Desperately Seeking Heaven

LOVE, UNEXPECTED

Love always comes when you least expect it, at least that’s what PA Alice Fletcher tells herself as she looks forward to another Friday night of trash telly and wine-for-one.

But what happens when the unexpected is daytime TV crush Jimmy Mack, and he’s sitting on your couch watching the news… of the accident that claimed his life?

Soon, Alice finds her ordered life turned upside down by helping Jimmy cross over to the ‘other side’.

But most unexpected of all is Alice’s growing realisation that her gorgeous ghost has taken up residence in her heart as well as in her home.

Desperately Seeking Heaven

Jill Steeples

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Jill Steeples 2013

Jill Steeples asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472043429

Version date: 2018-07-23

JILL STEEPLES lives in a small market town in Bedfordshire with her husband and two children.

From an early age she fell in love with the fabulously funny romances of Jilly Cooper, and vowed, one day, she would have a go at writing one of her own.

Jill loves writing short stories, particularly those with a twist in the tail, and her work has appeared in popular women’s magazines around the world and in a number of charity anthologies.

This is her first novel.

A big thank you to the Geese, the loveliest, most generous and talented bunch of writers you could wish to meet, for their support, encouragement and most of all, the giggles.

For Nick, Tom and Ellie

With my love

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I’m not superstitious. Not really. I mean I wouldn’t walk underneath a ladder or anything like that because that would be silly. And if I see a magpie then naturally I’d do a little scout around the area to see if I can find his mate and if not I’ll chirp, ‘Good Morning, Mr Magpie, how are you and your family today?’, but that’s just normal stuff. The sort of thing everyone does, right? And it wasn’t as if Friday 13th held any trepidation for me whatsoever because it’s just a day like any other day. Or at least I thought it was. That was until that strange afternoon. The afternoon of Friday 13th March when the events that unfolded were to change my life and my loves forever.

‘You still here?’ Damon Mitchell was standing in the doorway to my office, bouncing a ball casually on the floor, his usual sharp suit replaced with white three-quarter length shorts and a low-slung vest, showing off muscles I hadn’t known he possessed. The sight on a Friday afternoon was startling in the extreme and I glanced away, feeling a colour tinge my cheeks, before sneaking another look.

‘Almost done,’ I said breezily, picking up the management reports from my desk and popping them in the drawer below, locking the cabinet shut with my key.

When I looked up, Damon was bent over, stretching his hamstrings, looking up at me from beneath his floppy fringe. Did he really have to do that in my office?

‘We’re still a player short, Alice. Why don’t you come along? You never know, you might enjoy yourself.’

‘Ha, believe me, I know,’ I laughed. I had no desire to be getting hot and sweaty in front of Damon. No, retaining a dignified distance at all times was definitely the way to go with the likes of ace sportsmen like Damon. I pushed my chair beneath my desk before reaching for my jacket from the coat stand. ‘Ball games are not my thing. But you have a great time. You can tell me all about it on Monday.’

‘Ah well, at least I tried. You have a good weekend, Alice.’

‘Yeah, you too, Damon.’

It wasn’t just that I’m not the athletic type without any competitive spirit whatsoever. As PA to Simon Ibottson, CEO of Merron Enterprises, I’d always stayed a respectful distance away from the chummy camaraderie that existed on the sales, marketing and finance floors. I couldn’t really be seen to be indulging in the late-night drinking sessions even if I’d wanted to. Instead, I tried to hold onto a professional and friendly demeanour at all times.

‘Night, Alice!’ he called.

Outside, still smiling, I climbed into my car, deciding because of the uncharacteristically warm weather to pull down the lid. The first time that year. It was one of those glorious spring days that tantalises with the promise of summer and the prospect of a whole weekend ahead with nothing to do was bliss. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the week’s stresses melt away. A couple of glossy magazines, a pile of soppy rom-com DVDs, a box of tissues, a family bag of Maltesers and a couple of bottles of Sauvignon Blanc. There, my weekend was now satisfyingly chock-a-bloc.

I took the back roads home, a journey I could have done with my eyes shut, although even in my carefree state I was sensible enough to realise that probably wasn’t the best option. I loved that drive, my eyes always picking out something new along the country lanes that wound their way through the villages. The picturesque backdrop of green tended fields, stone buildings and colourful bulbs popping their heads up greeting the lengthening days only heightened my sense of well-being. With the CD player turned up high, the wind blowing through my hair, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, doo-whopping along to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It was only as I rounded the sharp bend before the road opened up into beckoning countryside that I became aware of something. Something odd. A sense of dread rose in my chest. Where was everyone? It was a Friday afternoon and there wasn’t a soul around. Despite me being buffeted by the wind there was a noticeable stillness that lent an eerie quality to the surroundings.

