The Resurrection of Andy McPhail
by Karen Jones
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Second chances are not always what they seem...
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Andy McPhail opened his eyes, struggling against lids that felt glued shut. A chemical smell shot up his nose, almost strong enough to depilate nasal hairs, and stung when it hit the back of his throat, making him gag. Thomas Hendry hovered over him, a confused look on his big, slack-jawed face – though to be fair, Thomas always looked confused.
Thomas raised his eyebrows and snorted a tiny laugh. “Well, this is a turn up for the books, eh?”
Andy sat up, ignoring the white sheet that slipped down and revealed his nakedness, more concerned with the rest of his surroundings: lying on a metal table; Thomas Hendry wearing a rubber apron and long rubber gloves; chemical smells; plastic tubing – lots of plastic tubing. He looked back down at the white sheet. Time to call a shroud a shroud.
He pulled the sheet up to his chin. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Eh, you’re dead, mate. Or at least you were. Totally. Definitely. I was just about to start the procedures.” He waved his gloved hands in front of Andy’s face, then hid something that looked like a wine bottle stopper behind his back. “Just as well you woke up when you did or it would have been really sore.”
Andy ran his fingers through his hair and slapped some feeling back into his face. “What happened? When did it happen?”
Thomas puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Sudden death, night before last, fatal heart attack.”
“Heart attack? I’m only thirty-four. I’m too young for a heart attack. And by the way, it clearly wasn’t fatal.”
Thomas shrugged. “S’what the doc said, so here you are.”
“Aye, here I am, very much alive. What do we do now?”
“I dunno – this has never happened before, or at least not since I started working for my dad. I suppose you should go home. Sarah’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Do you not think you should call somebody? The police maybe?”
“No law against being alive, mate. Naw, you get away home. I’ll explain to my dad what happened. He’ll be a bit pissed off, mind. We could really have done with the money. Things have been a bit slow recently.”
Andy’s brow furrowed. “Oh. Well, I’ll apologise next time I see him.” He waited for Thomas to offer some practical help. He gave up. “Have you got any of my clothes?”
Thomas looked around. “Sure. Sarah left a bag with stuff she wanted you buried in. It’s here somewhere.” He found the bag and handed it to Andy. Navy blue suit, white shirt, black shoes and a pencil-thin black tie. She always tried to make him look like one of those daft boys in The Beatles. He’d refused the haircut. He’d specifically asked to be buried in his work clothes, given he was sure the coal face would eventually kill him, but what he'd wanted clearly didn’t matter any more in death than it did in life.
“Eh, a wee bit of privacy while I get dressed, mate?”
“What? Oh, aye, sure. Though you’ve no secrets from me now - a cavity search is first order of business.” Thomas smiled and turned his back.
Christ, as if being declared dead wasn’t bad enough, Thomas Hendry had had his fingers up his jacksy. Actually, death seemed preferable. He wondered if the cavity search really was first order of business or just a predilection of Thomas's, then his mind drifted back to the thing that looked like a wine bottle stopper. He shuddered and dressed as quickly as he could.
“Right, that’s me ready. I’ll away then.” He felt in his pockets – nothing, not even a ha’penny. Of course not. It’s not like Sarah expected him to pay a ferryman. Too far to walk home, though, especially feeling weak and in this stupid suit and pointy shoes. “Sorry to be a pain, Thomas, but is there any chance of a lift home?”
Thomas jumped to attention. “Of course. What am I thinking? Aye, sure you had the cars booked anyway. Using one a couple of days early, but what the hell, eh?”
In the car, Andy tried to persuade Thomas to get past twenty on the speedometer, but he didn’t seem capable of driving faster. The lingering smell of wood and flowers reminded Andy of how close he’d come to travelling in the back. When they reached the main street he grabbed Thomas’s arm.
“Listen, I think I’ll just walk from here. Take in some fresh air, remind myself how lucky I am to be alive.”
The hearse shuddered to a halt.
“Okay. Oh, Sarah’ll be that pleased to see you. She was awful upset. We thought the doc would have to give her something to calm her down. Screaming, sobbing – hysterical, so she was.”
