‘Years ago,’ she said.
Again, it was like she did not hear me – or care.
‘Behind the Barrytown United clubhouse,’ she said.
‘At the dance.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Do you remember that dance?’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Yes.’
Joe was still smiling. I still wanted to kill him. He was dead already. But I wasn’t so sure about that. I wasn’t sure about anything.
I was angry. I knew that much.
‘It’s a bit creepy,’ she said. ‘You know. My first lover is dead.’
She shivered. Her glasses slid off her head, past her nose.
‘It must be strange,’ I said.
‘A bit,’ she said. ‘But mostly just sad.’
‘Was he any good?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘God love him. He was done in five seconds.’
Joe’s eyes popped open, then closed.
‘He said seven,’ I told her.
Again, it was like I had not spoken.
‘I didn’t know what the fuss was all about for years,’ she said.
‘I nearly asked you up to dance once,’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Did you, really?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘But I asked your friend, Donna, instead.’
She put her hand to her head and slid her reading glasses down to her nose. She looked at me, over the glasses.
‘Ah, well,’ she said.
She put the glasses back up on her head.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘My book club is on tonight.’
She looked in at Joe one more time.
‘Bye, Joe,’ she whispered.
‘I bet you didn’t read it,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘The book club,’ I said. ‘I bet you didn’t read the book.’
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I never read the book. I just go for the crack. A few drinks and a laugh.’
She stepped back from the coffin.
‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Bye, Pat.’
She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. I moved, so I kissed her on the lips.
She stepped back. She got away from me.
‘You went to Saint Joseph’s school,’ she said. ‘You played for Barrytown United. You wore a blue shirt that you looked great in. With a little bit of chest hair sticking out. You used to hang around outside the shops. Your hair dropped over your eyes. I always wanted to push it back up. I wanted to put my fingers through your hair.’
She lifted her hand.
She stopped. Her hand dropped.
She smiled.
‘Take care of yourself,’ she said.
I watched her walk out of the room. Her heels clicked across the floor.
She was gone.
I leaned in and grabbed Joe.
‘What’s going on, you prick?’
I could feel him laughing before I heard him. My hands were close to his neck but he kept laughing.
‘Come on,’ I said.
I tried to pull him out of the coffin. I looked behind me. There was nobody. I pulled his jacket. But he was too heavy. I could not budge him.
I let go of him. He stopped laughing.
‘What’s going on, Joe?’ I said.
He looked up at me. He was not smiling.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ he said.
‘To what?’
‘Death.’
‘What?!’
‘It’s all ahead of you.’
I poked his chest with a finger.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I came here tonight to say goodbye. To pay my respects.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘And you ended up talking to the dead man.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Is it all a dream?’ said Joe. ‘That’s what you are thinking.’
‘Kind of.’
‘Come here,’ he said.
I leaned down, closer to Joe.
‘What?’
He grabbed my ear, and pulled.
‘Does that answer your question?’ he said.
‘Let go!’
‘Is it a dream?’ he said.
‘Let go!’
His face was right up against mine. I could feel his breath. I could smell it too. Death didn’t smell good.
He let go of my ear.
I stood up, away from him.
‘That wasn’t a dream,’ he said ‘Was it?’
‘No.’
‘The pain was real,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘But you’re still dead,’ he said.
‘What?!’
‘Stop saying “What”,’ said Joe. ‘Just bloody listen. Sorry I pulled your ear, by the way.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘No problem.’
When we were kids, we hit each other all the time. We kicked, we thumped, we spat. We laughed at it. We pulled each other’s ears. We battered each other. It was all part of boys being friends.
I wasn’t a boy now. If I’d heard Joe right, I was a dead man.
But I wasn’t dead. How could I be? My sore ear proved it. I had eaten my dinner before I came here. I had made love to my wife the night before. I had got drunk. I had gone for a walk in the rain. I had come home from work to find out that Joe had died. I had washed my hands – I remembered that. Washing the ink off my fingers. I had been at work before I came home. I had been stuck in traffic on my way home.
I had walked here tonight. I had held Sarah’s hand. I had crossed the road. I had seen my name cut into the tree.
I wasn’t dead.
But the question was – was Joe?
Was Joe dead?
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
I had not asked him the question. I had not opened my mouth.
‘And so are you.’
I looked at him.
‘Welcome to the club,’ he said. ‘Hop in.’
I backed away. I turned and ran to the door.
Chapter Eighteen
The hall was still the same.
‘Oh, God,’ I said.
The same people stood in the same places. Young Sam still stood at the front door.
‘Oh, God.’
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’
I said nothing. They looked at me, waiting.
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’ she said.
‘How are you, Mrs Webb?’
