Bonkers

  For Les, McKenzie and Fleur—

  couldn’t have done it without you

  And in memory of George

  1922–2001

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Lisa Jackson died one warm March night in a two-car accident right outside her front door.

  The day had started badly with a visit to her gynaecologist, Dr Janice Millar, who had delivered the news that Lisa had been dreading for years: her endometriosis had finally outfoxed the medical establishment. All the pills, all the painful, humiliating surgical procedures and suctioning and scraping hadn’t made a bit of difference. The lining of her womb continued to go AWOL each month, escaping to places it had no right to be, leaving Lisa writhing in agony and held captive by a cupful of fluid every other menstruating woman excreted with nothing more than a niggling bellyache and a craving for chocolate.

  For Lisa, all that was left was a hysterectomy.

  The sunstrike was typically bad for an early autumn night in New Zealand; it was nearly impossible to see out the windscreen, let alone keep an eye on the car in front. Lisa was driving slowly, squinting in the bright light to see the white line in the middle of the road. Stopping at the last roundabout before her house, she checked to her right for traffic. A blue convertible driven by a woman with long, black hair streaming behind her looked far enough away for Lisa to continue onwards, so she pressed the accelerator and turned left onto the road circling the flower-crested concrete island at the centre of the roundabout.

  Lisa never saw the blue car suddenly accelerate. She started at the sound of another car skidding as the driver stamped on the brakes to avoid colliding with the convertible when it failed to give way. She heard the squeal of brakes and the blare of car horns, and when she looked to the right Lisa saw the blue car hurtling towards her a split-second before it smashed into her door.

  The violence of the impact and the sickening sound of crumpling metal and shattering glass made her scream. The door of her old Mazda caved inwards. Metal shards speared Lisa’s right side and tore at her flesh.

  She stopped screaming.

  Lisa opened her eyes with a start and looked about frantically for the blue car, her breath strangling in her throat.

  Where had it gone? It had been right on top of her, so close she could see the faces of the woman driving and the man in the seat beside her.

  Lisa frowned. Where was the road? Where was the streetlight she had been hurtling towards? And where was the glaring early-evening light bouncing off the black road and blinding her?

  Where the hell was she?

  Lisa let out a whimper. She had a very bad feeling about this. Surely she hadn’t…? Wasn’t there supposed to be a bright light at the end of a long tunnel, and voices urging her to head towards it?

  Lisa realized she was lying on what felt like a divinely soft reclining chair and thought she had never felt so comfortable in her entire life. In fact, if she took a moment to calm down, she felt warm, safe and protected.

  ‘Thank Christ!’ she mumbled fervently. For a moment there she thought she’d died.

  ‘We don’t say that here, dear,’ a female voice said pleasantly.

  Jumping like a scalded cat, Lisa turned her head in the direction of the voice. A middle-aged woman with a blonde bouffant hairstyle reminiscent of a ’fifties lacquered helmet complete with a pink bow was sitting beside her, smiling complacently. She had pink-frosted lips and an intricately knotted silk scarf draped about her neck. A pink badge clipped to her white tunic read Moira. She appeared to be sitting down, but Lisa couldn’t see a chair. In fact there didn’t appear to be anything at all beneath Moira, who sat with her knees primly together and her hands clasped on her lap.

  Lisa thought she looked like an air stewardess. Both Lisa and her sister Sherry were convinced that the only people who ever wore scarves were air stewardesses, bank tellers, supermarket-checkout girls and, of course, porn stars, although why a scarf was necessary when somebody was buck naked performing gratuitous sexual acts for the camera was a mystery. She and Sherry had come to this conclusion after a hen party when one of the hens stupidly decided that what was good for the boys should be good for the girls. They had been so bored that they’d invented the scarf theory to liven things up.

  Moira definitely didn’t look like porn-star material.

  ‘We don’t mind Good Heavens or, at a push, Ye Gods, but I’m afraid we find blasphemous use of His name most upsetting and strongly discourage it,’ Moira explained.

  Lisa stared at her. What the hell was the woman talking about?

  ‘I heard that,’ Moira said reprovingly.

  Lisa blinked. ‘Where on earth am I? What is this place?’

  Moira smiled placidly. ‘Hardly earth, dear.’

  Thoroughly unnerved, Lisa looked warily about for the rest of the inmates. She appeared to be in some sort of a room, but she couldn’t see any walls or windows. The light was soft and, although she had an impression of a large number of people coming and going, she couldn’t actually see anybody apart from Moira, who continued to sit patiently beside her, on nothing at all.

  Lisa bolted upright and frowned in confusion. She felt different. No, she felt weird. Her body seemed to just flow into the new position without the usual shift and play of muscle and bone to get it there. Her heart began to pound, or at least it should have, but when she put her hand to her breastbone she couldn’t feel anything—no vibration, no comforting thud.

