Eight
Time passed.
Days became weeks, weeks turned into months, months grew up to become years. Denny learned how to live after death. He had hobbies, he had daily routines, he had neighbours who he came to think of as friends, even though none of them knew he existed. His yearning for his family diminished from a searing agony to a dull ache. And when, on occasion, the isolation started to drive him a little crazy, Oliver was always there to talk him down.
Little things that during his life would have barely meant anything, now became sources of great joy. A new DVD to watch when someone was out, a birthday party, a tenant renting his flat he didn’t mind sharing with. Oliver’s tales of what was going on in the outside world.
Some days were wonderful, some were bad, some were just routinely normal. And normal could be good too.
***
“Yes, sir, I’m on my way right now... No, I’m in the car. There’s a hold up on Church Road... It’s a hybrid, sir, very quiet engine...”
Eric Sarson, the always tardy resident of flat ten, lied to his boss as he walked out his front door and pulled it shut behind him.
Denny waited for a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t going to come back, then smiled and sat at the electric piano in the corner of the living room, opening the lid and pressing the power button. He picked out a music book from the small collection on a bookcase nearby and flicked through it, selecting a piece of music and placing it against the stand on the top of the piano. Sliding the headphones on, he began to play.
Eric had moved in two years ago. Denny was always around when new people came into the building. As long as they weren’t moving into his flat, he enjoyed it. He liked to get to know them, who they were, what they liked to do, when they were usually out. He had been especially excited when he’d seen that Eric had a piano.
Ever since he’d found himself with plenty of time to fill when he died three years earlier, Denny had been wanting to take up playing the piano again. The trouble was, no-one else in the building felt the same way and he’d had nothing to play on. Then, after a year of frustration, a piano had entered his little world. And an electric piano at that, with headphones so no-one would hear him. Plus, Eric was out all day during the week, working. Denny couldn’t believe his luck.
So every day, after Eric left, Denny would play. He loved playing and would often spend whole days doing nothing but. When he was alive, his dedication had been sporadic as other activities competed for attention, work, family, social activities, women. But now he had the time, he was becoming good. Very good. His hands flew across the keys as he played Scott Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag. He liked to play all styles, but he had a fondness for the speed and dexterity and fun of ragtime. He closed his eyes, not missing a note. He didn’t really need the music anymore, but he kept the book open for back up, just in case he got lost. He rarely did nowadays.
After a few hours of playing, he took a break and headed down to flat four where Enid Johnson would be making lunch and hopefully baking some of her amazing cakes and cookies. Enid was sixty-five and had been in her flat since before Denny moved in. She was a retired chef and now spent much of her time indulging her passion for baking sugar laden treats for the local people. She made quite a bit of extra cash doing it. Her delicious baked goods were very popular. Denny had always gone to her when he needed something for a special occasion. She had made him the most spectacular novelty cakes for Jay’s birthdays, always able to produce whatever his nephew’s current obsession was, a truck, a pair of football boots, the Incredible Hulk. Now he just liked to watch her work. He couldn’t eat anything, which he was still struggling to come to terms with after three years, but he could watch and dream.
He stepped through the door to Enid’s flat and was instantly met by the warm, mouth-watering smell of baking cake pervading the room. He leaned back against the door and took a deep breath, closing his eyes in aromatic bliss. A sharp yap snapped him out of his trance and he looked down as Vanilla, Enid’s white Chihuahua bounded up to him, wagging her tail in a frenzy of excitement. He smiled and bent down to tickle her ears and she sat, her tongue hanging from her mouth and her eyes closed in doggy joy.
“Hello, girl,” he said.
He was never quite sure if Vanilla could see him. She was the only dog in the building and she always knew he was there, but he suspected she was responding to some kind of sixth sense animals possessed rather than an actual visual cue or his smell. He liked playing with her though, even if it did make Enid think the little dog was losing her marbles.