“Really?”
“Oh, aye. Devastated. Totally devastated.”
Andy looked sceptical. He got out of the car and waved Thomas off into the morning light. He looked along the quiet street. The village looked smaller, dirtier; the cottages less quaint. He saw Samuel, the local baker, getting out of his van. There was something familiar about the red plaid shirt he was wearing.
Samuel looked at him closely. “Andy? I thought you were dead?”
“Aye, that’s what everyone thinks. I’ll be having a serious word with Doctor Ainsley.”
“So you’re not dead?”
“Eh, no, it was a mistake. I’m fine.”
Samuel nodded, satisfied. “Good for you, son. Right, I better get back to work.” He opened the door to the shop and the smell of freshly baked bread washed over Andy. He hoped Sarah would have some food in. Of course she would – she’d have been feeding the visitors who’d come to pay their respects. But the smell of that bread was so good.
He called after Samuel, “Any chance of a loaf? I’ve no money right now – just got off the slab in Hendry’s, wasn’t really expecting this, know what I mean?”
Samuel smiled. “Sure, son. Least I can do.” He came back with a freshly baked bloomer.
Andy looked more closely at the plaid shirt, the torn left pocket, just like his shirt. No, she couldn’t have - not that quickly.
Samuel patted him on the shoulder and handed him the loaf. “There you go.”
The smell and the heat from the bread filled Andy with happiness. He forgot about the shirt. This tiny thing, this bread, suddenly meant everything. “You’re a gentleman, sir.”
“No bother. Sure, you can drop the money off later.”
Andy smiled. Even being a walking miracle wouldn’t get you a free meal from Sam.
He tore off chunks of bread and let out a moan of pleasure as he chewed. It was perfect – the only thing he’d ever want to eat again, he was sure.
He’d slowed his pace. He should have been hurrying home, hurrying back to Sarah, but he couldn’t be sure how she’d take his reappearance. In the past few years their married life had gone as stale as Samuel’s ‘special offers’. They wanted different things, to be in different places, to live different lives. They rarely spoke, their sex life had turned into a seaside postcard joke – only on Saturday nights and over as quickly as possible. She faked it, dutifully – he had started to do the same. If she noticed – and surely she must have noticed – she didn’t comment. In the last few weeks they hadn’t even bothered going through the motions. It wasn’t worth the two minutes of effort. Their tenth anniversary just a few weeks away, he’d wondered if they’d make it. He almost hadn’t.
But Thomas said she’d been upset – no, devastated – at the news of his death. Maybe this, his resurrection, would be the catalyst for a new start. Maybe he’d finally get her to move away from this dump. She loved everything about cities – the fashion, the restaurants, the busy streets – but was too set in her ways to leave where they’d both been born and raised. Too afraid to actually live where there was life. Maybe now he’d be able to convince her that they should grab this second chance. He straightened his shoulders, smoothed down his suit jacket and quickened his step.
“Andy?” Judith Kelsey, self-professed clairvoyant, looked surprised to see him.
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Well you’re back early. I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of weeks, you know, after you’d settled in.”
“Eh, I’m not actually dead, Mrs Kelsey. It was a mistake. I’m fine. I’m on my way home now.”
Mrs Kelsey cocked her head to one side and sighed. “Aw, son, I’m sorry you’ve not accepted it yet. It happens sometimes. Though I’m not sure how you managed to get back so fast. That’ll be the problem.” She addressed her next comments to the air, slightly to the left and over his head. “What were you thinking of, letting him through so soon? It’s not like he died a violent death – it was just his heart gave out. I’ll be having a word with your superiors.”
He reached out and patted her arm. “Mrs Kelsey, it really was a mistake. See? You can feel me touching you. I’m real.”
Mrs Kelsey tutted. “Well of course I can feel you touch me – I’m gifted, daft boy. Now, Sarah’ll not be able to see you, so don’t be getting upset and thinking she’s ignoring you. You should go back now – wait a while.”
Andy laughed and shook his head. “I’ll see you soon, Mrs Kelsey.”
“Not too soon, son, not too soon.”
