Read Online Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Shearman
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“Martin and Steve.” Never Martin on his own.
“Dear Martin,” it said. “Long time no speak!” And the exclamation mark dot was a happy face, just trying a bit too hard.
Martin took a breather from hanging the tinsel—Christmas decorations are always very popular in Hell—sat on the bunk, and read the card properly.
Dear Martin,
Long time no speak! How are you? It’s been ages.
This is just to wish you a merry Christmas, and let you know an old friend is thinking of you. Because we
are
old friends, aren’t we? I know we’ve lost touch, but I didn’t want you to think there were any hard feelings. There really aren’t. I only want the best for you. I only ever did.
I catch sight of you every once in a while, and I keep meaning to say hi. But either you look very busy, or I’m very busy, so it never happens. Which is so silly! We must catch up one day. That’d be lovely.
All the old gang are well, and send you their best.
Lots of love, Woofie.
And the “love” had been written with a hesitancy that made it all the more emphatic. And then, in a different pen, there was a P.S.
P.S. Look, if you’re up for it, and I’m sure you have other plans anyway—but still, no harm in asking. We’re thinking of having a party at New Year’s. Nothing very fancy. If you’ve nothing better to do, and I dare say you have, do come along!
And then, same pen, but written later:
I miss you.
Martin reread it. He wondered if he should send a card back, but really, Steve took care of all that.
“Shall I hang it with the others?” said Steve, reaching out for it.
“Sure,” said Martin. “Why not?”
And then, some time in January, the announcement came.
Hell was getting too full. There simply wasn’t the space for many more damned souls. So someone had decided they had better send an emissary to God, and find out what should be done about it. And when he came back, the emissary said that he’d looked long and hard, and it turned out there
wasn’t
a God after all. He wasn’t sure there had never been one, but if there had, he certainly wasn’t around any longer. And this had caused a bit of consternation—who was going to solve the overcrowding problem now?—until it was realized that his non-existence solved the problem in itself. After all, it seemed hardly fair to be damned for not believing in God if it turned out you were, embarrassingly enough, absolutely right.
Martin was told he could leave immediately.
“Where am I going now?” he asked. “Heaven?”
It turned out he was going to Surrey.
The day the dead came back to Earth was one of mixed emotion. Everyone seemed overjoyed to see their loved ones return; there were a lot of tearful reunions and a lot of street parties. The government weren’t really sure how to react until they realized that on the whole everyone was very happy about it, so decided in the end they were happy about it too, and acted as if it had been their idea somehow.
But no one had quite anticipated that the dead weren’t going to go back again. Had it just been a flying visit, then fair enough. But by the end of the week most people really felt that they’d outstayed their welcome. The government picked up on the prevailing mood and quickly asserted that they’d
never
been happy about this, that they’d had nothing to do with it whatsoever. And even that new measures would soon be taken against this unwanted invasion of the immigrant dead.
When Moira first saw Martin again, she hugged on to him so hard that he thought she’d never let go. She’d still kept all his clothes and belongings, suitcases full of old nick-knacks that she couldn’t bear to part with. She said everyone had told her to give them all to Oxfam, and when she’d refused well-meaning friends had got rather angry with her and worried about her mental health. “So I got rid of them. I’ve been very lonely. But I knew you’d come back for me.” Martin was touched. He didn’t want to
“Dear Martin,” it said. “Long time no speak!” And the exclamation mark dot was a happy face, just trying a bit too hard.
Martin took a breather from hanging the tinsel—Christmas decorations are always very popular in Hell—sat on the bunk, and read the card properly.
Dear Martin,
Long time no speak! How are you? It’s been ages.
This is just to wish you a merry Christmas, and let you know an old friend is thinking of you. Because we
are
old friends, aren’t we? I know we’ve lost touch, but I didn’t want you to think there were any hard feelings. There really aren’t. I only want the best for you. I only ever did.
I catch sight of you every once in a while, and I keep meaning to say hi. But either you look very busy, or I’m very busy, so it never happens. Which is so silly! We must catch up one day. That’d be lovely.
All the old gang are well, and send you their best.
Lots of love, Woofie.
And the “love” had been written with a hesitancy that made it all the more emphatic. And then, in a different pen, there was a P.S.
P.S. Look, if you’re up for it, and I’m sure you have other plans anyway—but still, no harm in asking. We’re thinking of having a party at New Year’s. Nothing very fancy. If you’ve nothing better to do, and I dare say you have, do come along!
And then, same pen, but written later:
I miss you.
Martin reread it. He wondered if he should send a card back, but really, Steve took care of all that.
“Shall I hang it with the others?” said Steve, reaching out for it.
“Sure,” said Martin. “Why not?”
And then, some time in January, the announcement came.
Hell was getting too full. There simply wasn’t the space for many more damned souls. So someone had decided they had better send an emissary to God, and find out what should be done about it. And when he came back, the emissary said that he’d looked long and hard, and it turned out there
wasn’t
a God after all. He wasn’t sure there had never been one, but if there had, he certainly wasn’t around any longer. And this had caused a bit of consternation—who was going to solve the overcrowding problem now?—until it was realized that his non-existence solved the problem in itself. After all, it seemed hardly fair to be damned for not believing in God if it turned out you were, embarrassingly enough, absolutely right.
Martin was told he could leave immediately.
“Where am I going now?” he asked. “Heaven?”
It turned out he was going to Surrey.
The day the dead came back to Earth was one of mixed emotion. Everyone seemed overjoyed to see their loved ones return; there were a lot of tearful reunions and a lot of street parties. The government weren’t really sure how to react until they realized that on the whole everyone was very happy about it, so decided in the end they were happy about it too, and acted as if it had been their idea somehow.
But no one had quite anticipated that the dead weren’t going to go back again. Had it just been a flying visit, then fair enough. But by the end of the week most people really felt that they’d outstayed their welcome. The government picked up on the prevailing mood and quickly asserted that they’d
never
been happy about this, that they’d had nothing to do with it whatsoever. And even that new measures would soon be taken against this unwanted invasion of the immigrant dead.
When Moira first saw Martin again, she hugged on to him so hard that he thought she’d never let go. She’d still kept all his clothes and belongings, suitcases full of old nick-knacks that she couldn’t bear to part with. She said everyone had told her to give them all to Oxfam, and when she’d refused well-meaning friends had got rather angry with her and worried about her mental health. “So I got rid of them. I’ve been very lonely. But I knew you’d come back for me.” Martin was touched. He didn’t want to
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