Shivering, I drove on and that’s when my foot took on a life force of its own, involuntarily slamming down onto the brake as I wrestled with the steering wheel, guiding the car into a small cut-away at the side of a large field. My breath quickening, I climbed out and, standing on tiptoes, gazed over the hedgerow at the scene in front of me. Oh my good God! I hadn’t imagined it. A car, silver, large, was upended, its wheels still spinning, the side panels crushed, its windows shattered. On the ground twenty feet away from the car was a solitary figure crumpled on the grass

Oh no, no, no!

I don’t do blood or infirmity or disaster. Frantically I looked around, desperate for someone to join me, preferably a paramedic type, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. It was up to me to go over, but my feet felt welded to the ground. Surely no one could have crawled out of that car alive. Reaching inside my jacket for my mobile, I started to walk, before quickly breaking into a run, looking ahead and trying at the same time to find my phone. Damn! Where was the bloody thing?

Within moments I was beside the wreckage and almost wept with relief to find that the bundle on the ground was in fact a man, alive and if not exactly kicking, looking remarkably unscathed, as he sat there, his arms hugging his knees.

‘Thank god,’ I gasped, ‘are you all right?’ I bent down to meet his eyes, my hand reaching out to touch his shoulder as if to check he was in one piece.

‘Hi.’ He smiled lightly, his piercing grey eyes latching onto mine, holding me entranced. He ran a hand through mussed-up black hair, before extending his arm in friendly greeting as if we’d just been introduced at some social occasion.

‘My phone!’ I needed my bloody phone. ‘I think I’ve left it in my car.’ Don’t panic, I screeched inwardly, my arms waving frantically towards the main road. ‘I’ll just run and fetch it, ring for an ambulance.’

‘No! Don’t.’ He spoke with an authority that stopped me in mid-flight.

‘But you need to be checked over. You look, um…’ Awful. He looked worse than awful, but in such a beguiling way that I couldn’t drag my eyes away from him. His warm brown voice was gently hypnotic too. Weirdly, it was like reconnecting with a long-lost friend. ‘A bit peaky to me,’ I managed, my hands reaching out to touch his face. ‘You’re probably in shock.’

He emitted a hollow laugh.

‘Shock? Yeah, I am a bit.’ He shook his head, bemused. ‘But really I’m okay.’ His expression softened. ‘Besides, the emergency services, they’ve been.’

‘What? And just left you here? No. They wouldn’t do that.’

‘No.’ He eased himself up to a standing position, his long body uncurling. He must have been six foot two at least, the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders clearly defined beneath his creased blue shirt. ‘The accident, it happened earlier. The police and ambulance came and sorted everything. It’s fine. All fine.’ He brushed himself down distractedly. ‘They gave me the all clear. There’s nothing to worry about. I just came back to have a look. To see what happened.’ He let out a long slow whistle. ‘Can’t believe the state of the car.’

‘Me neither.’ I turned to look at the mangled mess. The accident had happened earlier? I felt certain I’d missed it by only a matter of minutes. I must have imagined those wheels spinning. Still, this guy looked pretty shook up. And what was he thinking coming back to examine the wreckage? He couldn’t just hang around here in the middle of a field, reliving the awful incident over in his mind. A light wind was whipping across the hedges, taunting my goose bumps. It wouldn’t do him any good stuck in the freezing cold after the trauma he’d just been through. One thing was for certain though, his car wasn’t going anywhere but the salvage yard.

‘Is someone coming to pick you up?’

He tilted his head, looking at me puzzled.

‘They’ll have to take the car away. Examine it, I guess.’ His hand caressed the misshapen metal of the bonnet.

‘No, I meant you, is someone coming to collect you? To take you home?’

‘I don’t know.’ He gave a funny little laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’

Really it was shocking the way the state of the country was going. This guy was clearly in a bad way. OK so he had no broken bones, but anyone with an inch of compassion could tell that he was in deep shock. His dark eyes were hollow, his skin tinged with grey and the hairs on his arms were standing on end. What were the emergency services thinking, leaving the poor man in this condition? He should be in hospital being checked over or at least at home tucked up in bed.

‘Look, come with me,’ I said, offering my arm, ‘let’s go to my car and then we’ll decide what to do.’

‘Will you take me home?’ he asked, his voice lifting.

‘Of course, I will.’ I patted his arm gently, the touch of his skin under my fingers sending an icy chill down my bones. ‘Gosh, you’re freezing. Come on, I’ve got a blanket in the car. Do you think I should ring someone? Tell them what’s happened, that you’re OK?’

‘No, there’s no one,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I, um,’ he faltered, shaking his head again as if trying to make sense of it all, putting on a brave face for my benefit. My heart tugged at his vulnerability. ‘Could we go to yours, maybe?’ he added.

