The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy Page 2

  ‘Trying to escape the Valentine aisle, eh?’ he grinned and tutted, and I saw his eyes quickly check out my ringless left hand.

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled, adopting a rueful expression. ‘As far as I’m concerned, this section of the supermarket is akin to hell on Earth.’

  ‘Ah, a woman who has been burned.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I replied. I was still smiling, but the smile had gone brittle around the edges.

  ‘Er, look,’ said the man hesitantly, a sudden shyness entering his tone, ‘I know I don’t know you or anything… and you might think I’m being outrageously forward, but… do you fancy having a coffee?’ He nodded his head at Tesco’s Costa corner, which, admittedly, was emitting delicious smells of ground coffee beans.

  I stared at him in surprise. He was handsome. Very handsome. If my mother had been with me, she’d have physically dragged the pair of us over to the Costa corner and then whipped out her diary and asked when we both had a mutually convenient date to pop into Sidcup Registry Office on the way home. But the last thing I needed was a gorgeous-looking stranger issuing an invitation for coffee. It might not lead to Sidcup Registry Office, but it could potentially lead to my heart being broken. And that was a no-no. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I just—’ I shrugged helplessly. Hopelessly. ‘I can’t.’

  And before the man could say another word, I put my head down, tucked my elbows in, and pushed my way out of the hateful aisle full of red roses and romance.

  As I headed off to aisle three, I pondered, what exactly was true love? Whatever it was, Nick and I hadn’t had it, although it had taken me far too long to come to that realisation. Pippa and Boring Brian surely hadn’t had it either, despite the dewy-eyed looks they always gave each other. Why else would Pippa cheat on Brian? Not that he’d ever found out. She’d begged me not to tell him. I hadn’t deigned to respond, but much as I’d wanted to lash out and blast a few holes in her marriage, I wasn’t the sort of person who deliberately hurt an innocent. And Brian was innocent.

  I sighed heavily. Why on earth was I thinking about the past? It was Mum’s fault. All her manic efforts to constantly pair me up with Mr Lonely of Longfield and Mr Desperate of Dartford. The only men currently in my life were my father, my son and my delinquent dog. And that was enough. It was at that moment my mobile phone rang. I glanced at the caller display and pursed my lips.

  ‘Mum,’ I said.

  ‘I was just thinking about you,’ she began.

  ‘Funnily enough, I was doing the same,’ I said wryly.

  ‘Aw, that’s nice,’ she said, blissfully unaware of me blaming her for my gloomy reminiscing. ‘Now I know I only saw you half an hour ago, but I’ve just got home and was telling Dad about you being all on your own tonight, and he said why don’t you come over and join us for dinner? What do you think, hmm?’

  There was something about my mother’s tone that instantly had me on red alert. She sounded almost desperate for me to accept her dinner invitation. Now, why would that be?

  ‘Thanks, Mum, but I have the evening all planned out. It’s just me, Buddy, possibly Jo, a supermarket curry, and the telly.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the dating programme.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Ooh, I know!’ she said, practically squealing at her sudden light bulb moment. ‘Forget Jo, and watch it here with us. What do you say? Eh, Hattie? C’mon,’ she wheedled. ‘And anyway, Dad’s put together a tub of flowers for your patio, so you could take it home with you afterwards.’

  ‘Tell Dad thank you, but I’ll drop by and pick it up tomorrow.’

  ‘No, no, Hattie,’ she said, her tone unexpectedly emphatic. ‘I absolutely insist you join us for dinner.’

  ‘Mum, I only saw you a little while ago. Why the sudden invitation?’

  ‘Well, Fin said he’s having a takeaway tonight, so we thought we’d get one too. And we’d love you to join us. That’s all.’

  But my mother wasn’t fooling me. I smelt a rat.

  ‘Who else will be there?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Is there an echo on this line?’

  I heard a gasp of frustration crackling down the handset. ‘If you must know,’ she hissed, ‘Margery’s here. She was just passing, but your father invited her to stay for dinner. I know I’m a brilliant cook, but even I can’t rustle up something amazing at such short notice. So we’re having a takeaway.’