He tore another chunk off the loaf. “Actually, Mrs Kelsey, could I trouble you for some water?”
She looked at the bread in his hands. “How are you managing to do that? You’re an awful fast learner, and you were never that bright when you were alive. No offence intended.”
“Some taken, but a wee drink would help wash this down nicely.”
She went into her house, glancing at him over her shoulder, as if he might disappear at any second, and returned with a plastic cup full of water.
“Cheers. I’ll get the cup back to you tomorrow.” Andy sipped at the drink. The coolest, clearest, cleanest thing in the world. He even liked the cup, the floral pattern – perfect for picnics. Just like the ones he’d bought for Sarah before she’d declared she hated picnics. Just a few more minutes and he’d be at his front door. Would she throw herself into his arms? Hug him, kiss him, hold him like she’d never let him leave her side again? The other things he’d taken for granted now seemed so important, seeing Sarah would be best of all.
“Andy?”
Hannah Tierney. His first love. His oldest friend and now Sarah’s best friend. One of the many things sacrificed to his marriage.
“But I thought…”
“Aye, you and everyone else – one of you might have tried to give me the kiss of life.”
“We did. I did. I don’t get it. What’s going on?”
Andy shrugged. “No idea. I woke up in Hendry’s. Thomas wasn’t best pleased to see me – not good for the profit margins. So you were there? I don’t remember anything. What happened?”
Hannah leaned back against the wall of her house to steady herself. Andy was relieved to finally see someone shaken by his reappearance.
“We were at the miners’ welfare – the fund raising night for the school gym – they were about to call the raffle when you collapsed. We tried to get you back. Doc Ainsley was in the public bar, so he came through and checked you out. He said there was nothing we could do. You were gone. There was talk of getting an ambulance, getting the city involved, but everyone agreed you’d want things kept local, so Doc signed the certificate and …” She bit her lip, a habit he used to love, but now found irritating.
“And?”
“Well, we put you in the wee hall. The raffle still had to be called, and Tam Hendry was drunk, so he couldn’t drive you back to the parlour, and Thomas isn’t allowed to drive at night, so…”
“So you carried on with the do? Seriously?”
She shrugged. “Ach, you know what it’s like around here – nothing stops a party.”
“And Sarah?”
“We phoned her. She came down, got everything organized for the next day with the Hendrys. She seemed fine at first, then she lost her cool right in the middle of the hall. It was weird. I mean she really, completely lost it.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “You were surprised?”
“Well, you know, she’s not one for public displays of emotion, eh?”
“But the love of her life had just died, Hannah”
Hannah looked at her boots, scuffing the left toe on the pavement. He wanted to ask more but wasn’t sure he’d like the answers. He turned and walked away, his belief in the brand new start faltering. It was still worth a try though – ‘til death do us part and all that - and he really, really wasn’t dead.
Hannah called after him. “Andy! Hang on!” She went in to the house, came back and handed him a bottle of wine.
“What’s this for?”
“You won the raffle.”
He took the bottle and then burst out laughing. “This is some fuckin’ place.”
“Aye, you were better off out of it, pal.” She ruffled his hair, pecked him on the cheek and went back inside. Her perfume lingered. The perfume he’d bought Sarah for her birthday. He knew Hannah would phone Sarah.
Yards from their front door his chest felt tight. He hoped it wasn’t his heart again. If it had ever been his heart – he wouldn’t trust Doc Ainsley with a pet goldfish. He fought to breathe, struggled to walk. He drew level with the house. A curtain twitched. One eye watched him. She knew. She knew but she didn’t run to the door, out into the street, into his arms. He stared at the window, willed her to care, to give them a chance at a new life. Nothing.
He straightened up and walked on past. The pains eased off and he smiled. He broke the neck of the wine bottle against a wall. He raised the bottle and toasted the rest of his death – may it be better than the life he’d never really lived. Andy McPhail closed his eyes, tipped his head back, felt the delicious wine drip down his throat and never looked back.
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Second chances are not always what they seem...
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Andy McPhail opened his eyes, struggling against lids that felt glued shut. A chemical smell shot up his nose, almost strong enough to depilate nasal hairs, and stung when it hit the back of his throat, making him gag. Thomas Hendry hovered over him, a confused look on his big, slack-jawed face – though to be fair, Thomas always looked confused.
