a way to make you seen. Although, there are drawbacks.’
‘Well it can’t be worse than this, surely?’ said Ralph.
‘Maybe, maybe not. That depends,’ Hendrix continued.
‘Depends on what?’ Ralph asked. He was beginning to think anything would be better than being dead-not-really.
‘We can create a temporary body for you,’ Hendrix told him.
‘What do you mean temporary? Temporary as in time or structure?’
‘Both. But there is risk attached.’ The cat’s tone was guarded.
‘Well if you don’t tell me, how the hell can I make a decision, for God’s sake?’ said Ralph.
‘I must say, for someone who claims he’s an atheist you tend to refer to the boss and the other guys quite often, don’t you?’ Hendrix sounded almost haughty.
‘Whatever. Now will you tell me, for heaven’s sake?’
The cat tilted its head and Ralph could have sworn a smile played across the infuriating feline’s face.
‘Guides have access to lists. These lists are of dead people. Proper dead people, not, “dead-not-really” types like you. Anyway, you can choose a body to cover yourself. This will give the appearance of normality. Now I emphasise appearance, as it doesn’t change your status but it does change what you can and cannot do as a not-really-dead person.’
‘So how the hell is that going to help?’ Ralph asked getting more and more frustrated as the conversation progressed.
‘Well, Fred will be able to see you, for one thing, but no one else will. That may or may not be an advantage. If people saw Fred talking to you, they would probably think he was talking to himself. If we were talking about Fred’s body as well as his spirit that might be okay. People would likely accept that a sixty-six year old might be going a bit senile. But a thirty-two year old? They would think you had lost your marbles and then he . . . you might well be carted off in a straitjacket. So you would have to be careful where and when you talked to him.’
‘And the risk?’ Ralph persisted.
‘Yes, the risk. You can only have use of the body for two weeks then it has to go back into storage. Those are the rules,’ Hendrix explained.
‘That doesn’t sound too bad. If we . . . sorry, I don’t get this crap sorted out in two weeks, then I’ll just pick another body. What’s so difficult?’
‘‘Fraid not, sport. It’s a very limited offer. You go back with it.’
‘So it’s “do or die” then?’ Ralph surmised.
‘Literally, yes,’ the cat agreed.
‘Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. This dead-not-really business is tough. What do you recommend?’
‘Ah, that decision I cannot make for you. All I can do is outline the pros and cons. The choice is up to you. Let me explain all the rules, so that if you decide to go with a temp you will at least be fully armed.
‘Firstly, the disguise is almost foolproof. You and Fred can interact, but only on a limited basis. He alone will be able to see and hear you. You will also be able to move about for the next two weeks - less, hopefully - as if you were a real person. By that, I mean you will be able to open doors, write, drive etcetera. You can exert influence over non-living things, but not the living, in a physical sense.
‘Non-living things will have no influence over you. A car would drive right through you as if you were not there. As a further example, you will be able to draw funds from an automatic bank teller. And remember. You will be invisible to everyone except Fred. So a further word to the wise. Be careful when you are in a public place.’
Ralph nodded.
‘Oh, and you may not purposely harm or injure the living either. Unless it’s in self defence. That is an immediate red card.’ The cat paused and looked thoughtful. ‘I can’t see how that would be relevant, all things considered.’ He seemed to give another shrug. ‘Anyway, where were we?’
‘What if I elect to stay like this? How does that work?’ Ralph asked.
‘Well there is no t
ime-limit. This might be construed as a plus. But you could end up staying dead-not-really for eternity if you can’t convince Fred to give up your body before he “pops off” for a second time.’ Hendrix seemed reluctant for him to consider this option.
‘Couldn’t I just sort of hang around and when he kicks the bucket hop back into my own body, for which I have legal title I believe?’ Ralph asked.
‘This is where the stakes are raised higher still,’ Hendrix continued. ‘You can’t wait until he dies of natural causes because the body he is occupying goes with him, in a manner of speaking. He will age naturally, but you won’t. Even if you could simply wait him out, would you want to have a ninety-year-old body? No I didn’t think so,’ Hendrix answered Ralph’s unspoken response.
‘Also, if he dies as a result of an accident, there’s the risk that the body might be damaged beyond repair, and then you won’t have anything to go back to either.’