  ‘And let me guess. Mark is there, too.’

  ‘Er, I’m not sure, let me think, erm…’

  ‘Oh, Mum, spare me the charade. I can hear him laughing in the background with Dad.’

  Apart from Mark’s buck teeth and specs that looked like they’d come out of a Third World recycling bin, the man had been bestowed with a laugh that made Sid James sound refined.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Mum brightly, ‘you’re quite right, he is here. Fancy that!’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t,’ I said pointedly. ‘Apart from anything else, I can’t possibly leave Buddy alone for too long.’

  ‘Bring Buddy with you!’ Mum cried.

  ‘Are you mad? The last time he came to your house, he chased poor Wilbur up onto the drinks cabinet and barked incessantly.’

  ‘We’ll put Wilbur in one of the bedrooms and shut the door,’ said Mum. ‘So that’s a yes then?’

  ‘No!’ I howled, causing another shopper to turn and stare in my direction. I huddled over the mobile phone, speaking low into the handset. ‘Listen carefully, I shall say it only once.’ For one surreal moment I felt like I’d dropped into a scene from ’Allo ’Allo. ‘I do not want to spend Saturday night with Mark Jackson. Not this week. Not next week. Not ever. Understood?’

  ‘Well really, Hattie, I do think you’re being terribly ungrateful,’ said Mum, adopting a hurt tone. I rolled my eyes at the shelves of baked beans to my left. Why did my mother do this to me? And why was I made to feel so guilty? But before I could answer her, something extraordinary happened. Something enormous appeared in my peripheral vision. Something large, and white, falling from the ceiling. Too late I realised that the sign for aisle three was zooming through the air. As it caught me with a glancing blow, I automatically threw out my hands to fend it off, and sent a shelf full of Mr Heinz’s products cascading everywhere. My feet came down on rolling tins and, like a cartoon character frantically running but getting nowhere, there were a few seconds of panicky activity before I tipped backwards, head slamming painfully against the hard floor. My last coherent thought was that I now had a legitimate reason not to spend the evening with Mark Jackson. And then everything went black.

  Three

  When I came to, there was no sign of my shopping trolley, or the scattered cans of baked beans, nor any shoppers looking shocked with their mouths formed in a perfect O. I appeared to be lying down on a large comfortable sofa in an equally large and comfortable room. On the far side, enormous picture windows opened to the veranda overlooking a panoramic view of green hills. I blinked. Strange. I’d not seen those hills before. In fact, I wasn’t aware of any hills in the town of Sidcup. But then again, the back of Tesco ran adjacent to the A2 and actually, yes, didn’t the A2 run through a rather verdant stretch? Perhaps I had simply never noticed these hills before as I’d shot along the dual carriageway in my car.

  ‘Ah, you’re awake,’ said a male voice.

  I sat up, swivelling my neck as I did so. A good-looking guy in white jeans and a matching open-necked shirt was seated in a winged armchair to my right. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. There was a hazy recollection of seeing him somewhere before but… no… it was eluding me. It was as if a veil had been flung over a distant memory. Probably due to the bump on the head. Or maybe it was because he reminded me of the American actor Bradley Cooper, so just seemed familiar? For one fleeting moment, I wished I’d bothered to put on some make-up this morning. That thought had barely registered in my brain, when I dismissed it. Why are you thinking about making y
ourself look attractive, Hattie? That’s the last thing you want to do. Especially when the guy is a looker like this one. He has ‘heartbreaker’ stamped all over him.

  ‘Don’t stand up,’ he said quickly, as I made to swing my legs off the sofa. ‘Just rest for a moment. Take some deep breaths. That’s it, well done. That was quite a bump to the head. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Er, fine, thanks,’ I answered, carefully sitting up. I had no recollection of leaving the shop floor. I must have blacked out for a few minutes. How odd. After a wallop like that, I’d have thought a headache would have been an absolute cert. After all, that was an almighty smack I’d taken. A part of me winced as I recalled the sound in my ears before I’d lost consciousness. It had been like eggs cracking. Automatically, I put up one hand and tentatively touched the back of my head. Everything was intact. It didn’t even feel bruised. How peculiar. ‘Are you the manager?’

