The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Hang on to me tight now, Hattie,’ he said, ‘because we’re about to do something that John Travolta and his leading lady never did.’

  Suddenly we were speeding, like skiers on the steepest black run, travelling over the crest of the rainbow and plummeting down the arch as the Bee Gees sang in their falsetto voices about wings and heaven and shoes. I was behind Josh now, arms wrapped around his waist and clinging on for dear life as our bodies blended together, swaying in time to the harmony of music, light and colour. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever felt so terrified – or exhilarated. As we went into an almost vertical freefall down the rainbow, Josh spoke directly into my head.

  In this world, we have a saying. Want to know what it is, Hattie?

  Sure.

  That when you fall down a rainbow, you will fall in love.

  I didn’t reply. After all, what was there to say? I was already doing just that.

  Thirty

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Josh.

  We were back in the Halfway Lounge, the pair of us having flopped down on a sofa apiece.

  ‘I guess I’m just catching my breath,’ I said untruthfully. The ride had indeed left me breathless, but breathless with joy. Whereas now… well, now I suddenly felt unbearably morose. Good heavens, Hattie, what’s the matter with you? One moment you’re more buoyed up than a hot air balloon, dancing on rainbows and wrapping your arms around Heaven’s answer to Mr Hunk of the Month, and then you’re carrying on like a two-year-old who’s had its sweets taken away.

  ‘You need something to perk you up,’ said Josh. ‘After all, you’ve been expending a lot of energy again – and emotional energy at that.’

  I knew he was referring to Martin, and the trauma of what had happened in my ex-boyfriend’s flat, culminating in his abrupt and shocking death, but in all truth that little bit of drama review suddenly seemed light years ago.

  What was really upsetting my emotional applecart was Josh’s little homily. The one about falling down a rainbow straight into love. Because I now knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I was falling in love with Josh. Even though I’d only been in the Halfway Lounge for what seemed like three or four days – I’d lost track of the precise time lapse – a part of me peculiarly felt that I’d known Josh for so much longer. Not days, not weeks, but years. And the growing feeling of love that I had for him went beyond attraction – of which there were pulsating high levels on my part. Indeed, this feeling of love even exceeded my desire for him to get off his sofa, stride manfully across the room, and roger me senseless – the thought of which suddenly made me feel quite faint. But sweeping all that to one side, I now understood that this feeling was one of those other shades of love. One of those other colours that Josh had touched upon when he’d been talking of love being multi-stranded. There seemed to be many layers to the way I was now feeling about him. Yes, I wanted to kiss him and spend an entire year in bed with him without any external interruptions, but I also wanted to do other things with him. Like, watch a sunset together. Take Buddy for a walk. Stroll hand in hand. Cook together. Eat together. Wash-up together. I wanted to sit on the other side of my French doors watching him mow the lawn while I sewed a button on his shirt. Me, who could hardly thread a needle. But he brought out all these emotions in me. Feelings that I wanted to do things I knew I could do, but also things that I had no idea how to do, but was willing to learn, to try, so I could do them both with him and for him. I didn’t just want to be his lover, I wanted to be his best friend. His everything. Forever.

  ‘Forever is a long time, Hattie,’ said Josh quietly.

  I stared at him, appalled that he might have read the torrent of emotions cascading like a waterfall through my mind. ‘Did you just catch everything I was thinking?’ I gasped.

  ‘No. Just that last word. Forever. Do you want to tell me about it?’

  I shook my head slowly. ‘I’d like to. But I can’t.’

  ‘No such word as can’t,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘Here, drink this.’

  ‘Ah, Essence of Rainbow,’ I said, giving a small smile as the familiar drink appeared in a tall glass on an occasional table in front of me. ‘Very apposite after our fun ride.’ I picked it up and sipped gratefully.

  ‘So, you were telling me about forever,’ Josh prompted.

  ‘No, I wasn’t. You were being nosy.’

  ‘Indeed. Nothing wrong with being nosy,’ he teased. ‘Human beings adore being nosy. It’s a favourite pastime, along with a good old-fashioned gossip.’

  ‘I thought gossip was something only women did.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ Josh chuckled. ‘Men love a bit of tittle-tattle, too. They just chinwag about it in a different way to the female side of the species. Men prefer to do it with a pint in hand, ideally in their local pub with an enormous plasma screen on the wall televising a football match. But if you can hear over the din of roaring encouragement to their team, and shouting at the ref for not picking up a foul, you’ll catch an in-between conversation going on, and it’s nothing to do with the football and everything to do with how Steve has blown three thousand pounds on a heap of junk masquerading as a car that his darling fiancée knows nothing about, indeed would hit the roof if she found out about, given that Steve is meant to be saving up for his wedding; or how the other guys admire Steve’s bravado at paying rent on a garage in the next town on account of him being unable to take the car home, not to mention the thrill his mates are getting dreaming up excuses to their own wives in order to disappear for a few hours to visit Steve’s secret garage, getting oil under their fingernails as they try and breathe life back into the knackered engine, all the while gossiping about the new barmaid and the size of her big—’

  ‘Careful,’ I warned.

