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WHAT LIFE CAN BE: A short story by Tamsyn To Alec Masters, contemplating suicide, being in the right place at the right time did not seem particularly lucky. But one good turn always deserves another. Alec Masters had just about reached the end of the line. It had a long time in coming -about 58 years, all but a couple of months- but at long last he had finally reached the signpost that read 'Road closed ahead'. In the big scheme of things, the final straw was nothing exceptionally dramatic, but it was just the final link in a long, long chain. He sat silently contemplating the pint of beer on the table in front of him, watching the tiny air bubbles as they rose lazily to join the foam at the top of the glass. At least something was moving upwards, he thought. Alec was unable to say where everything had started to go wrong. At birth, he would probably remark if pressed on the matter, but his childhood, growing up on the outskirts of Gloucester, had been quite happy. An only child, his parents were happily married and comfortably off, and Alec had it much easier than some of his friends. Though not naturally academic he had done well at primary school, and had passed the eleven-plus examination that granted him entry to a local grammar school. The results from his final 'A' level exams had been good enough to allow him to be considered for entry to the Royal Air Force College at Cranwell, to train to be an officer, and he took his interviews and tests and was accepted. Perhaps that was where it had gone wrong, he wondered, raising the glass to his lips and taking a mouthful of beer. It had been a long time since his last drink of alcohol, and he ought to have appreciated it more. He couldn't say he was that enamoured, if truth be told. Perhaps he should have asked for cider. Alec had been offered a job in the city by the father of one of his friends, which would almost surely have led on to good things and good pay. It was almost impossible not to do well in the city if you applied yourself and weren't a total idiot. But instead he had gone ahead with his application to the RAF. He wasn't the best recruit in his intake; he struggled with some of the requirements of the course, particularly the physical aspects, but he completed the eighteen weeks and attended the passing out parade with his fellow trainees. His parents had watched on proudly. In those days the Cold War was at its height, and Alec trained as an intelligence officer. He was posted to West Germany, serving in the front line on a base where nuclear-armed jets were ready to be launched night or day across the Iron Curtain. He enjoyed his role, and undertook two tours in Germany doing it. Of course, it wasn't just the job; the opportunities for a young, free and single serviceman were legendary, and he enjoyed them to the hilt. He lost his virginity in a flat above a small-town barber shop, to a gorgeous German blonde called Hanna. After six years screwing his way around the women of Germany and managing to avoid picking up an STD he was posted back to Blighty, becoming a training officer at the intelligence school in Kent, passing on his experience to new recruits from all three of the armed services. While at Ashford he became engaged to a local girl. They married, which both soon realised was a mistake, and were living apart after only six months. The divorce was not finalised until a year later, by which time he was badgering his commanding officer about a return to a frontline base. Germany, anywhere, so long as it was away from Ashford. He was a good teacher, however, and his CO did not want to lose him. With his initial nine-year term of service approaching Alec decided not to sign on for a further period, and resigned his commission. He left Kent and went to Yorkshire, which was far enough away. That was probably it, Alec thought, putting his half empty glass down. Perhaps he should have stayed in the RAF. He had been good, and if he'd stuck Ashford out for a year or two longer, he would have been in prime spot for a posting to NATO in Brussels. In Yorkshire Alec settled down. He joined the health authority, working in forward planning, where he was able to use his analytical skills in developing new ways of working. He got married again, this time successfully, and two daughters soon followed. Over the next decade he did well at work, and by the time he was forty he was recruited by a big NHS Hospital Trust down south to take up a new role in planning. The family moved to Hampshire, the girls settling into their new school, and he got to grips with his new job. That's more like it, he considered. Of course. That was where it all went wrong. He should have stayed in Yorkshire. He took another mouthful of beer. The new job was hard work and stressful, and after a year had passed the first cracks started to appear in the marriage. To ease the stress, he started to drink more, while long hours at work meant plenty of microwave meals and takeaways. Though he had never been the slimmest of men to start with, his weight ballooned as a result. Alec and his wife were drifting further apart, and one day he learned to his surprise that his wife had been having an affair. He