  ‘No,’ he said, giving me a kind smile. ‘The manager here is a big shot, and pretty busy right now with other matters.’

  Ah. So this guy must be second in command. The assistant manager. I raised an eyebrow at the casual clothes. Perhaps Tesco liked their upper echelon of staff to dress in a relaxed fashion because it made them feel less stressed out when they were studying the profit and loss columns or planning marketing strategies? For a deputy, he had the most amazingly plush office. And I’d certainly worked in a few in my youth, but nothing quite as grand as this. I had no idea that supermarkets looked after their employees so well. Perhaps I should give up my dog-walking ‘career’ – where I was out in all weathers – and apply for a spot of cosy shelf-filling. There was probably a staff canteen in another part of the building which, if this room was anything to go by, might be like The Ritz, offering staff tea breaks with cream scones on porcelain plates. I made a mental note to look online when I was back home and check out any vacancies.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Hattie?’ the assistant manager asked.

  How did he know my name? Ah, of course. No doubt some well-meaning member of staff had gone through my handbag and found my driver’s licence tucked away in my purse.

  ‘Yes please, I’d love a cuppa.’

  I wondered if I should ask for lots of sugar too. It was meant to be good for shock, wasn’t it? And I’d certainly had a big one, hitting my head like that.

  ‘Here,’ said the assistant manager, getting up and moving towards me. I was astonished to see him holding a cup of tea. On the saucer rested a teaspoon and several packets of sugar. ‘You might want to tip all the sugar in. It’s very soothing after a trauma.’

  ‘Th-thank you,’ I stuttered in surprise. As I took the tea from him, I couldn’t help but discreetly glance around the room for an inconspicuous and ultra-quiet tea-making machine. Not finding one, I deduced that the assistant manager’s fancy chair must have some sort of high-tech inbuilt gadget that produced a brew in a nanosecond. Good heavens, this supermarket certainly had all the latest technology. I made another mental note to check out the white goods aisle when I left here and see if they sold such machines to the general public. I was about to balance the cup and saucer on my lap whilst opening a packet of sugar, when I noticed an occasional table in front of me. I paused in my sugar opening and stared at it. That hadn’t been there a moment ago… had it? I shook my head in bemusement. That bang on the head must have affected me more than I realised. Setting the tea down, I emptied all the sugar packets into the hot liquid. Picking up the teaspoon, a thought occurred to me. Ah. Hang on a mo... I stirred the tea, my mind whirring. Yes, it was coming to me now. I was receiving all this marvellous attention in this beautiful room by this charmingly good-looking man because Tesco were worried I was going to slap a lawsuit on them. After all, if their sign hadn’t fallen from the ceiling, I wouldn’t have accidentally knocked all those tins of baked beans off the shelf, thus falling down and hurting myself.

  Bradley Cooper didn’t return to his chair, instead settling himself down at the other end of my sofa. I took a sip of tea and eyed him speculatively. I wasn’t the sort to jump on the compensation bandwagon, but if I was offered tonight’s supermarket korma on the house by way of an apology, I wouldn’t say no.

  ‘Incidentally, Tesco aren’t worried about you suing them,’ he said, eyes twinkling mischievously.

  I paused, mid-slurp. ‘Pardon?’ What a coincidence. He’d voiced aloud the very thoughts I’d been thinking.

  ‘But if you want a Saturday-night korma in front of the telly, then I’m sure the manager will arrange it.’

  My mouth dropped open. ‘How did you know—?’

  ‘It’s a little gift I have.’

  ‘Gift?’ I said stupidly. What was this guy talking about? Did Tesco train their staff to read body language? Was this man a bit like Derren Brown, sussing me out because of the particular way I held my tea cup, perhaps a certain angle meaning I was responsive to suggestion?

  ‘Although,’ he added, furrowing his brow, ‘regarding the Saturday-night spice in front of the telly, you can’t beat the real deal. Caribbean curry is the best – would you like to go there?’

