No Dress Rehearsal (5 page)

“Easy for you to say. You're dead.”

“That's right, and I should know.”

“I'm very busy right now,” Sinead said. “But I've got plans. For when the time is right.”

“Life is what happens while we're busy making plans,” Lizzie said smugly.

“You've changed,” Sinead complained. “You usen't be such a know-all.”

“That's being dead for you,” Lizzie said cheerfully.

“Do you mind?” Sinead mumbled. “Being dead?”

Lizzie thought about it. The changes that had happened after the funeral
had continued. The white, numb feelings of peace had grown stronger. Even the urgent need to talk to Sinead had calmed down a lot.

“I'm fine,” she promised Sinead. “Now swear to me that you'll tell Ginger Moran to stick his job. Go on, life isn't a dress rehearsal.”

“I'll think about it. Call again,” Sinead invited sleepily.

“No. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Okay,” Sinead said slackly and fell back to sleep.

Her last visit completed, Lizzie was feeling wonderful. Far better than any dead person had a right to feel, she thought. So what happens next?

She looked down at her body, and was in no way surprised to see that it was gone. There was just silvery air where once she had been. The fantastic
feeling of well-being built and swelled. She was calm, she was safe, she was joyous. And there was no alarm when she felt her spirit melting. Something rushed through her, then the last of Lizzie was speeding away like a genie spinning back into the bottle. Yet she sparkled through everything in a tingle of glitter. Reforming and reconnecting. Into every drop of rain, every blade of grass, every word spoken.

Blissful, happy, ever-present nothingness. White-out.

Sinead woke up to a moment's blessed blankness, then she remembered that Lizzie was dead. But it didn't crash in on top of her like a belt from a hammer, the way it had done the last two mornings. She was surprised by how calm she felt.

A vague memory of a dream floated about in her head. She couldn't
manage to hold onto it. But it was something nice, something good … And a strange peace worked it's way through her.

Until she began to get ready for work, that is. The memory of Ginger ringing her at Lizzie's funeral made her furious.

“That bloody job,” she raged. “That bloody Ginger. I'm going to leave. One day I'll just hand in my notice and then he'll be sorry. I really will. One day soon.”

Her head filled with Italian images. Mornings lit by yellow sunshine. Purple flowers against a wall so blindingly white it hurt to look at it. Lying in hot, gritty sand with some unknown, perfect man.

“One day,” she promised herself grimly, as she tried to find something to wear to work.

She rooted around in her linen basket, looking for her cleanest dirty shirt. Suddenly, a perky thought lit up out of nowhere. The time is now. The time is always now.

Actually, I won't hand in my notice some day, she thought, her heart soaring. I'll do it today.

 

OPEN DOOR SERIES

SERIES ONE

Sad Song
by Vincent Banville
In High Germany
by Dermot Bolger
Not Just for Christmas
by Roddy Doyle
Maggie's Story
by Sheila O'Flanagan
Jesus and Billy Are off to Barcelona
by Deirdre Purcell
Ripples
by Patricia Scanlan

SERIES TWO

No Dress Rehearsal
by Marian Keyes
Joe's Wedding
by Gareth O'Callaghan
It All Adds Up
by Margaret Neylon
Second Chance
by Patricia Scanlan
Pipe Dreams
by Anne Schulman
Old Money, New Money
by Peter Sheridan