‘You remember me.’
I said nothing.
‘It’s not so bad,’ she said. ‘You get used to it.’
I ran back in to Joe. He wasn’t sitting up. I had to go all the way over to the coffin to see him.
He wasn’t in it.
A hand grabbed my shoulder.
‘Boo!’
It was Joe, behind me. But it didn’t make me jump. I felt no shock.
‘That’s the worst part,’ said Joe.
‘What?’
‘You don’t really feel anything any more.’
I hit him.
‘I do feel something,’ I said. ‘I’m angry.’
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘You’ll get over that.’
He was rubbing his shoulder, where I had hit him.
‘Did that hurt?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Why are you rubbing it?’
‘Habit,’ he said.
I felt my ear, where he had grabbed it.
‘It was sore,’ I said.
‘It’s like a memory,’ he said. ‘Like feeling a leg that has been cut off.’
‘Joe,’ I said. ‘Please. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘It’s simple,’ he said. ‘You died.’
‘When?’
‘A good while ago,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘When?!’
‘Years,’ he said. ‘Time doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Years?!’
‘Stop shouting,’ said Joe. ‘It will not change anything.’
He waved a hand around.
/> ‘This is your afterlife,’ he said.
‘Hang on now,’ I said. ‘Your house is the afterlife?’
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘It’s your afterlife.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘Ah well,’ said Joe. ‘That’s the story.’
Chapter Nineteen
There was so much to take in. The room was full of chairs but I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to run. I wanted to get Sarah and go.
I was dead.
That was mad. There was no way I was dead. I had gone to the toilet a minute before I had left my house. Did dead people go to the toilet? I didn’t think so. No. Dead people did not go to the toilet.
‘I went to the toilet,’ I told Joe.
‘What?’ said Joe. ‘Now?’
‘No.’
‘Listen, Pat’ said Joe. ‘The time has come to take this in. You are dead.’
‘But –’
‘Shut up and listen,’ said Joe. ‘You died.’
‘How?’
‘Car crash.’
‘I was never in a car crash,’ I said.
‘You died,’ said Joe. ‘So you don’t remember.’
‘Was I alone in the car?’ I asked.
I asked the question but I didn’t want to hear the answer.
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘You weren’t.’
‘Who was with me?’ I asked.
‘Who did you see in the kitchen?’ said Joe.
I thought back to Joe’s kitchen. The women had been there, and other people I knew. And over at the fridge –
‘Gavin?’ I said.
Joe nodded.
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to wake up. I wanted everything to be normal again.
Joe was still there. He looked quite happy.
‘I’m going to the kitchen,’ I said. ‘To see Gavin.’
‘Okay,’ said Joe. ‘But you will be back. Why not listen to me now, then go?’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Well,’ said Joe. ‘There is no Heaven. That’s the bad news.’
I stood there and let him talk.
‘And there is no Hell,’ said Joe. ‘That’s the good news.’
‘What is this then?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s not Hell,’ said Joe.
He pointed at the wall.
‘I put up that wallpaper,’ he said. ‘And the devil didn’t pay for it. I did.’
The paper was blue and pink.
‘It looks like the devil paid for it,’ I said. ‘I always hated it.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Joe. ‘You are gas. But here is a hint. Do you remember when we had the fight?’
‘About the horse,’ I said.
Me and Joe had bought a horse, back in the days of the boom, when we had a bit of money. It only ran one race and it came last.
‘Forget the horse,’ said Joe. ‘The fight was never about a horse.’
‘It was.’
‘Forget about the bloody horse,’ said Joe. ‘I never cared about the horse. I don’t even remember the name of the stupid horse.’
‘Safe Bet.’
‘What a name for a horse with one lung,’ said Joe. ‘Anyway. Do you remember where we were?’
‘When we had the fight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Here,’ I said. ‘In here.’
‘That’s right,’ said Joe. ‘Right in here. Was this wallpaper here then?’
I looked at it again.
I tried to remember.
‘I got rid of the paper,’ said Joe. ‘And I painted the walls white. Remember?’
I did. I remembered.
I nodded.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Good man,’ said Joe. ‘So the walls were white when we had the fight. But do you know when you saw this paper last?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Years ago.’
‘Will I tell you, Pat?’ said Joe.
I tried to sound calm, as if I didn’t care.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Fire away.’
‘When you came in here with my wife,’ said Joe.
‘I never –’
‘Don’t even start,’ said Joe. ‘Shut your mouth and hear me tell you.’
He was smiling now. And he looked a bit evil. He was enjoying it.
‘You came in here,’ he said. ‘The two of you. And you had sex over there.’
He nodded at the sofa.
