It was at 2.36 a.m. on a Tuesday at his house when Clive Ellington’s world turned upside down.
Or was it 5.21 p.m. on a Wednesday at his allotment?
It might have been Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick for all he ruddy knew. He’d like to be clear on the facts, but what were the chances of that when he didn’t even know where he was?
His senses were rising, but only gradually. There was an unfamiliar sound: a buzzing he’d never heard before. And there was an unfamiliar smell: mustiness muted by bleach. And an unfamiliar space: a compact single bed with metal railings at the side. And that rush. The whoosh of movement even though he was sure he was lying still. He was strapped in as if he was wearing a seat belt even though he definitely wasn’t in a car.
It had taken seconds to know this wasn’t home, but it was taking much longer to work out where it was. He’d been at the allotment, hadn’t he? Or had he been?
It was then that he remembered. The knowledge of what had happened coursed through him. The horror of what he’d come across. The memory ripped through him, causing a pain in his chest as if his life was about to end.
His life had ended.
That’s why he was here.
Bringing himself upright, Clive held a hand to his chest and tried to concentrate on breathing as he took in what he could.
‘It’s okay, Clive. We’re on the way to the hospital. Settle yourself back.’ The voice didn’t seem to have a body. At least not one Clive was able to see.
Clive was still fully clothed, with his shirt open. Being in bed with a suit on was enough to confuse him. The gripping sensation tightened round his ribs as his mind flicked through everything that had happened that afternoon to Nancy – the love of his life – the other half of him that was no longer here.
‘Help!’ Clive said, meekly, knowing that this was perhaps the end and it was only survival instinct that was calling out, wanting him to be saved. The rest of him wondered if this was the opportunity to join Nancy. It was one he’d rather like to take. If she was dead, he wanted to be with her.
The pain of that knowledge pumped through him and became a physical agony that didn’t let up, gripping his chest again.
At least he was in his best suit jacket, rumpled as it was, he thought, as he closed his eyes and prepared to meet his maker. It was better this way. He didn’t want to save himself if the life he was leaving behind was one without Nancy. The thought was too much to bear.
There was comfort now in the pain he was experiencing. It was pushing him further towards the place he wanted to be. That was one of the last things he remembered thinking as his world went black and he felt his weight drop.
He’d never imagined feeling anything once he’d died and reached the other side. But as he made his way to heaven, it was done with a crash landing and absolutely zero finesse.
It turned out that Clive’s version of heaven was down at his allotment. It was his nirvana before he’d died, where he was most content on earth, so it was no surprise to land up there. There was a certain harmony to be found on the piece of land that he’d cultivated. But being there reminded him of something unsettling. Something recent. Something that wasn’t usually there.
In the afterlife there was an abundance of every crop he’d ever worked on – unlike the reality of his allotment most years. The runner beans were laden as were the peas. The gooseberries were ripe and the rhubarb crop seemed to be twice the size of last year. The gladioli with their mild scent, that he liked to grow for Nancy, were blooming so much he’d have to take a bunch to her each day.
Nancy.
There it was… That glorious hope.
All he had to do was leave the allotment and walk home.
They’d be together again and that truly would be heaven.
Only his legs wouldn’t move as he was telling them to. Nor did the road he needed to walk down look as it should. In fact, it was all kinds of wrong. The view from his allotment was a haze. He could see his shed and his