Thomas raised his eyebrows and snorted a tiny laugh. “Well, this is a turn up for the books, eh?”
Andy sat up, ignoring the white sheet that slipped down and revealed his nakedness, more concerned with the rest of his surroundings: lying on a metal table; Thomas Hendry wearing a rubber apron and long rubber gloves; chemical smells; plastic tubing – lots of plastic tubing. He looked back down at the white sheet. Time to call a shroud a shroud.
He pulled the sheet up to his chin. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Eh, you’re dead, mate. Or at least you were. Totally. Definitely. I was just about to start the procedures.” He waved his gloved hands in front of Andy’s face, then hid something that looked like a wine bottle stopper behind his back. “Just as well you woke up when you did or it would have been really sore.”
Andy ran his fingers through his hair and slapped some feeling back into his face. “What happened? When did it happen?”
Thomas puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Sudden death, night before last, fatal heart attack.”
“Heart attack? I’m only thirty-four. I’m too young for a heart attack. And by the way, it clearly wasn’t fatal.”
Thomas shrugged. “S’what the doc said, so here you are.”
“Aye, here I am, very much alive. What do we do now?”
“I dunno – this has never happened before, or at least not since I started working for my dad. I suppose you should go home. Sarah’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Do you not think you should call somebody? The police maybe?”
“No law against being alive, mate. Naw, you get away home. I’ll explain to my dad what happened. He’ll be a bit pissed off, mind. We could really have done with the money. Things have been a bit slow recently.”
Andy’s brow furrowed. “Oh. Well, I’ll apologise next time I see him.” He waited for Thomas to offer some practical help. He gave up. “Have you got any of my clothes?”
Thomas looked around. “Sure. Sarah left a bag with stuff she wanted you buried in. It’s here somewhere.” He found the bag and handed it to Andy. Navy blue suit, white shirt, black shoes and a pencil-thin black tie. She always tried to make him look like one of those daft boys in The Beatles. He’d refused the haircut. He’d specifically asked to be buried in his work clothes, given he was sure the coal face would eventually kill him, but what he'd wanted clearly didn’t matter any more in death than it did in life.
“Eh, a wee bit of privacy while I get dressed, mate?”
“What? Oh, aye, sure. Though you’ve no secrets from me now - a cavity search is first order of business.” Thomas smiled and turned his back.
Christ, as if being declared dead wasn’t bad enough, Thomas Hendry had had his fingers up his jacksy. Actually, death seemed preferable. He wondered if the cavity search really was first order of business or just a predilection of Thomas's, then his mind drifted back to the thing that looked like a wine bottle stopper. He shuddered and dressed as quickly as he could.
“Right, that’s me ready. I’ll away then.” He felt in his pockets – nothing, not even a ha’penny. Of course not. It’s not like Sarah expected him to pay a ferryman. Too far to walk home, though, especially feeling weak and in this stupid suit and pointy shoes. “Sorry to be a pain, Thomas, but is there any chance of a lift home?”
Thomas jumped to attention. “Of course. What am I thinking? Aye, sure you had the cars booked anyway. Using one a couple of days early, but what the hell, eh?”
In the car, Andy tried to persuade Thomas to get past twenty on the speedometer, but he didn’t seem capable of driving faster. The lingering smell of wood and flowers reminded Andy of how close he’d come to travelling in the back. When they reached the main street he grabbed Thomas’s arm.
“Listen, I think I’ll just walk from here. Take in some fresh air, remind myself how lucky I am to be alive.”
The hearse shuddered to a halt.
“Okay. Oh, Sarah’ll be that pleased to see you. She was awful upset. We thought the doc would have to give her something to calm her down. Screaming, sobbing – hysterical, so she was.”
“Really?”
“Oh, aye. Devastated. Totally devastated.”
Andy looked sceptical. He got out of the car and waved Thomas off into the morning light. He looked along the quiet street. The village looked smaller, dirtier; the cottages less quaint. He saw Samuel, the local baker, getting out of his van. There was something familiar about the red plaid shirt he was wearing.
