Page 9 of Inbetweeners
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Emmett came round slowly, reluctant to open his eyes. Because…what if it had all been a dream? But his head was resting on a soft, unfamiliar pillow and a sweet scent wafted into his nose. He lay face down, his arms and legs spread out. Except it was more than the pillow and the space in the bed that was different. His cock was hard. A year with no morning wood and now this?
He opened his eyes, took in the bedroom, and smiled. Not a dream.He turned to look at the other bed, but it was empty. He didn’t think anyone had slept there. Why hadn’t they let him meet Phoenix in Heaven? Though maybe he was still alive. That could be interesting.
Emmett thought about having a wank, then thought again. The guy might be in the flat. He pushed to his feet, stretched, then dragged his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t help smiling at the way his cock tented his shorts. What a relief it still worked.
“Anyone there?” he called.
There was no answer. Emmett wandered into the bathroom, cleaned his teeth, then locked the door and had a long shower, followed by a soak in the bath. If it hadn’t been that his skin was wrinkling, he’d have stayed in longer. There was no razor, but by the feel of his face, he didn’t need to shave. That hadn’t been necessary in Heaven and it looked as though it wouldn’t be here either.
He picked out khaki chinos, pale pink shirt and skinny blue tie from the wardrobe, and the clothes fit perfectly. He stared at himself in the bedroom mirror.I look okay. I look alive.Which made him wonder how easy it would be to spot someone who was dead, let alone convince them to move on. Maybe Phoenix was the one who’d know if someone was dead, and Emmett would do the persuading.
Though Emmett didn’t feel as if he had any skill in persuasion.He’d stopped responding to people who knocked on his door because he couldn’t get rid of them once he’d opened it, both on Earth and in Heaven. Though in Heaven, theperfect peopletook no notice. He suspected he was on the list ofeasy marksjudging by the number of sales people and religious enthusiasts who’d come knocking when he’d been alive. Why did he have to havethatmemory?
He could already feel that telling someone Heaven was fabulous would prove difficult. Lying was not his forte. Then again, had Emmett actually seen anyone up there who looked unhappy? The answer was no, not really. A few puzzled faces, but no one had walked around crying or looking pissed off.Not even me.He’d honed hisleave me aloneface, though theperfect peopletook no notice. They could see through everything.
More to the point, what if the…ghost was destined for Hell? How was Emmett supposed to convince someone they’d be better off there? Even though he’d thought Heaven was dull, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that Hell would be the better option. The more he thought about it, the more he could see that all he and Phoenix had to do was convince someone that they needed to move on, not tell them or even hint at where they might be going. The two of them weren’t standing in judgement, just giving reluctant dead people a gentle push towards another plane. It wasn’t Emmett’s fault if that plane was going to crash and burn.Hmm.If it came down to it, it would be better to let someone assume they were going to be boarding a jet to Heaven. But was that fair?
Emmett brewed coffee in a filter machine and salivated at the aroma. He gave a genuine groan of pleasure at the first sip, and ate breakfast with more audible expressions of delight. His beautifully poached eggs sat on perfectly toasted bread, the yolks deliciously runny. Well, it appeared it didn’t take much to make him happy.Did I just smile? Did that explain the unfamiliar twitch of my cheeks?
When there was no sign of his co-worker by ten, he decided to go out. Maybe he’d just spot someone who was deceased and persuade them this wasn’t where they needed to be. Get a head start on the job. But as he wandered back through the park towards the town, Emmett set aside what he was supposed to be doing and simply enjoyed being back in the world among people who were…alive and oblivious. Some were out for a jog, others taking a walk. There were plenty of dogs and children and lots of laughter. No one looked dead.
Suddenly, he was hit by the enormity of what he and Phoenix were supposed to do. Where were these dead people? Just in this area? All over London? The entire country? Were they see-through? Would they be shambling around like zombies? Or did they look normal? Could they speak? What if they didn’t speak English? He and Phoenix could walk around all day, day after day, week after week, and not spot anyone who’d decided to stay put. And while Emmett could see a lot of advantages in this job taking ages, how long before they got into trouble for not working hard enough, not meeting their quota?Wasthere a quota?
But he kept walking, still hardly able to believe he was here, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, the breeze in his hair. He looked carefully at everyone, but still tussled with what a ghost would look like. TV and films showed them as sort of floaty, incorporeal beings who could move through solid objects. Sometimes they were benign and other times not.Was that anywhere close to right? He garnered a few frowns when he stared at someone for too long, and began to worry that looking the wrong way at a person was going to get him thumped. It had once, and he’d learned his lesson.
When he’d had enough of walking—mostly because he kept thinking about the job he’d been brought back to do—he bought a book in WHSmith’s,A Gentleman in Moscow, and went into a pub. Presumably, he was allowed lunch breaks. He’d been intending to read this book before…events had overtaken him, so it was an easy choice of what to buy. He was soon deeply engrossed in the story of a Russian nobleman obliged to live inside a Moscow hotel having been told that if he set foot outside, he’d be killed. Emmett would choose that over Heaven.
He read as he ate his lunch, taking his time over the sweet potato noodle stir fry because it was the best thing he’d tasted in a long time, even better than his poached eggs. His concentration was broken by the arrival of a rowdy group of men and women in their twenties who mobbed the bar, ordering drinks, and chatting in loud voices. They were smiling and laughing, having a good time, and Emmett couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever been like that. Judging by his behaviour in Heaven, he thought not.
Had he had a boyfriend when he’d died? Before he died? With him when he died? Had his boyfriend died as well? Had his boyfriend killed him for being so bloody annoying?Oh God.His heart thumped hard. Was there anyone who’d missed him? Now he wished he knew.
As he half-enviously watched the group, another guy came in, taller than Emmett, with scruffy dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a scar on his cheek and the bluest of blue eyes. His jeans hung low on narrow hips and he had long, long legs. He smiled as he moved along the back of the group at the bar, brushing closer to them than he needed to. Emmett would never have done that. When the guy reached the end of the row, he lifted a wallet from the last man’s pocket.What the…?Emmett’s jaw dropped.
Almost as if the thief sensed Emmett watching, he turned and stared at him. His smile widened, somehow making Emmett complicit in what he’d done. As Emmett contemplated standing up and saying something, though he had no idea what, the man pulled a twenty-pound note from the wallet, pocketed the money and dropped the wallet on the floor. To Emmett’s horror, he then walked over and sat down next to him.Go away!
“Hi,” the guy said. “This is a stroke of luck.”
Luck?Emmett was struck dumb with shock.
“Buy me a drink?” the man asked. “It’s a special occasion, so I think we should go for something with bubbles.”
Emmett pushed to his feet and walked over the bar, intending to speak to the person who’d just been robbed. He’d have to explain that he had no idea who this man was, even though he’d sat next to him. But the wallet had already been picked up and Emmett hesitated.
“What can I get you?” the barman asked.
Emmett placed the order wondering what the hell he was doing? Why was he buying this guy a drink when he wanted to tell him to fuck off?Except you know why.Low riding jeans and slim hips and that face and a long time since he’d had sex.I am as shallow as a puddle.Though the return of lust was somewhat comforting.
A few moments later, Emmett returned to the table to find his lunch being consumed.Fucking hell.That was totally unacceptable. He slammed the drinks down, the liquid sloshing over the sides of the glasses.
“Lemonade?” The thief laughed.
Emmett was too angry to speak.
“Tell you what,” the guy said. “I’ll increase your word ration to ten, if you go and buy something alcoholic.”
You arsehole.“You asked for bubbles. I bought you bubbles.”
