What does it take to be happy? Well, certainly not the truth. Jamie Stone is as honest as you will find and lives a modest and simple life. His true love is Caroline, and Caroline’s true love is his best friend, Ryan, and Ryan’s true love is for himself. Love is supposed to be everywhere, but rarely is it in the right place at the right time.
When Jamie and Caroline die in a car accident, Jamie passes on to Paradise alone. He is greeted by debonair Scotsman Archie, who tells him to forget all about Earth and enjoy his new supernal existence, cakes without calories, sunshine without sunburn, every day a duvet day and clocks that never say you’re late.
Even though Archie won’t tell him why Caroline free-fell straight to Hell, Jamie soon learns of her countless evening strolls, early morning jogs and bathroom breaks with Ryan, and inflamed by betrayal, he heads straight back to Earth masquerading as a helper, real destination old-pal Ryan, intent on delivering some less than angelic revenge.
Others Will Always Undo Us
Earth-hating Archie is quickly dispatched to retrieve Jamie but only ends up stirring the passion of not-so-dormant volcano Miss Dinkie, landlady to a usually dull and unremarkable guesthouse-by-the-sea who believes that even the best love is a superyacht with a hole hidden in its hull. Ryan has finally found true love with the alcoholic wife of a narcissistic money man who is now intent on killing him, and Jamie soon gets side-tracked dodging Archie trying to save the soul of a suicidal father who recently lost his son. Nothing goes unnoticed, and Jamie learns that even the best of us can be undone by others.
Chapter 1
Jamie
M20, Kent
Saturday, February 24th - 10.25 pm
Sweet deceits that serenade your ears
Scaffold your smile and dam the tears
Colour the facade of a love long dead
If only your heart would tell your head
On another day I would have seen death coming, there were enough signs, after all. The lazy mist creeping in from the North Downs, the freezing night nibbling at my skin, the beguiling silence of the late hour, the way my fatigue hung on me like a coat of armour. Not a good night to use the motorway, even the short distance between the service station at Junction 11 and Folkestone. Hell, I’ve driven that stretch a hundred times. Seven minutes at the most. But she always was distracting, the woman dying beside me.
I think she may already be dead.
Seconds before it happened, I was wondering why this amazing woman keeps getting so fucked up on cheap booze. I shouldn’t have popped the question, like that matters now. I can’t turn my neck to look at her. I can’t move at all. My mouth feels like it might be open and wants to say her name, but all it can do is snatch quick, jagged breaths. The air is dense with smoke and diesel, and lights are flashing, a blinking orange blur that’s gradually getting darker. Someone is talking, and there’s a faint touch of a warm hand against my face. Maybe it’s the devil checking to see if I’m dead yet.
Soon. Be patient.
Caroline. Dear Caroline.
I should feel sad. My life is over, and I’ve likely killed the woman of my dreams, but it’s almost as if, with all about to be lost, I’m left with nothing but the brutal honesty of the situation. Sadness is for the living. My body is broken beyond repair, and the numbness has a complete stranglehold over me. I remember the blinding approach of the headlights in my rearview mirror, the roar of a giant engine and the screech of brakes, being propelled into the dashboard, and my chest collapsing as my ribs snapped like brittle twigs crushed under a size thirteen Caterpillar boot. Caroline didn’t scream. She was already out for the count. One second we were inching down the motorway as the fog drew us in, and the next… well, fuck, what a way to go. Bloody weddings, I’ve always hated them. She had wanted to stay until the end, the band still in full swing with plenty of people dancing. Hannah and Sebastian, more Caroline’s friends than mine, a sweet couple, wealthy but humble with it. Caroline had been fine before dinner, and then her mood had switched dramatically from merry to morose. I know weddings make her nervous, maybe that’s why she has turned down my proposals twice already.
Love should be enough.
She never tired of telling me that.
Yep, she never saw it coming. I lost count of how much she tanked down tonight, but it was getting embarrassing.
Please can’t we stay? You’re such a bore, everyone else is having such a great time.
Now she’s dead, and all I can think about is if only we had waited until the happy couple had said their goodbyes like Caroline had wanted. But I couldn’t wait. Babysitting a drunk is hard work. She could barely stand. As it was, she fell over twice, once on her backside and the other time only an empty table stopped her from smacking her head against the floor. The other guests were less than impressed. One minute might have done it. She dropped her purse as she clambered into the car, scattering keys and makeup all over the footwell. She’d told me to leave them be, that it didn’t matter and to gather them later. I should have listened, and because I didn’t we arrived at a time and a place to end us both. The margins we live and die by are so slender yet completely indefatigable. There’s more than one voice above me now, and my eyes close, and somehow I manage to move my hand across the concrete, desperate to find her, but I never do.