“What are you doing out there, ‘Nilla?” Enid’s voice drifted from the kitchen and Denny wandered towards it.
The flats on the ground and first floors all had separate kitchens, unlike his flat on the top floor where they were all open plan.
“Hello, Enid,” he said, walking into the small but neat and scrupulously clean kitchen. Vanilla bounced around his legs.
His neighbour was carefully mixing some kind of white mixture in a bowl, her long, dark hair pinned into a bun on top of her head and a frilly blue apron covering her jeans and black t-shirt. A Metallica song blasted from a mini hi-fi on top of the upright freezer in the corner of the room. Enid was a study in contrasts.
He settled himself onto a tall stool, periodically reaching down to stroke the perpetually excited Vanilla as he watched Enid fill a piping bag with the white icing and pipe it onto the tops of twelve cupcakes which were sitting on a large wire cooling rack. She added silver star-shaped sprinkles and loaded them into a pink cardboard cake box. Denny was no stranger to Enid’s cupcakes. He’d tried to restrict himself to a maximum of one box per month when he was alive, but when he did get them, they rarely lasted more than a couple of days. They were one of the most delicious things he’d ever put in his mouth. He hopped off the stool to take a closer look at them before she closed the lid of the box.
“Ah, Enid, you’re killing me here,” he said. Vanilla barked up at him and wagged her tail.
After hanging around in Enid’s wonderful smelling kitchen for an hour or so, Denny went back to Eric’s piano and played until it was time for the kids to come home from school. He wanted to be there when Alfie got home. He’d be bringing his end of the school year exam results back today and Denny wanted to know how he’d done. He’d been studying hard this year and Denny hoped he’d got the marks he deserved.
He reached the Pierce’s flat on the ground floor just as Alfie was coming in the front door of the building. In the three years since Denny had known Sarah Pierce’s son, he’d grown more than a foot and at thirteen was closing in on Denny’s height. And, being a teenager, his constant enthused rush to get everywhere had morphed into a head down trudge with his thumbs glued to the screen of his phone. Denny had to step quickly to one side to avoid being walked through.
Once through the door to his flat, with Denny on his heels, Alfie headed towards his bedroom.
“Alfie!” A voice came from the kitchen.
“Hey, mum,” he said, not altering his course.
“Stop right there.” Sarah appeared in the kitchen doorway and Alfie turned to look at her. “Didn’t you get your exam results today?”
He nodded, slipping off his backpack and rummaging for a few seconds, eventually pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and handing it to her. Denny looked over her shoulder as she scanned the list of subjects and awarded grades. He noted the list of Bs and even a couple of As.
“Way to go, kid,” he said, grinning.
Sarah squealed and threw her arms around her son. “I’m so proud of you,” she smiled.
“Mum,” he protested as she hugged him. But he was smiling.
“Was Mae on the bus with you?” she said.
Alfie shook his head. “She said she was going to study with Glen and she’d be home by dinner.”
Glen was Alfie’s sister’s current boyfriend. Mae had inherited her mother’s classic beauty and at seventeen she was very popular with the boys. It drove D
enny crazy and he didn’t know how Sarah managed to be so calm about it. All he wanted to do was lock her in her room, preferably until she was thirty. Glen seemed okay, the couple of times he’d seen him, and Mae was a smart girl, but he remembered well what it was like to be an eighteen year old boy with raging hormones. He imagined how horrified the parents of his girlfriends would have been if they’d known what he and their darling daughters used to get up to under the pretext of “studying”. He didn’t know how any fathers with daughters kept their sanity. He wasn’t even Mae’s father and he wanted to punch any boy who looked at her. If he’d ever had his own children...
He stopped his train of thought. That wasn’t something he needed to speculate on. Whatever his future held, it wasn’t children and there was no point thinking about it. He didn’t regret never having had any when he was alive however. He wouldn’t have wanted any child of his to have had to grow up after his death without a father.