His imploring gaze touched me deep inside. I didn’t know why, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t face going home yet. For the moment it seemed he wanted only the comfort of a stranger.

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ We walked together away from the crash scene, me hanging onto his arm unsure whether I was supporting him or whether he was holding me up. ‘I only live down the road. I think we could both do with a nice cup of tea. Then we can think about having you looked over, seeing a doctor or something.’

‘Tea sounds good,’ he said, in barely more than a whisper.

It wasn’t until I’d put him in the passenger seat and tucked a blanket around his frozen limbs, pulling closed the lid of the car, that the second really freaky thing of the day occurred to me. Manoeuvring the car out of the lay-by, I glanced across at the man whose name I didn’t know yet with a stirring of recognition. And then I looked at him again, examining the defined jawline, the set of his mouth which made him look as though he was permanently smiling, and the deep-set grey eyes which when they focused on you made you feel that you were at the centre of his universe.

It was the eyes that were the clincher. Intense and magnetic, they’d held my gaze on many an occasion. With a jolt of recognition, I gasped. James McArthur, Mr Daytime television himself, affectionately known as Jimmy Mack to his adoring public, was sitting in my car. The realisation turned me into a gibbering quivering wreck. Oh my gawd!

His black hair, usually worn short and neat on screen, had grown longer and swept over one eye, offering him a mysterious air. Wayward tendrils skimmed the edge of his collar and I had to supress an urge to lean over and tidy them up with my fingers.

He was even more gorgeous in the flesh than on the screen, if that was possible, and my breath caught at the back of my throat as my pulse went into overdrive. Being a master in stating the bleeding obvious, I said, ever-so-not-so-casually, ‘You’re Jimmy Mack, aren’t you? Off the telly?’ Talk about losing all coolness and credibility in the space of a few seconds.

He turned his gaze on me, smiled a megawatt smile that sent my insides to mush, and nodded.

‘What’s your name, then?’ he asked, as if it had only just occurred to him that I might have one.

‘Alice. Alice Fletcher.’ Now it was me shaking my head. I couldn’t help imagining what everyone would say when I told them I’d acted as a guardian angel to probably the most recognisable man in the public eye and we were planning on sharing a cup of tea together. How amazing was that? Maybe I’d even get to appear on his show. “Meet Alice Fletcher, the heroine who rescued our very own Jimmy Mack from his car wreckage.” That was exactly the sort of sensationalism his show went in for.

Back at my flat in a flurry of heightened excitement, I clucked around him like a mother hen. I made him a cup of tea, put him on the sofa, threw a duvet over him and generally watched over him. I was desperate to contact someone, anyone to let them know what had happened, but he wasn’t having any of it. Maybe he was on his way to somewhere he shouldn’t have been, I mused, wondering about the private side to this very public man.

Probably once he’d had a rallying cup of tea, gathered his thoughts a little, I’d be able to get more sense out of him, but for the time being he wasn’t the most forthcoming of house guests.

‘I think I might just close my eyes for a moment.’ He put down his empty mug on the wicker coffee table and settled back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Is that OK?’

‘Yes, you go ahead. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with here. Just give me a shout if you need anything.’

A little thrill of excitement ran through me. Was Jimmy Mack really sitting on my sofa? Or was I part of some elaborate TV prank? He looked real enough to me. As his eyes flickered shut, I studied his familiar features more closely. The contours of his face, the strong turn of his jaw, the wide lips smiling even in rest; it was like looking at a member of my family. Weirdly, it seemed perfectly natural that he should be sitting there.

But then again…

What if something happened to him?

A ripple of unease rose in my throat. What if he fell into some sort of delayed coma? Or contracted hypothermia, ending up dead in my living room? That would take some explaining. Before I’d even had chance to grab a couple of autographs off him as well. Desperation bubbled up in me. Celebrity or not, I had to get him out of my flat pdq so that the responsibility of looking after the nation’s favourite presenter could be offloaded onto someone else.

For the moment though, he wasn’t going anywhere. He looked right at home on my squidgy sofa, his head resting on his arm. I supposed it was only natural he’d want to sleep after the ordeal he’d been through. It seemed a shame to wake him so instead I wandered into the kitchen, placing the dirty cups into the dishwasher. I threw some washing into the washing machine. Skimmed the pile of paperwork waiting patiently on the side. Checked my emails. Then I read my horoscope in the local newspaper.

“A chance encounter could bring unexpected results. Keep an open mind and go with the flow, you never know where it might lead you!”

Ha, I laughed out loud. There wasn’t much else I could do in the circumstances!

No, all I could do was wait. I drummed my fingertips on the worktop, frequently gazing over at my guest looking for any signs of life. And then I waited some more.