was more shocked to find that it was with another woman, someone she knew from her work. She decided that they should separate with a view to divorcing. It was difficult for the two girls, by now in their teens, but it was an amicable arrangement and they shared custody. Then came his heart attack. It was only due to him being present in the hospital that he survived, so severe was it, and he woke three days later to find that he had been the subject of a triple bypass operation. Several months of recuperation and rehabilitation followed, but he never truly recovered his fitness, and the drinking became worse. He had always been something of a heavy drinker, but by the time he was fifty he was a confirmed alcoholic, and had been medically retired with a decent payoff. For a long time, he did not see the problem, did not notice as his daughters, by now young women, eventually stopped visiting him, as his friends drifted away. As long as he had a bottle in his hand, he was happy. His flat that he had moved to after the divorce started to take on the appearance of a hovel, and it all came to a head when he was found unconscious at the bottom of the steps leading up to the second floor of his building, having fallen down them and suffering a swelling on his brain from hitting his head. He pulled through somehow, and it kickstarted a lengthy rehabilitation from his addiction. He pulled his life together, cleaned up his shit as the expression went, and in the last few years had made a new life for himself. He spent a lot of time working with injured servicemen; during his time in uniform there had not been any wars to fight, but there had been many in more recent years, and many young men -and women- were physically or mentally scarred, and in some cases both. Alec's attempts to build bridges with his daughters came to nothing however; the last time he'd tried to speak to his eldest girl, she'd slapped him across the face and in no uncertain terms told him where to go. Even his ex-wife, now married to her former girlfriend, had been unable to convince them. In the end he stopped trying, and carried on with his life, until yesterday morning. A post from an acquaintance on Facebook had featured a photograph of his youngest daughter. Celebrating her wedding. He had no idea. He phoned his ex-wife and asked her about it. She told him that her daughter had not wanted him anywhere near the wedding and had sworn her to secrecy. She had her uncle, his brother-in-law, give her away at the ceremony. It had broken him, stripping his whole life bare. After a long, lonely night of thinking he decided enough was enough. To him it seemed that his life had been nothing more than a series of poor decisions and dealing with the fallout from them, and he was fed up with it. He'd spent much of the day sorting out any outstanding affairs. There wasn't much of those, and this evening he'd come to this pub to drink one last pint -his first alcoholic drink in six years- before he walked home to hang himself from a beam. As he drained the glass, Alec wondered why he hadn't done it years ago; it really would have saved a hell of a lot of bullshit. + + + He sat in his seat for a while after drinking the pint, watching the last of the foam gather in the bottom. Around him the pub was fairly quiet and he cast a look around. His eyes were caught by a girl. She was on the pull, Alec thought, and may as well be wearing a sign around her neck saying 'I'm free'. He estimated she was about nineteen; she sat on the barstool, one leg casually crossed over the other, what was probably a vodka and orange sitting on a coaster in front of her. She was attractive, her face tastefully made-up, smoky eye shadow and dusky red lips contrasting with her pale complexion. Her long wavy hair was dark, streaked with blonde, most of it secured with a metallic barrette, but with several locks cascading down the sides of her face. A fringe fell forward over her forehead. She was slim, wearing a simple high-necked bright pink camisole top that clung to her curves and which allowed the fair skin of her midriff to show, displaying her belly button piercing. A short black leather miniskirt, black tights and knee-high leather boots with high heels completed the ensemble. Large hooped earrings batted at the air every time she turned her head, and she wore a collection of bracelets on her bare wrists, her skin milky smooth. Alec had noticed that she'd come into the pub about quarter of an hour earlier, perched herself elegantly on the bar stool and ordered her drink. Since then she had sipped at it, spent time looking at her mobile, holding a text conversation. Her eyes had regularly cast around the pub, seeking out the men that were present. Truth to be told, she was probably out of luck. It was a Tuesday evening, and it was fairly quiet in the bar. Few customers were present, and of the men among them most were business travellers, staying overnight as they worked their way around their respective clients, absorbed in emails and product orders. There were three or four younger guys down at the pool table but she had studiously ignored them. Alec couldn't blame her; he would have been amazed if those Neanderthals had more than one brain cell