He decided to stick around with the Pierces for a while. Just until Mae got home safe.
Nine
Denny stood outside the door to flat seven and sighed.
Every day Mr Duncan had been getting worse and worse. Denny had taken to checking on him several times each day for the past week and it was hard for him to watch a man he’d known and respected for almost ten years going downhill like this. But Mr Duncan, and Mrs Duncan when she’d been alive, had been good to him and he wasn’t going to leave him alone. He had been there when the doctor had tried, and failed, to persuade him to go to hospital. He had no children, insisting that if these were his last days he was going to spend them in the place he’d spent the last thirty years, the place where he had grown old with his beloved wife.
Sighing again, Denny walked through the door. The curtains were drawn making the room gloomy. Mr Duncan’s living room was a comfort over style affair, the general clutter which often happened in a home with no woman around making it seem smaller than it actually was. There was a three piece suite, although Denny had only ever seen Mr Duncan use the one chair which was aimed squarely at the medium sized old CRT television set. Bookcases lined the walls. It had been Mrs Duncan who was the avid reader. Despite her death almost six years ago, Mr Duncan hadn’t removed a single one of her books. Denny would often come and read at night, sprawling comfortably on the sofa while Mr Duncan was asleep in the bedroom. It was like having his own library. He had even developed a liking for Mrs Duncan’s extensive collection of romance novels, although there was no way he would ever admit it to anyone. He would miss it when Mr Duncan was gone.
He would miss Mr Duncan when Mr Duncan was gone.
Soft snores emanated from the old man was sitting in his usual armchair, his head drooping onto his chest as he slept. Denny watched him sadly. He looked pale and had lost a significant amount of weight, his clothes all but hanging off his frame now. He looked so different to the robust man Denny had known when he was alive. He walked over to him and crouched next to the chair, gently pressing his fingers to his wrist to check the strength of his pulse.
When he twitched and raised his head, opening his eyes, Denny let go immediately.
Mr Duncan’s eyes widened in horror. He screamed.
Denny yelped in surprise and fell backwards onto his behind, startled.
The old man was staring straight at him as if he’d seen a ghost which, apparently, he had.
“Denny?” he gulped.
Denny pushed himself upright. “Mr Duncan?” he said, as shocked as his neighbour looked.
“Am I hallucinating?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Am I dreaming?”
“No.”
He paused. “Am I dying?”
Denny regarded him in sorrow. “Yes, Mr D, I think you are.”
In four years of being dead, Denny had never been visible to anyone living. That his neighbour was close to death was the only explanation for Mr Duncan’s sudden ability to see beyond the physical world.
Mr Duncan stared at him for a few seconds as he processed the situation, then he nodded. “I knew it was coming.”
He didn’t seem fazed by the idea. Maybe, Denny thought, he had reached the point where dying seemed like a better option than living.
Mr Duncan’s face shifted into a smile. He reached out a wizened hand and touched Denny’s cheek. “It’s so good to see you, boy. I’ve missed you. It hasn’t been the same without you here.”
Denny smiled. “I’ve missed being able to talk to you too.”
Mr Duncan dropped his hand back onto the arm of the chair, as if even that movement had been exhausting. He looked around the room.
“Is Jeanie here?”
“No, Mr D, she’s not here.”
He sighed and nodded. “What’s it like, death?”
Denny paused briefly before answering. “It’s wonderful,” he said, “beautiful. You’ll be young and happy and see Mrs D again.”
He didn’t see any point in telling him the truth. He’d find that out soon enough. But maybe it was the truth, maybe it would be wonderful, for him.
A dreamy expression passed across Mr Duncan’s face. “To see Jeanie again. And young. She was quite the hottie when we were younger. So was I, truth be told. Had my pick of the girls, but I only ever wanted her.” He smiled. “So, young Denny, how are you?”
“I’m dead, Mr D.”
