Am I Dead?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  I shout back agreement, and then open the gate to my mother’s garden, and fight my way through the overgrown grass and bushes to the pathway down the side of the house. As expected, the tall wooden gate at the side of the house is locked, but I jump up, hooking my fingers over the top, and pull myself up. Swinging myself over, I drop down the other side, and brush myself down.

  A voice is calling to me as I walk down the pathway.

  “James, are you there?”

  “Yes.” I reply, now recognizing the voice. “Is that you Mrs Huxley?”

  “Yes,… Hang on… I’ll put a ladder against the fence and step up so you can see me. If you take a few steps backwards, please… I can talk to you. I’ve left my mask inside.”

  I walk a few metres from the fence into the middle of the garden, scanning the back of my mother’s house as I do, and noting that the windows in the dining room extension are both broken and boarded over. There’s also a broken window on the second floor where it looks like someone has thrown a stone into the bathroom.

  “Ah, there you are.” I turn to see Mrs Huxley, her hands resting on the top of the wooden fence that separates the gardens, her head and shoulders now clear to see.

  “Hello,” I say. “I’m sorry to disturb you… I just needed to come and see my Mum’s house.”

  “Why now? After all this time? And where have you been? You never came to the funeral, and the house needs your attention.”

  “It’s complicated, Mrs Huxley.” I point at the broken windows. “Who lives here now?”

  “No one. It’s your house. Your mother left the house to you in her will. I have her keys for you, and I think your wife has another set. The lawyer was trying to contact you… Did he not find you?”

  “No. I just discovered a few days ago that my mum had died. I didn’t know…”

  Mrs Huxley is silent for a few moments.

  “Your mother loved you very much, James. I’m sure you must know that. But you broke her heart, and after that big argument you had last time you were here, she was never really herself after that…”

  As she speaks, I can sense her anger with me.

  “What happened to you, James? Where have you been?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs Huxley. I can’t remember anything that happened to me in the past eight years.” Which is sort of the truth. “But the police found me last week, they helped me, and gave me the bad news. About my mum. And I had to come… I didn’t know what to expect.”

  Another silence.

  “James, I’ve known you all your life, and I’m not going to treat you any different now than I’ve ever done before. You used to be such a nice boy, but… I don’t know what happened to you. Ever since you stole her car in 2013 you’ve been a right bastard to your mother, and I’ll never forget that.”

  I’ve never heard Mrs Huxley raise her voice or swear before. It catches me by surprise, and I begin to wonder what happened between my mum and the other me.

  “Wait there, I’ll get your keys.”

  As Mrs Huxley climbs down the ladder and disappears back inside her house, I hear a commotion coming from the front street, and someone pounding on the side gate.

  I hurry down the side of the house, flip the catch and release the lock, opening the gate and stepping back.

  Two police officers are standing in the garden outside.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing outside during lock-in?” The female officer on the left demands from behind her mask, while the male officer on the right extends his hand and points an electronic device at my forehead, measuring my temperature. He immediately then lifts up another device and scans my face.

  “I’m James Quinn. I’m a Blue Pass Holder…” I say, holding up my pass and showing it to them. In an instant I see their hostility and caution turn to servitude.

  “Identity confirmed,” the male officer states, glancing at his device..

  “We apologise, Mr Quinn. We received several calls from neighbours in the area concerning a driver out of lock-in, and then from this street about a possible burglary in progress.”

  “I’m not a burglar. This is my mum’s house. I recently discovered she had died, and this is my first time here to find out details of her death from the neighbour.”

  “Our condolences. Do you need any assistance, Mr Quinn? Can we help at all?”

  “No. I think I’ll be okay.”

  “I assume that’s your vehicle, Mr Quinn?” the female officer asks, pointing over her shoulder at my car.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you given a Blue Beacon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you switch it on?”

  Ahhh…

  “No. Sorry, I didn’t realise…”

  “When you get back in your vehicle, please switch it on. Type your Blue Pass ID number into the keypad underneath the base. Once you’ve done that, it broadcasts your identity so you won’t be stopped again. Would you like me to show you?”

  “James?”

  I hear Mrs Huxley calling me from the garden.

  “No…,” I reply to the officer. “Thank you. I’ll figure it, out… Sorry, I have to go…”

  I smile at both of the officers, who I realise are just doing their jobs in a difficult time, and I return to the back garden.

  “Trouble?” Mrs Huxley asks, bending over the fence and peering up the path, just catching the backs of the officers as they leave.

  “No. Everything’s fine.”

  She looks at me, questions obviously brewing in her mind. Instead of asking them, she tosses me the keys. I catch them. They’re dripping wet.

  “I just ran them under the tap and sprayed them for you. Just in case you were worried about touching them.”

  I wasn’t. Maybe I should have been.

  “James, as I was telling you, your mother left the house to you. The house is yours. Which is why it was never sold, and just left as it is. The lawyer was waiting for you to come back one day.”