‘What is the success rate of dead-not-really types getting things straightened out the way they should be?’ Ralph asked.
But he was baulked here, also.
‘Sorry, no details available I’m afraid,’ the cat told him.
‘Oh, come on. Surely there are others who have been through this?’ he complained.
‘Maybe, but I am not allowed access to any information on that score.’ Hendrix apologised and again seemed to shrug his shoulders.
‘What about ghosts? I mean real ones, not ones like me. What’s their story?’
‘Those poor souls - and I mean that literally, are the saddest cases of all. They refuse to accept that they are dead and never take the walk. They are lost to themselves. Nothing can be done for them, I’m afraid,’ Hendrix explained.
Ralph felt his back was up against the proverbial wall. Talk about Hobson’s choice. He realised that if he had any chance of getting his body back in a reasonable condition, he had to go with the temp idea.
But would he be able to pull it off? That was the big question. Then again, what choice did he really have?
Hendrix was monitoring the thoughts running around Ralph’s mind, and interrupted.
‘There is always choice, Ralph. That’s the beauty of free will.’
Ralph blinked, his vision as well as his mind coming slowly back into focus.
‘Hmm? Oh, I forgot.’ He made a tapping gesture on the side of his head, indicating that he realised what the cat was doing. ‘Okay then, best we have a look at those lists I reckon.’ Ralph resigned himself to what appeared to be the inevitable.
‘Right you are,’ Hendrix agreed, ‘though we’re a bit out in the open in the garden. Best we find somewhere more private. I noticed the side door of the garage was open. Let’s nip inside; this shouldn’t take too long.’
‘After you,’ Ralph gestured.
The unlikely duo headed to the garage. Ralph controlled an urge to duck under the sill as he passed the kitchen window, remembering that Fred could not see him. Good, he thought. At least I am still thinking like a real person.
They entered the garage and moved behind the BMW, just out of line of sight from the door. This was Hendrix’ idea, just in case Fred wandered in as they were fitting Ralph out with his temporary body.
The cat jumped lightly onto the boot of the car.
‘Okay, let’s have a look at what we have here?’ Seemingly from nowhere, Hendrix produced a sheaf of paper and laid it on the boot, securing it with his left paw.
‘Oh, you’re in luck!’ Hendrix sounded pleased. ‘It’s an A list.’
‘What, may I ask, is an ‘A’ list?’ said Ralph.
‘The lists are usually drawn up at random, so one doesn’t often get so many well-known people together. Normally they are spread out over several lists.’
The cat turned back to the list and began ‘ooohing and ‘aahing’ as he came across several names he recognised. There was the occasional ‘Good Heavens’ and even one ‘I didn’t realise?’.
‘Will you stop that and read the damn names!’ Ralph’s patience was being sorely tested.
‘Right, sorry. I was a bit surprised by some of the people that are here that’s all. Okay, from the top, Nelson Mandela, Queen Elizabeth, Bishop Tutu, George Bush . . .’
‘Hold on a second; those people aren’t dead yet!’ Ralph exclaimed.
‘They’re not?’ Hendrix gave him a sideways glance across the boot of the car.
‘No they’re not.’ Ralph was adamant.
‘Mmm, well that might explain why there are so many high-profile names together like this. Oh, I see the mistake now. It says they are due to be claimed from July through to January but the year is obscured. Wonder how this list got here?’
‘I’m wondering how George W Bush got on a list the likes of that,’ Ralph asked derisively.
‘Don’t you think he qualifies then?’ Hendrix asked.
‘In my opinion he certainly shouldn’t be amongst a bunch of good guys like the others, that’s for sure. He might be better suited to a list of not so, how shall I say, salubrious figures.’
‘There are not-so-good and downright bad lists too, you know,’ Hendrix informed him. ‘Hold on a mo; what have we here?’
Without a pause - well, maybe a small one - Hendrix expertly shuffled through the sheaf and laid out three sheets next to each other.
Ralph peered over the cat to look. Each sheet had a different heading. The first said ‘Good’, the second, ‘Not so good’ and the third, ‘Rotten.’
‘Well will you look at that. Your George W Bush appears on all three lists. That’s a first, I’m sure,’ said the cat.