His instant laughter gave way to coughing and he clutched himself, the spasms wrenching his frail body. Denny knelt beside him in consternation, holding the arm of the chair and wishing he could help.
“Can I get you anything?” he said when the coughing finally subsided. “Water? Something to eat?”
Mr Duncan slumped back in his chair, looking drained, and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m just so tired.”
“Maybe you should have a sleep.”
“You’re right, Denny,” he said, “but I’m a bit afraid every time I fall asleep that I won’t wake up again. Silly really. I’m ready to go, but I’m not.” He chuckled softly.
“Well, how about I stay here with you while you sleep and watch over you? Would that make it easier?”
Mr Duncan smiled weakly. “That would be nice. You’ve always been good to Jeanie and me.” He patted Denny’s hand on the arm of his chair.
Denny smiled. “No, it was always the two of you who were good to me. I never got the chance to tell you how much I appreciated it. But I did, very much.” He looked down, wiping at a rogue tear.
“I want you to have something,” Mr Duncan said, struggling to rise.
“No, Mr D,” Denny said quickly, “you stay there. Tell me and I’ll get whatever you want.”
He nodded, relaxing back into the chair. “In the bedroom, top drawer of the dresser, the small wooden box.”
Denny quickly found the box and returned to Mr Duncan’s side. It was only a couple of inches long, inlaid on the top with the shape of a heart in a contrasting wood. He handed it to Mr Duncan and knelt back down on the floor next to the chair.
“Everything else in this place had its use in my life,” Mr Duncan said, pulling the lid of the box open, “but these are the only things that really meant anything. And they meant everything to me.”
He emptied the contents of the box into his hand, a gold wedding band and a diamond engagement ring.
“Jeanie’s,” he said, gazing at them fondly. “I was paying these off for years after we married, but it was worth it, just to see them on her hand.”
He smiled then removed his own wedding ring. It slipped easily from his shrunken finger. Placing it with the other two rings, he closed his hand around them for a few seconds, then tipped all three back into the box and closed it. He took hold of Denny’s hand and placed the box on his palm, closing his fingers around it and then wrapping both hands around his.
“I don’t know what you can do with these,” he said, “but you are the only person I want to have them. They’re yours now. If you ever get the chance, give them to
the woman who makes you the happiest man on earth, like Jeanie made me.”
Fighting back tears and unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Denny simply nodded. He didn’t tell the old man the truth, that it was too late for him.
Mr Duncan smiled and let Denny’s hand go, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’ll just rest for a while now.”
Denny swallowed. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Mr Duncan nodded without opening his eyes and within seconds his breathing evened out as he fell asleep again.
For the next few hours, Denny sat on the sofa and waited. Mr Duncan slept for the most part, occasionally waking, opening his eyes a little and smiling when he saw Denny, then falling back to sleep again. Eventually his breathing became shallow. Denny went back to sit next to him and took his hand, watching as each breath came further and further apart, sporadically stopping and then restarting. Finally, he stopped breathing altogether.
Tears slid down Denny’s cheeks. He placed Mr Duncan’s hand into his lap, stood and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Then he stepped back, waiting.
After a minute or so, Mr Duncan’s body began to shimmer. Denny watched in amazement as a grey, transparent form separated from the corpse and stood, becoming solid. He recognised the eyes, but this wasn’t the Mr Duncan he knew. This man was young and handsome, standing straight and tall in a way the older James Duncan hadn’t in years. The ghost looked at him and smiled, holding out a hand. Denny reached towards him, but before their fingers could touch, he shimmered again and was gone.
Denny stared at the place where Mr Duncan’s ghost had been. It wasn’t anything like his waking had been. He took a deep, shaking breath, let it out and nodded. For that he was glad.
He dialled the emergency services and left the phone off the hook, knowing they would be able to trace where the call had come from and come and find Mr Duncan’s body. He didn’t want him to be one of those people who died and didn’t get discovered for days or weeks. Denny didn’t want anyone to think no-one cared about him.
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