‘And here.’
He tapped the floor with his foot.
‘And while you were at it,’ he said, ‘you laughed at me.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We didn’t laugh at you.’
‘Ah well,’ said Joe. ‘I always thought you did.’
‘You knew,’ I said.
‘Yes, I did,’ said Joe. ‘Of course, I knew.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Pat,’ he said. ‘It’s too late for that. I had eyes. I saw you looking at each other. I knew.’
‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ I said.
‘Ah, thanks,’ said Joe. ‘But I don’t care if you are sorry.’
‘Why did you let it happen?’ I asked.
I looked at Joe’s face. A tear rolled from his eye, down his cheek.
Dead men cried.
‘I loved her,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty
I remembered.
I parked my car on the next street and I walked the rest of the way. I knew Joe was working late. I knew young Sam was at football.
I rang the bell.
Karen opened the door, and stood back. I walked into the hall and shut the door with my foot.
We kissed. It was the first time we had kissed. But we had wanted to – for years. We moved to the front room as we kissed and touched each other. We fell on the sofa. We knocked heads. We laughed.
We dressed quickly when it was over.
We listened for Joe’s car.
‘We can’t do this again,’ said Karen.
‘Okay,’ I said.
But we did.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘So,’ said Joe. ‘This is your afterlife.’
I didn’t get it.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘You make your own afterlife,’ said Joe.
‘What?’ I said. ‘Like we buy it in IKEA?’
‘It’s too late for jokes, Pat,’ said Joe. ‘They don’t work here.’
‘What do you mean by “here”?’
‘Here,’ said Joe.
He tapped the floor again.
‘This is where you are going to stay,’ he said. ‘For ever.’
‘But I walked here,’ I said.
I had been at home. I had walked here after dinner, with Sarah. I could still feel the food in my stomach. We had walked into the house. Sarah was in the kitchen. With Gavin.
‘I can walk out,’ I said.
Joe nodded.
‘I can go any time I want,’ I said.
Joe nodded.
‘You died two years after me,’ he said.
‘But you only died a few days ago,’ I said.
‘You died two years after me,’ he said again.
It was all mad but I was starting to believe him.
‘We die,’ he said, ‘and we have our own afterlife. I have mine and you have yours.’
‘But you’re here, in mine,’ I said.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’m in my own one.’
‘What is it like?’
‘A lot better than your one.’
‘Am I in it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But Sarah is.’
‘Is Sarah dead too?’
He nodded.
‘She was in the car?’
He nodded.
‘Was I driving?’
He nodded.
I waited. I spoke.
‘Was I drinking?’
He nodded.
‘Your afterlife is made up of the things you felt bad abo
ut,’ said Joe. ‘The bad things you did, the people you hurt.’
‘So I can say sorry?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘No. It does not work that way.’
‘Mrs Webb,’ I said. ‘Out in the hall. What did I ever do to hurt her?’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’
‘She will tell you,’ he said. ‘Just like I told you.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘It will go on and on.’
I looked around me. It was just a room. A real room. A room with walls and a window. And a door.
I was being fooled. I was in a dream. It was like I was underwater. I just had to push and I would get to the air. And wake up.
I pushed Joe away from me. I turned and ran to the door.
Mrs Webb was waiting for me.
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’
Young Sam was standing at the door. The others were standing there, looking at me, waiting. Why didn’t they move? Why didn’t they go home?
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’ she said again.
‘What did I ever do to you?’ I asked her.
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’
God, it was boring – and terrible.
‘How are you, Mrs Webb?’
‘You remember me,’ she said.
‘I do, yeah.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ she said. ‘You get used to it.’
No more. I was getting out of here. I’d get Sarah and Gavin, and go.
I went to the kitchen door.
It was a dream, but I knew I had to find Sarah and Gavin before I could wake up.
I was at the kitchen door. Nothing had changed. Gavin was still standing at the fridge. But that proved nothing. He was always at the fridge – or in the fridge.
The girl was still by his side. She still looked nice.
Who was she? Had she been in the car when I crashed it?
There had been no crash. I was still alive, just stuck in a dream.
I saw Karen now. She did not look too happy. But then, her husband was dead and in a box just down the hall.
I stopped.
It was happening again. All over again. The same thing.
I would let it happen, until I got to Sarah. Then I’d escape.
I smiled at Karen. I think I smiled.
‘Hello, Karen,’ I said.
I wished Sarah was with me now. She was better at this kind of thing.
I shook myself. This was all a game. I would wake up soon.
I looked at Karen.
Then I started to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
The room went a bit silent. People were looking, and listening. People were waiting. They were people I knew. It was like they had all been standing there, waiting for this moment.