between them. He watched her covertly as her thumbs danced across the screen of her mobile screen. Like her fingers they had long nails, painted extravagantly. A couple of times she had caught his gaze, throwing him a couple of shy yet seductive smiles, but she had not sought his company. Too nervous, he thought. For all her appearance and demeanour, she was quite wary, and he reckoned she would have to be approached first. Not that he was in the mood, even if a last fling was tempting. With his overweight physique, grey pallor and untidy appearance he had little to offer. She smiled at something on her screen and took another sip from her glass, doing well to keep the drink going. It was the first one she had bought, and there was still a good third left. She obviously did not want to get drunk before she hooked up with someone. Despite his intentions she intrigued him; he could not say why, but for some reason while she was present he felt compelled to stay. He sat in his seat and discretely watched her. Over the course of the next half an hour she finished her drink and ordered a replacement. Several other patrons had come into the bar, and she had watched them carefully, obviously sizing them up. After a while one of them approached her, speaking to her. He was in his twenties, quite good looking, with dark hair, wearing a battered biker's leather jacket over a t-shirt that certainly emphasised his six-pack, the fabric taut across his chest. Faded jeans and a pair of slip-on boots completed the ensemble. Alec watched them for a little while. The girl answered him, and they fell into easy conversation. The man ordered drinks, a pint for himself and a glass of red for her. She was smiling at him as he leaned against the bar, talking to her. He felt a pang of envy at the way their relationship was developing, and it made him think of Germany. But he continued to watch, fascinated by the mating ritual that was taking place. The two of them were evidently getting on, a further round of drinks appearing. They were laughing as they spoke, the girl quite animated. There was a certain intimacy appearing in their relationship. A few times she touched his hand and moved around on her stool so that her knee would brush against his leg. At one point, when he disappeared outside, presumably for a cigarette, he had to squeeze between her and another person, though closer to her than he needed to be. When he came back, they had another drink, and it was following this that they made to depart. The girl came down off the bar stool, picking up her small black leather handbag. Still talking amiably, they crossed the floor to the exit, Alec noticing that he took her hand, and then they left. It was like a spell had broken, and he suddenly felt more depressed than ever. He wondered where they would be going. Another pub, possibly, or maybe a club somewhere. Back to his place afterwards for sex, undoubtedly. Or maybe just a quick shag up against the wall, and the girl would reappear shortly, looking around her for another man. Unlikely, he thought. Despite her clothing she didn't seem the type. He sighed, and got up to leave also. Enough. Get on with it. Leaving the pub and going out into the dark, he put his hands in his pockets and sloped off down the road. His flat was only a short walk away, and he noticed the girl and her new companion a little way ahead of him, walking the same way down the quiet road. They turned into an alley, away from him, and were finally lost from view. He put them out of his mind and continued his last walk home, wanting nothing more than to get there and do what he had to do. It had been a mistake to come out for a last drink, he reflected. His ruminations were interrupted, as he passed the opening, by a noise from the alley, like a muffled scream- The next scream was far from muffled and, automatically, he broke into a run, down the alley and hurried towards it without thinking, wondering what was going on. The alley was little more than a service road to the back of a block of flats much like the one he lived in. Dimly lit, he could make out movement from behind a row of four or five large, wheeled rubbish bins and, puffing hard, hurried around the side of the row. The girl was lying on her back on the ground, a look of terror in her eyes. Blood was streaming from a nostril and she had a scarf or something shoved into her mouth. Her skirt was pulled up around her waist. The man who she had met was lying on top of her, his weight pinning her down. One hand was holding her wrists, the other was scrabbling at her knickers. "Hey!" Alec shouted angrily, his breathlessness forgotten. The man's head whipped around to face him, surprised at the abrupt shout. He recovered quickly, however. "Fuck off," he growled. "Find your own." Feeling a sudden burst of rage, Alec ran at them, cannoning into the man, his weight throwing him off her. Instantly she was trying to grab at the scarf stuffed into her mouth. Both Alec and the man tumbled, rolling to the ground. Immediately the attacker was on his feet, and Alec saw the fury in his face as he struggled to his knees. He really wasn't up to this, he thought, trying to catch his breath. The man swung a fist at him, the older man too slow