At eight o’clock with no sign of my visitor rousing, I made another cup of tea and a lot more noise in the process. I flung open cupboard doors, banged mugs down on the surfaces and hummed loudly. It was no good; a more direct approach was required.

‘Jimmy?’ I leant over him, whispering in his ear. A musky earthy scent reached my nostrils. ‘Jimmy,’ I said, gently shaking his shoulder, ‘would you like another cup of tea?’

He murmured something unintelligible which, after that amount of time, was an almighty relief I have to say.

‘Good,’ I said, sharply. ‘Then perhaps you’d like something to eat. Might make you feel a bit better.’ Then perhaps you’ll vacate my sofa and leave me alone to my weekend of domestic bliss, I kept to myself. ‘I’ll put the telly on, shall I? We can catch the news.’

I zapped the remote at the telly, popped into the kitchen to fetch the mugs of tea and came back into the living room. That’s when I received the third and most spectacularly freaky shock of the day. So much so that I screamed, dropping the mugs to the floor, the contents spraying my cream leather sofa and gardenia walls. That woke him, once and for all.

‘Jesus Christ! What is it?’ He leapt up from the sofa, only just escaping the spouting hot liquid, and looked at me accusingly.

‘You. It’s you.’ I looked from him to the screen. ‘On the telly.’ I pointed at the box in the corner of the room for good measure just in case he had any doubt as to what I was freaking out about.

We were standing a hair’s breath away from each other and I felt a surge of emotion rise within me, the air in the room suddenly electrified.

‘You!’ I repeated, my mouth gaping open like a befuddled goldfish.

‘Oh… yes,’ he said, having the grace to look a little sheepish, ‘perhaps I should have mentioned it.’

I sank down onto the sofa in the place recently vacated by Jimmy, my head falling into my hands. Maybe there’d been some kind of mistake.

‘You’re… you’re…’ I gulped, no it couldn’t be. ‘You’re… dead?’ I faltered, looking up into his eyes, which seemed so much greyer and deeper than before.

He shrugged, an apologetic smile forming on lips.

‘Yep, I am.’

No mistake then.

The whole country was in mourning following the tragic death of one of the country’s most well-known and well-loved celebrities in a freak accident. Grim-faced newsreaders repeated the news of the untimely demise of Mr Nice-Guy raking over the details of his last hours to find answers to the most unfathomable question. How exactly had Jimmy Mack died? Why had it happened? What private demons had driven Jimmy Mack to an early grave?

In the surreal surroundings of my flat which had taken on an other-worldly quality with the presence of Jimmy lounging on my sofa, the television confirmed to me what I really didn’t want to believe. I was now wrapped up under the duvet, having nabbed it back from Jimmy considering my need to be much greater than his. Hardly daring to surface, only my eyes peeped over the top of the cover at the screen, as tears rolled down my cheeks for the dead man standing beside me.

‘Oh, don’t cry!’ he said, pacing up and down and flapping his arms ineffectively.

‘Don’t cry? Are you serious?’ I jumped up from the sofa and followed him step for step across the carpet. ‘You are… a hugely famous TV star and you’re standing in my living room and if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough… you’re also… you’re also dead! How do you expect me to react?’

‘Yeah, well if it’s any consolation, it’s pretty weird for me too. Do you think I wanted to end up here? I should be on my way to the Heavenly Hilton or wherever it is you’re supposed to go, escorted by a couple of blonde angels.’

‘Oh God!’ I cried, attempting to hurl the duvet across the room, but only managing to tangle it between my legs. ‘Let’s just get this clear,’ I added, slowing my breathing, ‘you are actually… a ghost, then?’

‘Well, it looks that way.’ He actually laughed. As if this were a laughing matter. He glanced down at his moleskin trousers, the pale blue chambray shirt; his sleeves rolled to his elbows, with not even the tiniest speck of blood in sight. He looked real enough to me, solid, living, eminently touchable.

‘Oh, no, no, no. I just can’t get my head around this at all.’

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table and blew my nose noisily, looking at Jimmy accusingly. What the hell were we supposed to do now? Who should I call? The police, the doctor, an undertaker?

I took a deep breath.

‘So, um, tell me. H-how did it happen then? The accident?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing, I don’t really know. It all happened so quickly. I was on my way to my parents’ place in Mettlesham. It’s their ruby wedding anniversary this weekend and I was supposed to be taking them out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’ He screwed up his mouth, looking wistful. ‘I left the studio early afternoon and as it was such a beautiful day I decided to take the back roads instead of using the motorway.’ He paused as if reliving those last few moments. ‘I came round the bend and then, well, the steering just flew out of my hands. There was nothing I could do. The car flipped over and over. I didn’t think it was going to stop. And then my head hit the steering wheel or the dashboard, I can’t remember which. And that was it. Game over.’