  ‘—blue eyes,’ Josh finished. ‘Whatever did you think I was going to say?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘So men like to gossip, too,’ I said, arching an eyebrow. ‘And thanks for the tip-off that you’re actually all a thoroughly dishonest bunch blowing the housekeeping on tatty bangers whilst discussing the attractive barmaid’s big—’

  ‘Careful,’ he warned.

  ‘—blue eyes,’ I finished.

  ‘Well, we’re not all like that, but you get the picture. Men just choose not to chinwag sitting round their bestie’s kitchen table nursing a coffee and munching their way through packets of chocolate biscuits.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve sussed me out!’ I giggled. ‘It’s true. I’ve spent many a happy hour putting the world to rights with my neighbour, Jo, munching too many bickies and drinking so much caffeine my nerves end up jangling like an armful of bracelets.’

  ‘And, as I said before, men are also remarkably nosy.’

  ‘You did say.’

  ‘But you still haven’t.’

  ‘Haven’t what?’

  ‘Told me why you were thinking about “forever”.’

  I drained my glass and set it down carefully on the occasional table. I cleared my throat, then shifted my weight on the sofa. A regrouping gesture. ‘You mentioned that, here, in this place, there’s a saying that if you fall down a rainbow, you will fall in love.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Does that mean I’ll fall in love?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he replied, looking mysterious.

  ‘So what about you?’ I asked. ‘You were on that rainbow with me. Will you fall in love, too?’ Rather brave of me to ask that question, I thought.

  ‘Oh, I fell in love ages ago,’ he answered, his voice so matter-of-fact he could have been discussing how he enjoyed eating eggs on toast, sunny side up.

  ‘You’re in love with someone?’ I squeaked, my pulse cantering off before my heart was ready, causing an unpleasant ten seconds of palpitations. Please, God, no! My brain made a mental dinging noise as a high-speed memory pinged back. ‘Hang on, when we went swimming in the sea, you told me you’d never fallen in love.’

  ‘True. I did say that. And, if you recolle
ct, you asked me why I didn’t change my personal circumstances and do a bit of cosmic ordering. But you might also remember me saying that the wheels had been put in motion on more than one occasion but, unfortunately, it’s all been a bit tricky. However, the intent has been established and I’m playing the waiting game… waiting for the universe to respond in its own unique way.’

  ‘But… but… who is she then?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘I’m not allowed to talk about me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, as a co-ordinator, I have to remain neutral at all times. And anyway, you’re here to investigate the finer details of your life. Not mine.’

  ‘You’re being deliberately evasive, Josh.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve already told you that love is something we all need in our lives. Every single one of us, including me. So yes. I love someone – indeed, am in love with someone.’

  I felt crushed. Well of course he had someone waiting in the wings. How could I have been so stupid as to presume otherwise? Just because I couldn’t see her – because of all this vibrational frequency thingy-bob stuff – didn’t mean that she might not be right here in this very room! I blanched. Perhaps she was over there? On the veranda? Invisible to me, but keeping a beady eye on the tall dishevelled woman in the scruffy clobber who got herself in such a tizzy every time her man innocently took her hand. I looked down at my clothes in dismay, and instantly transformed them into a long floaty dress. Moments later the tatty trainers had disappeared, and my feet were encased in strappy gold sandals. Another second passed, and my toes were now pedicured and slicked with shiny red nail varnish. There, dear, I silently said to the empty space on the veranda, I may not be able to ravage him, but I’ll at least try and look ravishing if nothing else.

  Josh looked faintly amused at the sudden transformation. ‘Nice outfit,’ he commented.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Why do you keep looking at the veranda?’

  ‘No reason,’ I said, tearing my eyes away. ‘So, you were telling me.’

  Josh scratched his head. ‘I do believe I’ve lost my train of thought.’

  ‘You were telling me about the lady you’re in love with.’

  He laughed. ‘No, you were asking nosy questions.’

  ‘Only because you asked the nosy question about why I was thinking of forever.’

  ‘Touché, Hattie, but I’m still not meant to tell you about me. However’ – he leant forward on his sofa, as if confiding a secret –‘I will share with you that I’m in love and very happy about it. Anyway, never mind my love life, you worry about your own.’

  ‘I don’t have one,’ I said sadly.

  ‘You will,’ he assured me, ‘in time.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked, yawning again, but this time failing to hide it.

  ‘Because I’m your co-ordinator and have to make it my business to know these things.’

  ‘You’re incredibly mysterious,’ I said, feeling irked. Why was his private life such a secret when mine was an open book for him to read? It wasn’t fair.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he said, watching me yawn widely again.

  Suddenly, everything caught up with me, from the exhaustion of reviewing the chapter of life with Martin, to the adrenalin-pumping ride down the rainbow with Josh. My eyelids drooped. Sleep was calling. I didn’t even have the energy to stagger through the door to the bedroom beyond. Josh stood up and swiftly crossed the room. A pillow materialised in one hand, a folded duvet in the other.