  I narrowed my eyes over the rim of the cup as I sipped. Yes, he was definitely reading my body language. It was also becoming clearer by the second that despite him saying Tesco weren’t bothered about being sued, this wasn’t the case at all. Why else was I being offered a bigger sweetener than all those little packets of sugar? Because, Hattie, the last thing a supermarket wants is a national scandal! Indeed. I could see the headlines now.

  Woman spills beans over supermarket hush-up!

  * * *

  Sacked supermarket manager is now a has-bean!

  * * *

  Injured customer bribed with a trip to the Carib-Bean!

  ‘Listen, Mr Cooper, I’m not up for bribery.’

  ‘My name is Iam.’

  I stared at him. What sort of weird name was that?

  ‘Tell you what, call me Josh. It’s easier to remember.’

  He stood up abruptly and walked over to the large picture window, hands in pockets, expression thoughtful, and momentarily stared at the mountains. Wait… a few moments ago they’d been green hills. I frowned and leant forward, staring ahead at the vista beyond. Definitely snow-capped peaks. There were no mountains in Sidcup. Of that I was one hundred per cent sure. In which case… where the flipping heck was I?

  ‘To answer your question, Hattie, I first need to tell you what happened.’

  ‘Are you reading my mind?’ I gasped.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘But don’t worry,’ he assured me, seeing my look of alarm, ‘I can’t read anything that is… how can I put this… sensitive. So, if you’re thinking something very personal, those thoughts are not accessible to me.’

  I didn’t respond. I was too confused. Perhaps the accident had knocked me out and I hadn’t yet come to? Maybe everything that was happening now was, in fact, some sort of strange dream? Why else would tea be appearing without kettles boiling, or tables materialising out of thin air, or hills turning into mountains or…?

  My mind screeched to a halt as I stared at the assistant manager in disbelief. His white jeans and shirt appeared to be glowing.

  ‘What on earth—?’

  ‘Firstly, Hattie,’ he interrupted, ‘you might have thought that aisle three’s sign fell from the ceiling, but it didn’t. It was an illusion created to interrupt your life, and with very good reason. Secondly, you aren’t in Sidcup. This room is not an office, and I’m not an assistant manager. Take another sip of that sugary tea, because what I’m going to tell you will be the biggest shock of all.’

  But I didn’t need this man to deliver any further mind-boggling revelations, because the pennies were rolling around in my brain, clattering into place as the awful realisation dawned. I’d only flaming well gone and died!

  Four

  I dropped the teacup with a clatter, instantly spilling hot liquid over my thighs. Before I could even cry out
with pain, the tannin stains evaporated, my trousers were suddenly dry, and the teacup – magically replenished – safely set down on the occasional table. I couldn’t deal with this. Nor was I going to.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, Mr Cooper… Iam… whatever-your-name-is—’

  ‘Josh,’ he said quickly.

  ‘—but I cannot, indeed will not be stopping here. Is that clear? I have a son who needs me. And a dog,’ I added, ‘who is currently in his crate and will be cross-legged if I don’t get home to let him out. Fin isn’t home until sometime tomorrow.’ I tore at my hair in frustration. This simply could not be happening. Apart from anything else, I didn’t believe in life after death. No, no, no, I’d definitely hit my head. I was probably in a hospital somewhere, full of morphine for the injury, and having some sort of psychedelic drug-induced trip. Yes, that was it. It had to be it, there could be no other explanation.

  ‘Hattie, please don’t panic,’ said Josh, turning his back on the huge window and walking towards me. Despite the bewildering circumstances and my immense confusion, Bradley Cooper was giving off a wonderful vibe, so much so that I somehow knew he was both good-humoured and kind. Instinctively I felt I could trust him. He crouched down in front of me, hesitating a moment before gently taking both my hands in his. They felt very real. Very warm. In fact, his touch was sending some pleasantly nice tingles up and down my spine. Oh terrific, Hattie. Not only are you tripping on morphine, you’re having a sexy reaction to a cosmic Bradley Cooper lookalike.

  ‘I can tell you’re thinking something,’ he said, ‘but I’m not privy to this particular set of thoughts.’

  Thank heavens for small mercies.