  I turn and look at the house, nodding. It makes sense now. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. My mum would have left the house to me unless she owed a lot of money, and I don’t think she did. She never lived outside her means.

  “Wait… wait for me a moment please,” she asks, then disappears again, returning minutes later with a brown envelope which she offers to me over the fence.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot where I’d put it. I knew it was somewhere safe, but couldn’t remember where. It’s a copy of the letter the lawyer wanted to send you. She gave it to my husband, just in case you ever came back here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, reaching over to her outstretched hand and taking it from her. “And, how is your husband? Still playing golf every weekend?”

  “Not anymore. The ’18 got him just after your mother. A few people in the street got infected one after another. I had it too, but I got better. Angus didn’t. He died within a week. It was very fast…”

  A few moments of silence, after which I recover from the shock and offer my condolences. I liked Mr Huxley. He was a good man.

  “So, I’ll leave you in peace to have a look around your house. Although, I should warn you, James, I’ve been inside, and it’s not pleasant. There was a tramp living there for a while. Whoever it was caused a bit of a mess. It stinks. The police arrested him and took him away one night. We had to have a couple of the windows boarded up…”

  “Thank you, Mrs Huxley. I appreciate it. My mum would too. You’re a good neighbour. And I know you were a good friend to her.”

  “Yes… well, I miss her too…” she replied, her eyes seeming to mist up for a second. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then, James. If you need me, just give me a shout.”

  She smiles, then disappears inside her house.

  I’m left alone in the overgrown garden, staring at the brown envelope in my hands.

  In my mind’s eye I see my Mum smiling at me.

  It’s my turn for my eyes to mist over, and I swal
low hard.

  At some point in the past eight years, my mum got a new back door, and it takes a couple of guesses before I select the right key from the bunch Mrs Huxley gave me.

  I open the back door and step inside, closing the door behind me.

  I’m suddenly very alone.

  The house is quiet. The cooker is empty, and there’re no fresh scones, or pot of tea on the brew. There’s no fresh bread, or Shepherd’s Pie cooking in the oven.

  My mother is not here.

  The kitchen is clean, and the sink is empty, but as I step through the door into the dining room, it’s a different story.

  It looks like a wild animal was let loose inside the house. The furniture is all over the place, several chairs are lying on the floor, and there’re empty food boxes, rubbish and crumpled newspapers everywhere. The room stinks. And the carpet is stained in quite a few places. Moving through the door to the next room, empty beer cans form a small mountain on the table in the corner of the lounge where the TV used to be, and several wine bottles lay scattered on the carpet beside a filthy, old sleeping bag.

  I hurry back to the kitchen, open the back door wide and wedge it open with a broom from a cupboard, and take a few deep breaths.

  Going back inside, I climb the upstairs to the bedrooms.

  As I step through to my room, my heart races, and a wave of anger washes over me. My mum and dad had never redecorated my room after I left home, and when I was last here, my childhood posters still adorned the walls, and my Airfix model planes still hung from the ceiling on the end of some of my Dad’s fishing line. But now the posters were ripped and hanging off the walls, and the model airplanes were lying broken and crushed on the floor. My books from the shelves were scattered everywhere, and my old mattress looked like it had been attacked with a knife.

  Closing my eyes, I back out of the room and close the door, breathing heavily, my heart pounding against my chest.

  Slowly, I take the few steps to my parents’ room and I hesitate outside the door, before I finally find the courage to open it and step inside.

  Strangely, the room looks untouched.

  Her bed is made. The wardrobe door is closed and when I open it, my parents’ clothes still hang on the rail, just waiting to be taken out and worn.

  Beside the window, my mum’s dresser still has her makeup and hair brush lying on top of it.

  And there is a photograph of my mother and father on one of the small cabinets on either side of the bed. Beside it there is a photograph of a little boy.

  Me.

  Crossing the room, I pull open the curtains, pick up the photograph of my parents, and sit down on the bed.

  And then it hits me.

  In this empty house. Devoid of all life.

  All that is left of my mum is what she left behind in this room. My mother and father are now both gone.

  I look at the photograph, smiling at first my father, then my mother.

  And I cry.

  --------------------

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but when the wave of emotion finally passes, I stand up and go through to the bathroom, hoping to wash my face, only to find the taps are dry.

  But it seems that someone had anticipated the visit.

  As I look at my reflection in the mirror above the washbasin, someone has scrawled a message for me in red lipstick across the glass.

  “Call Professor Kasparek.”

  Red lipstick.

  The holder for which still lies open and dried out on the edge of the sink.

  I pick it up.

  And I know immediately who left the message.

  --------------------

  Downstairs in the kitchen, I close the doors to the rest of the house and sit down at the green kitchen table. Retrieving the folded brown envelope from my jacket pocket, I rip it open and extract several sheets of paper from inside.

  It’s a letter from the lawyer, on headed paper - Stone and Stone, Solicitors - addressed to me. Behind it is a copy of my mother’s will. Short but sweet. She left everything to me.

  The letter from the lawyer instructs me to call them as soon as I receive the letter.