Samuel looked at him closely. “Andy? I thought you were dead?”
“Aye, that’s what everyone thinks. I’ll be having a serious word with Doctor Ainsley.”
“So you’re not dead?”
“Eh, no, it was a mistake. I’m fine.”
Samuel nodded, satisfied. “Good for you, son. Right, I better get back to work.” He opened the door to the shop and the smell of freshly baked bread washed over Andy. He hoped Sarah would have some food in. Of course she would – she’d have been feeding the visitors who’d come to pay their respects. But the smell of that bread was so good.
He called after Samuel, “Any chance of a loaf? I’ve no money right now – just got off the slab in Hendry’s, wasn’t really expecting this, know what I mean?”
Samuel smiled. “Sure, son. Least I can do.” He came back with a freshly baked bloomer.
Andy looked more closely at the plaid shirt, the torn left pocket, just like his shirt. No, she couldn’t have - not that quickly.
Samuel patted him on the shoulder and handed him the loaf. “There you go.”
The smell and the heat from the bread filled Andy with happiness. He forgot about the shirt. This tiny thing, this bread, suddenly meant everything. “You’re a gentleman, sir.”
“No bother. Sure, you can drop the money off later.”
Andy smiled. Even being a walking miracle wouldn’t get you a free meal from Sam.
He tore off chunks of bread and let out a moan of pleasure as he chewed. It was perfect – the only thing he’d ever want to eat again, he was sure.
He’d slowed his pace. He should have been hurrying home, hurrying back to Sarah, but he couldn’t be sure how she’d take his reappearance. In the past few years their married life had gone as stale as Samuel’s ‘special offers’. They wanted different things, to be in different places, to live different lives. They rarely spoke, their sex life had turned into a seaside postcard joke – only on Saturday nights and over as quickly as possible. She faked it, dutifully – he had started to do the same. If she noticed – and surely she must have noticed – she didn’t comment. In the last few weeks they hadn’t even bothered going through the motions. It wasn’t worth the two minutes of effort. Their tenth anniversary just a few weeks away, he’d wondered if they’d make it. He almost hadn’t.
But Thomas said she’d been upset – no, devastated – at the news of his death. Maybe this, his resurrection, would be the catalyst for a new start. Maybe he’d finally get her to move away from this dump. She loved everything about cities – the fashion, the restaurants, the busy streets – but was too set in her ways to leave where they’d both been born and raised. Too afraid to actually live where there was life. Maybe now he’d be able to convince her that they should grab this second chance. He straightened his shoulders, smoothed down his suit jacket and quickened his step.
“Andy?” Judith Kelsey, self-professed clairvoyant, looked surprised to see him.
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Well you’re back early. I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of weeks, you know, after you’d settled in.”
“Eh, I’m not actually dead, Mrs Kelsey. It was a mistake. I’m fine. I’m on my way home now.”
Mrs Kelsey cocked her head to one side and sighed. “Aw, son, I’m sorry you’ve not accepted it yet. It happens sometimes. Though I’m not sure how you managed to get back so fast. That’ll be the problem.” She addressed her next comments to the air, slightly to the left and over his head. “What were you thinking of, letting him through so soon? It’s not like he died a violent death – it was just his heart gave out. I’ll be having a word with your superiors.”
He reached out and patted her arm. “Mrs Kelsey, it really was a mistake. See? You can feel me touching you. I’m real.”
Mrs Kelsey tutted. “Well of course I can feel you touch me – I’m gifted, daft boy. Now, Sarah’ll not be able to see you, so don’t be getting upset and thinking she’s ignoring you. You should go back now – wait a while.”
Andy laughed and shook his head. “I’ll see you soon, Mrs Kelsey.”
“Not too soon, son, not too soon.”
He tore another chunk off the loaf. “Actually, Mrs Kelsey, could I trouble you for some water?”
She looked at the bread in his hands. “How are you managing to do that? You’re an awful fast learner, and you were never that bright when you were alive. No offence intended.”
“Some taken, but a wee drink would help wash this down nicely.”
