The man she had buried was back and knocking. Paula looked through the door visor and blinked. How could this be? She had raised their son and sent him off to university, lived through birthdays and Christmases, weddings and illness, all on her own. Life had moved on without him, and now here he was. Mark’s voice cut through the numbness that was already rising. ‘Open up, love, it’s me. I’m soaked and it’s bloody cold out here.’ Her hand hovered over the lock. This man looked like Mark and sounded like him, even stood like him, but there was something in his posture, in the way his shoulders hunched as if time had never passed, that did not feel quite right. But before she could decide what to do, he bent down, lifted the garden gnome, and retrieved the spare key she had forgotten was still there. The door rattled open under his hand. Paula took two steps back and placed one hand over her heart, which thudded like a slow drum.

‘What’s wrong with you tonight, love? It’s like you want me to catch a cold,’ he said, as he shook his head with mild exasperation. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and sure. ‘I need a hot bath and some warm clothes. Can you pop the kettle on for us?’ Paula nodded, or thought she did, her gaze fixed on the figure that climbed the stairs as though he had never left. ‘I must be dreaming,’ she murmured, and pinched herself hard. Her skin pulsed under the sharp sting, but nothing had changed.

 

 Her limbs moved like through molasses towards the kitchen. She started the tea, but as steam rose from the kettle, her mind tried to place itself back in time, to the moment her world had cracked open. Her thoughts were interrupted by her name being pronounced in a sharp and urgent tone, followed by the slap of bare feet on stairs.

Mark burst in, a towel wrapped around his waist, and water still trickled down his chest. ‘Paula, where the hell are my clothes? Is this some prank?’ His eyes searched hers, then he took her face gently in his hands. ‘Are you alright? Why do you keep staring at me like that? And what have you done with my stuff?’ Her voice came out smaller than she intended. ‘Mark, your clothes are gone. They have been, for a long time. And you... You’re dead. You’ve been dead for years.’

He staggered back, as if her words had hit him in the chest. ‘What?’ She nodded slowly. ‘Ten years, Mark. Your funeral was ten years ago.’ Her hand moved to his chest. ‘You were shot during a robbery. You shielded Kieran and me with your body. You died before the ambulance came.’ She waited for him to protest, to deny it, but he stood there and blinked. There was no scar on his chest. No sign of trauma. Her breath caught in her throat, and the memory returned, brutal and vivid, like surf breaking hard on stone. Her tears came freely now and blurred the room around her into a haze of grief and disbelief.

Mark’s blue eyes stared at her with something like recognition. For a long moment, he seemed on the verge of collapse. He turned away and pulled a chair. The legs scraped loudly against the wooden floor, and for a moment, the sound felt as if it were the only real thing in that room. He sank into the chair. Paula stayed where she was until the whistle of the kettle pulled her back. She turned off the stove and brought two mugs to the table. She sat beside him, ran a hand through her hair, long and golden still, and wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic. He broke the silence. ‘You don’t look older.’ She looked up. ‘The last thing I remember is being in that restaurant down on the 26th with you and Kieran. He kept going on about wanting crepes...’ Paula met his gaze. ‘Yes. That’s where it happened. The manager refused to open the safe. One of the robbers got angry. He shot in our direction...’

 ‘And that’s how I died,’ he said. She nodded, barely able to form the next words. ‘I wished it had been me. I didn’t want to go on without you, but I had to. For our son.’ A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘You were always stronger than me. I’m glad Kieran had you.’ He reached for her hand, and she let him take it.

 

Later, they moved to the living room. Paula sat on the sofa, quiet, while Mark wandered over to the old record player and his disc collection. ‘You’ve kept them,’ he said softly. She nodded. ‘Sometimes, when I miss you too much, I’ll play one.’ He smiled, walked back, sat beside her, and pulled her gently until her head rested on his chest. His fingers combed through her hair. She looked up at him, and their lips met. The kiss held no answers, only recognition. The flutter in her stomach returned, the one she hadn’t felt since they were young. The kiss deepened, and they stopped asking what was real. In the hush that followed, their bodies remembered each other. Her clothes slipped away, and touch became their language. They moved as one, as if they had never parted. When it was over, she lay against him, fingers tracing his chest, feeling his warmth and skin. He kissed her hair, and they fell asleep wrapped around each other like threads once broken and now whole again.

 

*

The first light of morning crept through the veil curtains. Gravel shifted outside. A car door closed. Paula’s eyes opened. She sat up quickly, heart thudding, and pulled on her shirt. She walked to the window and peeked out between the curtain folds. ‘Mark, wake up. It’s Kieran. And... my husband, Sam.’ He sat up slowly. ‘Your husband?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes found a spot on the floor. ‘I remarried. Two years ago. I’m sorry.’ Mark shook his head. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you moved on. I should go.’

But before he could finish the sentence, the front door opened, and the two men entered. Paula rushed forward, words already forming, but they walked right past her. Their eyes never met hers. She faltered as Sam tossed a medical file on the table. She picked it up and scanned the pages. Then followed them to the room. The two men sat silently on the sofa, looking at nothing. Mark stood by the window, naked and still. She went to him and stepped into his arms.

‘Now it all makes sense,’ she whispered. ‘I died last night. The cancer won.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I know.’ Then he paused. ‘I remember now. I was sent to take you back home.’ She pulled back just enough to look up at him. ‘Back home?’ He nodded. ‘Yes. Follow me.’

Paula turned and walked towards the door. Her bare feet moved across the wooden floor as if carried by instinct alone. She stopped before Kieran and brushed his cheek with trembling fingers, taking in his warmth. She bent and kissed his forehead. Then, just as softly, she pressed her lips to Sam’s cheek, in a silent goodbye. Then she turned and walked to Mark. He reached out, and she took his hand. Together, they stepped into the morning light.