  ‘Come on, get those feet up on the sofa,’ he said, tipping me sideways like an ironing board, and popping the pillow under my head. It was as fluffy as the cloud I’d sat upon earlier. Moments later the duvet fluttered over me, softer than silk. I snuggled down with a contented sigh.

  ‘Are you going to give me a goodnight kiss?’ I asked, keeping my tone deliberately playful.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ he said gruffly. Leaning over me, his lips softly brushed my temple. I squirmed with delight, as did my eyebrows. Indeed, they felt like they might swoon right off my forehead. I was just trying to muster up the courage to light-heartedly ask if another kiss might be forthcoming, but this time on the lips, when everything went black.

  Thirty-One

  When I next opened my eyes, it was with the feeling that I’d slept for a hundred years. I stretched, luxuriating in the cosiness of the covers over my body, frowning slightly as I observed the unicorns galloping all over a faded duvet from my secondary school years. I was back in my old bedroom at Mum and Dad’s.

  I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was a little after seven in the morning. In the kitchen below, my mother could be heard humming along to the radio. Every now and again there was the sound of muffled conversation as my parents spoke to each other.

  It was Monday. A work day. It was also the morning after that unspeakable night before.

  My parents had already been in bed and asleep when I’d crept into the house after leaving Martin’s apartment. I’d quietly made my way to the family bathroom, shut the door softly behind me, and started running a bath, tipping copious amounts of Mum’s luxury bubbles under the tap. The writing on the plastic bottle had claimed to relax and rejuvenate in seconds. As the waters had started to foam, I’d found myself hoping that the manufacturer’s promise wasn’t just marketing hype.

  Stripping off my clothes, I’d tossed them into one corner. Later they would find themselves bundled into a black sack and tossed into the wheelie bin outside, along with the shoes I’d been wearing. The physical distancing of what had happened was now firmly in motion. I wanted no reminders, including that set of clothes and footwear. Likewise, I was also now distancing myself mentally and emotionally. As I stepped into the boiling water, it was with only one thought. To scrub myself clean.

  I must have stayed in the water for nearly an hour, until Mum tapped on the door, wanting to spend a penny.

  ‘Are you all right, darling?’ she stage-whispered, on the other side of the wooden panels.

  ‘Yes,’ I lied. In fact, numbness had descended and everything that had happened was buried deep within. I was reminded of Russian doll trinket boxes. The smallest now contained something hidden. And it had been placed inside another trinket box. Then another. And yet another. Over and over until it was unreachable. But I knew it was there. A tiny particle embedded somewhere deep within me.

  ‘Will you be much longer?’ Mum asked. ‘Only I shouldn’t have had that last cup of tea. I knew it would disturb me later.’ I could hear her tutting at herself, out on the landing.

  ‘No, I was getting out anyway,’ I answered. Which was true. The water had long since cooled. Shivering slightly, I pulled the plug and then dripped my way across the floor, wrapping one of Mum’s soft mismatched towels around my body before releasing the bolt on the door.

  ‘You’re bathing late,’ said Mum. She looked bug-eyed as she stepped from the dark landing into the harsh glare of the energy bulb dangling on its flex from the ceiling. ‘I thought you had a wash before you went out?’

  ‘I fancied another one,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, whisking up her nightie and sitting on the loo, ‘we’re all girls together.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, towelling myself off rigorously. Mum and I had never had any inhibitions in front of each other.

  ‘So, er, how was your evening with Martin?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Did you tell him you no longer wanted to be his girlfriend, or did you see sense and not tell him about that boss of yours? I hope you kept schtum,’ she said, not pausing for breath, ‘and realised the error of your ways, because nice young men like Martin don’t come along every day of the week, Hattie.’

  I sighed. This wasn’t the time, the place, or hour for my mother to be asking inquisitive questions.

  ‘Martin who?’ I asked, my voice neutral, but my mind screaming with protest at voicing his name, instantly retreating and putting up
steel barriers, padlocking them too before throwing the key away.

  ‘I see,’ she said, lips pursing. ‘You’ve let Martin go in favour of Nicholas Green. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.’

  At the mention of Nick, I felt my body relax. ‘I have no regrets,’ I said.

  ‘Your skin is very red,’ she said, whipping up her knickers and flushing the chain.

  ‘Is it? I must have stayed in the bath too long.’

  Mum leant over the side of the tub and washed her hands in the draining bathwater, ever conscious of water meter costs. I immediately felt a pang of guilt for having washed twice a few hours apart, the second time in a bath so deep it must have almost used up all the hot water.

  ‘Good film?’ she asked, attempting to sound less hostile, despite knowing her dream son-in-law was no longer on the scene.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, although already I couldn’t remember what film I’d seen. Everything was blurring around the edges now. Even the person I’d watched it with. The mind is a marvellous thing. Sometimes anyway. And certainly, after saying goodnight to Mum and having a few hours of sleep, the events of the night before felt far removed. Like it had happened to an acquaintance, rather than a friend. Thus was my state of mind when I walked into the kitchen the following morning, dressed for work.

  ‘Morning, love,’ said Mum. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked, her brow furrowing.