She went into her house, glancing at him over her shoulder, as if he might disappear at any second, and returned with a plastic cup full of water.
“Cheers. I’ll get the cup back to you tomorrow.” Andy sipped at the drink. The coolest, clearest, cleanest thing in the world. He even liked the cup, the floral pattern – perfect for picnics. Just like the ones he’d bought for Sarah before she’d declared she hated picnics. Just a few more minutes and he’d be at his front door. Would she throw herself into his arms? Hug him, kiss him, hold him like she’d never let him leave her side again? The other things he’d taken for granted now seemed so important, seeing Sarah would be best of all.
“Andy?”
Hannah Tierney. His first love. His oldest friend and now Sarah’s best friend. One of the many things sacrificed to his marriage.
“But I thought…”
“Aye, you and everyone else – one of you might have tried to give me the kiss of life.”
“We did. I did. I don’t get it. What’s going on?”
Andy shrugged. “No idea. I woke up in Hendry’s. Thomas wasn’t best pleased to see me – not good for the profit margins. So you were there? I don’t remember anything. What happened?”
Hannah leaned back against the wall of her house to steady herself. Andy was relieved to finally see someone shaken by his reappearance.
“We were at the miners’ welfare – the fund raising night for the school gym – they were about to call the raffle when you collapsed. We tried to get you back. Doc Ainsley was in the public bar, so he came through and checked you out. He said there was nothing we could do. You were gone. There was talk of getting an ambulance, getting the city involved, but everyone agreed you’d want things kept local, so Doc signed the certificate and …” She bit her lip, a habit he used to love, but now found irritating.
“And?”
“Well, we put you in the wee hall. The raffle still had to be called, and Tam Hendry was drunk, so he couldn’t drive you back to the parlour, and Thomas isn’t allowed to drive at night, so…”
“So you carried on with the do? Seriously?”
She shrugged. “Ach, you know what it’s like around here – nothing stops a party.”
“And Sarah?”
“We phoned her. She came down, got everything organized for the next day with the Hendrys. She seemed fine at first, then she lost her cool right in the middle of the hall. It was weird. I mean she really, completely lost it.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “You were surprised?”
“Well, you know, she’s not one for public displays of emotion, eh?”
“But the love of her life had just died, Hannah”
Hannah looked at her boots, scuffing the left toe on the pavement. He wanted to ask more but wasn’t sure he’d like the answers. He turned and walked away, his belief in the brand new start faltering. It was still worth a try though – ‘til death do us part and all that - and he really, really wasn’t dead.
Hannah called after him. “Andy! Hang on!” She went in to the house, came back and handed him a bottle of wine.
“What’s this for?”
“You won the raffle.”
He took the bottle and then burst out laughing. “This is some fuckin’ place.”
“Aye, you were better off out of it, pal.” She ruffled his hair, pecked him on the cheek and went back inside. Her perfume lingered. The perfume he’d bought Sarah for her birthday. He knew Hannah would phone Sarah.
Yards from their front door his chest felt tight. He hoped it wasn’t his heart again. If it had ever been his heart – he wouldn’t trust Doc Ainsley with a pet goldfish. He fought to breathe, struggled to walk. He drew level with the house. A curtain twitched. One eye watched him. She knew. She knew but she didn’t run to the door, out into the street, into his arms. He stared at the window, willed her to care, to give them a chance at a new life. Nothing.
He straightened up and walked on past. The pains eased off and he smiled. He broke the neck of the wine bottle against a wall. He raised the bottle and toasted the rest of his death – may it be better than the life he’d never really lived. Andy McPhail closed his eyes, tipped his head back, felt the delicious wine drip down his throat and never looked back.
About the Author
Karen Jones is from Glasgow. Her work has appeared in various print anthologies, in magazines including The New Writer and Writers’ Forum, and in several ezines, most recently in The Waterhouse Review and UptheStaircase. She was short-listed for the 2007 Asham Award and took third prize in the 2010 Mslexia short story competition. One of her stories received an honourable mention in The Spilling Ink Short Story Prize 2011, and two poems (she’s not sure how that happened) have appeared on Every Day Poets.