to avoid it. He staggered back as it cracked against his cheek, and fell against the bins. Head spinning from the punch, he tried to get up, catching a blurred glimpse of something in the man's hand, glinting under the subdued lighting. He felt another heavy blow, this time just below his sternum, and collapsed back again, his legs giving way beneath him. This one felt different, and he looked down, noticing a knife embedded in his body, blood seeping out around it. His first thought was one of indignation, and he looked up at the man in protest. He tried to say something and realised he couldn't. His attacker, a look of shock on his face as the magnitude of what he'd done began to sink in, stumbled backward. He tripped over the girl and fell, then scrambled to his feet and ran away up the alley, his footsteps receding into the night. Alec looked from his fleeing form to the girl. She was pulling the scarf from her mouth, but her breathing was horrendous. Alec recognised it; his mother had occasionally suffered from severe asthma attacks, and this was exactly what the girl was having now. A combination of the shock and panic of the attack, the scarf in her mouth and probably blood from her nose running back into her throat had set it off. He sat there against the bin, wishing he could help, but he seemed to be unable to move. He couldn't even lift a hand, he felt so weak. Eyes wide in fright, the girl managed to pull the scarf out, breath rattling in her throat. She struggled to roll over onto her front. Her handbag was a little distance away, and presumably she had an inhaler in there. Eventually, weakly, she managed to turn herself over, fixing her eyes on her bag, her breathing worsening, and tried to crawl towards it. Alec could see how pale she was and willed her on, but her movements grew slower, her breathing getting worse all the time, and eventually she stopped, her hand only inches from the bag, and lay still. No! Alec screamed. Or wanted to. He was not sure who at. Take him by all means, but save her. He was going to kill himself anyway. What had she done? Tears trickled from his eyes in anguish as her breathing grew quieter and ceased altogether, his gaze fixed on her prostrate form for what seemed like hours but were probably only minutes. Then he found he could no longer stay awake and, the image burned into his retinas, he gratefully fell into an eternal sleep. + + + But it was not eternal. In fact, it seemed that no sooner were his eyes closed than they were open again, like those occasional nights when you close your eyes to go to sleep, and it seems that you open them straight away again to the morning light. This was like that. There was light, but it was brighter than any morning he had known. And he felt like he was... floating, drifting on a bed of nothingness. For a moment he felt disorientated, and panic threatened to overwhelm him, but the logical side of his brain told him that as he was dead, this must be heaven. Heaven? He laughed. How logical was that? But -he couldn't argue- here he was. After decades of his own religious indifference, it seemed he finally had the answer that both believers and atheists continually chased after. But what now? And what about the girl? If he was dead then shouldn't she be here as well? He tried to look around him, but there was nothing to see. Just a bright, blank nothingness. In fact, he realised, he could not actually feel his body. The thought should have worried him, but oddly it didn't. "You need not worry about her, Alec. She's with us now." He started. Who- what was that? The voice seemed to come from all around him, and yet from nowhere. It was not male, yet not female, and nor was it just the one voice. But it didn't seem to be the heavenly throng from nativity stories either. A line from a poem came to mind. How did it go again? Oh yes. 'Put out my hand and touched the face of-' The voice chuckled. "Oh, I'm not God. He's far too busy. I'm just what you might call a meeter and greeter." "But why take her?" he shouted angrily. "She was young!" "Nobody took anybody, Alec," the voice explained. "There is no great plan or pattern. Some stars burn brighter than others, that is all. We do not choose why or how, or how long. We only know when they will fade and prepare for when it happens. "The girl you rescued was always going to die tonight, one way or the other. Whether as she did, or being hit by a vehicle, or in her sleep. The means does not matter. But she is beyond all that now, and is safe among us." Despite himself, Alec felt relieved at the words. "So why aren't I there as well?" he asked. "Where am I?" "Ah," said the voice. "Now there we have a problem. You're here because we were not expecting you for some while longer. Some considerable time." "What do you mean? I was going to commit suicide tonight," he protested. "And you would have failed, Alec. It is simply not your time yet." "Failed?" "Maybe the rope snapped, or maybe you would have got home and changed your mind. Your star, my friend, is still shining brightly." "So how come I died then?" "Yes, well, there does seem to have been an error somewhere. But we have rectified it. You have many, many years ahead of you yet." "How can God make a mistake?" Alec blurted out. "He's God, isn't he?" "Of course He didn't make the mistake. As you say, He's God. Think of it as a misunderstanding further down the chain. An administrative error. A harassed corporal getting the wrong of the stick from the air chief marshal's orders... does that make more sense to you?" Alec said nothing. It was strangely comforting to know that there was bureaucracy in heaven as well. And cock-ups too. "I'm going to live?" he asked curiously. "Yes, Alec. Of course." There was surprise in the voice, as if the matter had never been in any doubt. A thought suddenly struck Alec. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he asked suddenly. "I'm in the ambulance and this is some sort of, I dunno, out of body experience." The voice was amused. "No, Alec, you're not dreaming. You are dead, from a knife wound. The knife caught your liver and went straight into your stomach, catching your colon as well and any number of blood vessels. Quite fatal." Alec felt faint at the description. He was close to being overwhelmed. "So what now? Do I go to some sort of purgatory to live out what's left?" "Absolutely not. As I said, you have too much time left, Besides, your last action was entirely selfless, so that will always get you some extra years." "But how can I have many years ahead of me?" He was fifty-seven, his health was not great... was he expected to remain like that? "I don't want to," he protested. "I was going to kill myself for a reason." "Ah yes, your daughter's wedding." "Yes. My whole bloody life's been a fuck-up." "It's a sad happening, Alec, but you will see that our solution is perfect for you. You are going to live, but it will be a bit different to what you've been used to." "What do you mean?" "The lifespan we see for you exceeds the life of your body. You have cancer, and would not be expected to live another two years." "Cancer?" That startled him. "But as I say, we do have a solution. It may take some getting used to, however. But this isn't something we'll need to tell God," the voice added conspiratorially. "Just a little tweak, and everybody can move on." "What are you going to do?" Alec asked cautiously "We are going to send you back to where and when you died, but you will wake in the body of the girl you tried to help." It took a moment to sink in. "What?" "She's young and healthy, bar the asthma, she has plenty of life to last you." "But she's a... she!" he spluttered. "I don't see the problem," the voice said, puzzled. "I do!" The voice sighed "Alec, look, this is a huge opportunity, believe me, and doesn't happen often-" "Only when you don't want God to find out," Alec interjected. "Yes, that's as maybe, but you'll regain your youth and vigour, with a whole new life stretching out ahead of you." The voice paused. "And it will be a chance to put everything behind you and live a completely new life." "But what if I say no?" The voice was incredulous. "Really? Alec, we're sending you back to live again. You really want to turn it down?" "Yes, for Christ's sake! I don't want to go back!" "Please don't use that language," the voice told him. "Look, Alec, the decision is made and, I'm sorry, but you do not have any say in the matter. We only brought you here as a courtesy to tell you what's going to happen. Better, we believe, than just waking up in a different body." Alec realised that his protests were of no use. it was going to happen, whatever he said. "Now," the voice said. "Enjoy your new life." Alec suddenly felt as if everything was pulling away from him, like an elevator dropping down several floors quickly. He thought -or maybe imagined- he could still hear the voice, receding into the distance as everything accelerated away. "I don't understand why God likes them so much. Honestly, does it really matter whether he's a man or woman? It's not like it's the Twelfth Century, is it? I mean, talk about ingratitude..." Then everything went dark, and all was still. + + + Alec opened his eyes. That was the strangest dream, he thought, muzzily. Something about a mistake in heaven, wasn't it? He suddenly realised his face was laid not on his lumpy old pillow, but on something hard and unyielding. A road? Recollection hit him with the force of a high speed train and, with a start, he rolled onto his back and sat up. The first thing he saw was his own body slumped against the bins, eyes staring wide, a knife stuck into his belly, blood oozing from the wound. Quite dead. After the shock of that he raised what now appeared to be his arms, looking at his hands. They were small, quite delicate, with long painted nails. Oh God. This can't really be happening. A hesitant look downward saw the bulge of two breasts under a bright pink top, a sudden draught informing him his midriff was bare. He appeared to be wearing a leather mini skirt and high heeled boots, and he put one hand under the skirt to find out if- Alec gave out a low moan at what wasn't there. He felt light headed, as if he wanted to pass out. His mind tried to process all that had happened, and it couldn't. It was all too much to take in. For what seemed like a lifetime he remained sitting on the tarmac, breathing heavily. He used a tissue from the handbag to clean up the blood from his