‘Is Jesus on any of the lists by any chance?’ Ralph asked, not too seriously.
Hendrix hissed as only a cat can.
‘He will never be on any of these lists, ever.’
‘So you say,’ Ralph retorted.
‘Don’t get cute, Ralph, it doesn’t suit you. Besides, I have it on very good authority.’
Ralph raised his hands in a gesture of submission. ‘Who else have we got there?’
‘Here’s an interesting one. Mother Theresa . . .’ Hendrix cocked his head at Ralph. ‘Maybe not. Julius Caesar, Henry Ford, Andy Warhol, Picasso. Any of those take your fancy?’
‘Er . . . not really, no,’ said Ralph. He certainly couldn’t imagine marching in on Fred dressed in a toga announcing, ‘Et tu Frederick?’ Definitely not his style.
‘How about a comedian? Here we go. Margaret Thatcher, Robert Mugabe, and Tony Blair. Oh look, George W Bush appears on this list too.’
‘I think you will find they are, or were politicians and currently very much alive. ‘
‘Oops, right you are. There are two pages stuck together. Sorry. You sure this lot aren’t comedians?’ Hendrix asked
‘They may be laughable, like most politicians, but no, they’re not comedians. Not in the true sense of the word.’ Ralph sighed. This was more difficult than he had expected. ‘With all due respect, you don’t seem to be all that well-prepared for this. We are talking about my life, you know.’
‘Hey, hold your horses, big guy!’ The cat sounded indignant. ‘This is a first for me too, actually. Let’s have a bit of patience, shall we? Remember you could have been dealing with a—’
‘Okay, okay, I get the picture. Sorry.’ Ralph forestalled the rest of that sentence. He was beginning to feel decidedly uneasy that if this anatomical misunderstanding came up any more he might well find himself talking to . . . never mind. Focus.
But Hendrix wasn’t finished.
‘And if I am not mistaken it was your lack of patience that got you into this mess in the first place; not so?’ The cat ended with an indignant ‘Hmmmpf.’
Ralph suddenly had an inspiration. ‘How about a sport star? Any of those on the lists?’
‘Porn star? That’s an odd choice, don’t you think?’ the cat queried.
‘Not porn star, you twit; sport star. Pay attention why don’t you?’
‘I’ll look,’ said Hen
drix sharply.
‘Wait a sec. Let’s try film stars, rather,’ Ralph decided.
6: Bonjour, Fred
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Fred still sat at the table staring at the bottom of his empty mug.
The tea had made him feel a little better; his stomach wasn’t as queasy as when he had climbed out of the taxi. But he was still just as confused as to what had happened, and no amount of tea was going to sort that out.
He began a visual examination of his new body, which started with the hands.
Might as well try to get used to this new me, he reasoned.
Laying his palms flat on the wooden table, he began by moving each digit individually, then tapping his fingers like a pianist. He had a sudden urge to click the joints, something he would never have done previously. Resisting the temptation, he looked closely at the shape of his new hands.
The fingers were long and quite thin, not unlike how he imagined a musician’s hands would be. In his former life he had never played any musical instrument, and Ralph had never mentioned if he did either. He’d certainly never heard him play anything during the brief time they had known each other.
He decided his new hands definitely looked as if they belonged to someone with an artistic bent. Not a labourer’s hands, that was for sure. The skin was smooth and the nails manicured
Well, Ralph was a hotshot computer whiz; not much physical labour associated with that profession. Fred glanced up and noticed a dishwasher under the sink. Same make as mine, he thought. He probably never washed a dish either. Good; a trend that he definitely intended to continue.
From where he was sitting, he could see that the bathroom door at the far end of the passage was ajar. He got up and headed in that direction, hoping to find a full-length mirror.
He had not taken more than three strides when a noise from outside the kitchen door made him check. His immediate reaction was to try to find a place to hide. Being in someone else’s home, uninvited as he was, made him feel a bit like a burglar. He stood still and listened. There was the noise again: a scratching sound. Peering round from behind a cupboard, he took a furtive glance out of the kitchen window. No sign of anyone in the garden. Then he realised what he was doing and swore at his stupidity.
Almost Dead In Suburbia Page 4