Forever After

3


He was living in a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town. He paid minimal board and was fed, watered and sheltered by the elderly couple who owned and managed the six-room guesthouse.

Their names were Mary and Joseph, and although unconnected to the Biblical pair who begot the son of God, they had been dead just as long and were just as compassionate and kind. They had links to a side of the afterlife that Michael didn’t know anything about, they knew things he couldn’t even dream of knowing, and, like everyone who knew more than he did, they refused to tell him any of it.

“But there is a God right?” Michael asked Joseph once. They had been drinking on a deck which overlooked a small back garden. It was Michael's birthday, a birthday for a life he no longer had, and Joseph had bought an expensive single malt whiskey to celebrate and to ease the passing of his first redundant birthday in the afterlife.

Joseph hummed and hared at the question. He lifted his tumbler to his lips and stared absently at the contents. He stroked the lip of the crystal glass with his forefinger, took a small sip, savoured the taste with a sigh and then lowered the glass with a shrug. “That’s a tricky one,” he explained eventually.

“You don’t know?”

“Definitively?” Joseph turned to Michael, lifted his eyes to the blackened skies where a multitude of stars danced in the darkness. “No. But I know enough to hazard a guess.”

“And what is that guess?”

Joseph laughed softly. “That guess is just that,” he said vaguely. “It’s a guess.”

Michael sighed. He had been dead for six months at that point, spent most of that time wondering around losing souls, forgetting his timer and getting frustrated at the lack of help and supervision. Mary and Joseph were his only saving graces, and even they failed to sooth all of his woes.

“You see Michael,” Joseph said, throwing a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “Death is a lot like life. No one really knows what’s going on and no one can really explain everything that happens, but some people know how to handle the unknown more than others. Does that make sense?”

“But there are some people who know everything right?”

“I suppose there has to be, but I have yet to meet them.”

The night Michael returned home after meeting Jessica and then disposing of the murdered man and the drunken woman, he found Mary and Joseph waiting patiently by the fire in the main room. Mary was sitting with folded legs on the edge of the sofa, a crossword puzzle resting on her thighs. Joseph sat silently in the corner drinking brandy.

Michael sat down on the opposite side of the sofa. The elderly couple looked up from their respective activities with welcoming smiles.

“How are things?” Joseph beamed. He rose to his feet, headed straight for a drinks cabinet in the corner and poured Michael a drink without prompt. He handed it to him and then returned to his seat, offering Michael an air salute with his glass.

“OK,” Michael said before taking his first soothing sip. “Actually, a little better than OK.”

Mary put down her puzzle, unfolded her legs. “You look a lot better,” she noted with genuine glee.

“I am,” Michael sat back and threw his arm over the edge of the sofa, dangling the brandy glass between two fingers. “I met a girl today.”

Mary and Joseph exchanged a glance. Michael detected concern in their faces, but they were quick to hide it.

“Congratulations” Mary said genuinely. “What’s she like?”

Michael told them and they listened to every word. When he started speaking about Jessica he found it difficult to stop. He only ceased his glorifying when he realised he was gushing like a teenage girl and, although Mary delighted in his revelry, Joseph was looking a little embarrassed for him.

“I’m thinking of taking her to the pictures next week,” he said.

There was that look again, flickering between them like an unshared secret. Michael caught it fully this time. “Is everything OK?” he asked.

Joseph leaned forward and put his glass down on a nearby coffee table. “I don’t want to lower the mood, but you might want to be careful dating the living.”

“It’s OK,” Michael assured. “I know not to tell her I’m dead. She won’t suspect anything.”

Mary jumped in at that point, “The problem is, sweetie,” she said in her soft, reassuring voice. “If anything were to happen to her, it would be your job to collect her.”

Michael shook it off with a grin. “She’s fine,” he said confidently. “Long time before anything like that happens.”

“Of course,” Mary jumped in jovially. “Just so you know.”

Michael nodded and stood. He drained the brandy, put down the empty glass and wished the pair goodnight before ascending the stairs to his small room at the back of the house.

That night he thought about what Mary had said and he struggled to get the thought out of his head. Not just for Jessica, but for every girl he met -- how was he supposed to find someone if he was always going to outlive them and then be forced to assist with their demise?

He struggled to sleep.