nose. His throat felt raw from the wheezing breathlessness of the asthma attack. Better than cancer, a voice seemed to whisper in his ear. When he felt he could trust himself to move, he picked up the handbag and gingerly got to his feet. Tottering on the unfamiliar heels he swayed, eventually finding his balance, and started to make his way back up the alley to the street. He felt as if he'd woken from a deep sleep. Everything seemed wrong. The weight on his chest, the way he lurched when he walked... He stopped for a moment, trying to visualise how women walked. Not as men did, but more one foot in front of the other. That was it, he thought as he started off again experimentally. Suddenly it felt more comfortable, though the heels still felt weird. His hips swung as he walked, and it felt much more natural. With much more confidence than he felt Alec hung the handbag off his shoulder and walked down the street towards his flat, occasionally dabbing the tissue against his nose. After a few minutes he was walking much more normally, and he even began to enjoy the feeling of the cool night air against his legs and midriff. He paused to study his reflection in a window. His new body was quite something, he thought. A pleasant figure, not too curvaceous but not thin and scrawny either, an impish, mischievous face with life to it... He was lucky that it had been her and not some overweight fifty-year-old- He suddenly felt guilty at the thought, and was reminded of the girl trying to breathe frantically through lungs that had swelled up when she needed them. You shit, he told himself in disgust, ashamed of his attitude. You absolute shit. Revolted, he resumed his walk home, then stopped again. His flat... He couldn't go there, he realised. As far as the world was concerned, Alec Masters was dead, a murder victim. If he went there and was seen he might be considered a suspect for his own killing. He would not be able to go back there at all. His vision swam as tears prickled at his eyelids suddenly. He had to leave his old life behind. Completely. Everything that he knew was as good as gone now. Turning up at a friend's house and telling them that he was not dead and was inside this girl would only get him a free ambulance ride to the nearest psychiatric unit. But what to do? He looked at the handbag. There would be a new identity in there. But whose? He looked around. There was a Costa Coffee on the other side of the road. Watching out for traffic he hurried across and went in. Once sat down with a cappuccino in front of him Alec started to look through the girl's purse properly. Her name was Daisy Bowman, according to her driving licence. She would be twenty in three weeks' time, and she lived not far from his flat. She had a debit and credit card, several store cards, mostly from clothing shops, and was a member of a nearby gym. He took a sip of coffee and looked at her mobile. She had a good number of contacts listed, and her Facebook profile told him that she worked at a veterinary practice as a general assistant, was from Southampton, was not in a relationship -given the way she was on the hunt earlier that evening that came as no surprise- liked running, David Bowie, Beyonce, going to the cinema and shopping. Her diary told him that she had an appointment with a hairdresser on Saturday, while next week she was due to see her asthma specialist nurse. Elsewhere in the handbag there was a car key with a Volkswagen emblem, attached to the same ring as her house keys. Her inhaler was present, that she had desperately tried to reach earlier, and there were a couple of items of make-up. She didn't appear to smoke or vape or take drugs, and, poignantly, she carried a rape alarm. Just an ordinary girl, he thought for a moment, coffee cup in hand, who was destined never to live longer than this evening. He looked down at a selfie of Daisy, one of many on her mobile. It showed her standing in front of what looked like the gates of Buckingham Palace, wearing sunglasses, with a grin of delight on her face and fingers held to her cheek, V-for-Victory style. He had no idea what he could say to her. Somehow, thanks to her he had a chance to try again; had nothing happened when he left the pub he would have gone home and carried through his plan of hanging himself. But due to an accident of timing or whatever, he now had this second chance, and he wondered if this was why he had been compelled to keep watching her back in the pub. He considered the future. Well, he had one for a start. It would be far from easy picking up her life. He had a lot to learn, and quickly; there were no memories of her life, her family or relationships, how to do her job, or of anything. He had to learn everything, from looking after her asthma to how her tastebuds worked. On top of that was the biggest difference of all. For better or worse he was now in a female body and having to learn all about how that worked would make it ten times more difficult. But he owed it to Daisy Bowman to try, for now he had a reason to live. For her. To fulfil the life she had never had the chance to have. With that thought, he drank the rest of his coffee, put everything back in the handbag, and went out to start his -no, her new life.