  There’s a number. I call it on my LT. There’s no answer. I leave a message.

  Then I stand up, take several deeps breaths and leave the house, locking the back-door behind me.

  A few minutes later, I am back in my car.

  I sit back, look out of the window, and instruct Sarah to take me to the edge of the river in Hampton Court.

  When we get there, I leave the car on the edge of the pavement, walk down the riverbank and lie down on the grass beside the water.

  I close my eyes.

  The world disappears, and soon I am home, back in my house, with Sarah, eating dinner with Keira and Nicole.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  "Sir?" a voice assaults me, rousing me from dream. My wonderful dream. I kiss Sarah goodbye, and wave at my daughters, then open my eyes. “Sir, is that your car parked illegally up on the road?”

  I open my eyes. Two police officers are standing over me, looking down at me lying on the grass at the side of the river.

  “Yes, sorry…”

  “Can you show us some ID? And what reason do you have for being outside? I’m afraid we will have to give you a fine for parking the car on a main road. Current pandemic regulations forbid any cars from being parked on main roads.”

  I hold up my Blue Card.

  And once again, the magic happens.

  “Oh, Mr Quinn. Sorry, we didn’t realise…”

  “No, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have left my car up there…”

  “Mr Quinn, were you given a Blue Beacon for the car?”

  I kick myself. I forgot to turn it on again.

  “Yes, I was. But perhaps while you’re here, maybe you can show me how to switch it on?”

  I jump up and brush myself down, then the officers follow me up to the car. Sarah opens the doors for us, and I reach inside and retrieve the Blue Beacon I was given that morning. I hand it to the officers.

  “I was only down on the grass for a few minutes. How did you know I was there?”

  “The AIO picked you up on CCTV..”

  “AIO?” I interrupt.

  “Yes, AIO is short for Artificial Intelligence Officer. It’s a program that monitors the CCTV and picks up anyone outside during lock-in in restricted areas. We’re alerted and respond immediately.”

  The officer now fiddling with the Blue Beacon requests to borrow my Blue Pass, then taps the serial number on it into the device, nods to himself, and then hands it back to me.

  “Done. That’s now activated. As long as you’re within fifty metres of the beacon, a police officer won’t disturb you again. Now, is there anything else we can do for you, sir?” the officer asks.

  I shake my head, thank them, then climb back into my car.

  “Good afternoon, James. Where would you like me to take you now?” Sarah asks.

  I ponder the answer for a moment. It’s only four o’clock. I have plenty of time.

  “Take me to Effingham Road, Thames Ditton.” I instruct.

  “Sit back, and relax James. I’m taking you there now. It’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

  “Thank you, Sarah.” I reply, the manners that were drummed into me as a kid by my mum kicking in automatically. Although, I can’t help but wonder as soon as I have said it, if I should really be talking to the car like that. It’s not a real person. Just a software programme.

  Pushing back in my seat, I close my eyes, and try to think.

  Am I doing the right thing?

  A few day ago I left Jane’s house for good. I promised myself I was never going back there… but now… I am.

  The message scrawled all over the mirror in the bathroom had to be from Jane. She must have written it, hoping that if I ever came to this world, I might visit my mother’s house. It was a long shot, but incredibly for her, it paid off.

  As
Sarah drives me to Jane’s house, I realise the irony of the situation. Being driven by Sarah, my wife in one world, to Jane, my wife in this world.

  So, what is it that Jane has to give me that is so important? What?

  Or is it just a trap? A ruse to entice me back to her house so she can either kill me or drag me into bed?

  I remember that the day I made the jump, from 2013 to 2021, that I was actually meant to be going to our first meeting at the marriage guidance counsellor together. Jane had set it up and insisted I go.

  But as soon as she had left the house, I had instead packed a bag and left the house, intending never to return, and hoping to make the jump back to my world that evening.

  “We’re here,” Sarah informs me. “Where would you like me to park?” she asks.

  “On the pavement about thirty metres along the road on the left.” I instruct the car, opting to park a little bit away from the house where Jane lives. I need some more time to think about this before she sees me.

  As Sarah parks, I take a few deep breaths and lean forward, resting my hands and chin on the dashboard, staring at the fence and metal gate outside Jane’s house.

  A few faces come to the windows in the houses around my car, but this time I ignore them and do not wave at any small children.

  Instead, I try to calm my breathing.

  To prepare to face Jane.

  And my two daughters, Elspeth and Allison.

  --------------------

  Picking up my mask from the passenger seat where I’ve got into the habit of dumping it when I’m inside the car, I step out, and half-seriously instruct Sarah, “not to go anywhere. We might need to make a quick escape!”

  I walk slowly towards Jane’s house. My house. The ridiculously large house I nicknamed “Castle Quinn” when I first arrived in this world and lived here.

  To me, I was only here a few days ago. But in another version of reality, this is the first time for eight years.

  As I approach the large metal gates, I have second thoughts and turn to go back to my car. But a loud voice stops me in my tracks.