  ‘Where am I?’ she cried thinly.

  Moira laid a hand on her arm and murmured soothingly, ‘You’re safe. That’s the main thing—you’re safe.’

  Lisa was unconvinced. ‘Where’s my mum and dad? They’ll be worried about me! Do they know I’m here?’ she demanded, tears filling her eyes. Something was very wrong and she was terrified. For the first time in years she needed her parents to make her feel safe.

  Moira stroked her arm with a touch as soft as thistledown. It gave Lisa the creeps. She jerked her elbow against her body to avoid the other woman.

  ‘They won’t be along until much later, Lisa,’ Moira soothed, ignoring Lisa’s withdrawal. ‘But there are people on their way to collect you; people you know.’

  Lisa decided that perhaps Moira wasn’t dealing with a full deck.

  Moira was looking deeply offended when a tall, solid-looking man wearing white trousers and a white tunic appeared at their side. He had a shock of dark auburn hair, twinkling blue eyes, and was humming ‘Stairway to Heaven’ under his breath. His nametag read George. He beamed at Lisa when he saw her and asked, ‘Alright, Lisa?’ in a cockney accent.

  Lisa looked at him helplessly and wondered if he was going to be as weird as Moira. She was astonished when George laughed and winked at her. Turning to Moira, he lowered his voice and said, ‘The other
one will be coming through in a moment.’

  ‘Yes,’ Moira replied with a frown. ‘I just heard. But I can’t hand Lisa over until somebody arrives to collect her. It’s against the rules.’

  George’s twinkly expression faded somewhat. ‘We can’t just leave her floating here,’ he pointed out. ‘Listen…can you hear that noise? That’s the other one. She ain’t coming quietly.’

  Lisa was eavesdropping unashamedly. Had George really said they couldn’t leave her floating here?

  The sound of a female voice protesting loudly fractured the calm, soft atmosphere. Several figures in white were attempting to usher someone gently past her. Unnerved, Lisa realized she couldn’t see what they were walking on. She glimpsed a person with long, black hair through a gap between the people in white, a woman who was slapping at them furiously.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here!’ the woman shouted in a strong American accent. ‘Take your hands off of me now!’ There was a pause. ‘How did you do that?’ she demanded shakily. ‘I can feel you, but I can’t see your hands! Who are you people?’

  Lisa was relieved to hear that somebody else was as freaked out by this place as she was. She craned her neck, trying to get a closer look at the woman making all the noise. She had a tall, slender figure and was dressed in a silky mauve tank-top and black silk trousers. The white figures fluttered about her, alternately soothing and cajoling. Lisa saw that one of them was carrying a baby boy with large, brown eyes. He was watching everything curiously, apparently unconcerned by the noise.

  ‘Can’t you take that child away?’ the American woman demanded angrily.

  ‘No, Linda,’ somebody replied calmly. ‘He came with you.’

  ‘Came with me? How could he? I’ve never set eyes on him in my life!’

  Lisa thought she heard an edge of hysteria in her voice.

  When the group surrounding the woman parted, Lisa saw her clearly for the first time and sucked in her breath. It was the woman who had been driving the blue convertible. She was extremely beautiful, with flawless white skin, a long sweep of shining, black hair and large, clear blue eyes.

  Lisa clutched at George and pointed. ‘She…she hit me!’ she gulped. ‘In her car!’

  George patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t let it worry you, Lisa. She’ll be gone soon.’

  Moira tutted. ‘Oh dear, this is most irregular. I’m going to find out where Lisa’s grandparents are.’

  And she was gone.

  Lisa gasped. Moira had just disappeared—she had literally vanished. And what was she talking about? Her grandparents? Her grandparents were all dead. She stared at George in alarm.

  He looked annoyed and muttered what sounded like ‘Silly cow’ beneath his breath before reaching out to once again pat her comfortingly on the shoulder. ‘There now, don’t get yourself all worked up.’

  He began to lead her away from the woman and the group of people about her. Lisa was unaware of taking any steps, but found that she was moving, literally floating along. If she hadn’t been so scared it would have been the coolest experience. She felt better as the noise retreated; George made her feel safe.

  ‘Might be better to try not to think about that scarf joke,’ he said with a smile.

  Lisa’s jaw dropped. ‘What scarf joke?’

  Still smiling, he watched her from the corner of his eyes. ‘I think you know what I mean—the joke you had with Sherry.’

  ‘But…but how did you know about that?’

  And how did he know she had a sister called Sherry? In fact, how had he and Moira known her name was Lisa in the first place?

  ‘I heard you,’ George replied as if she’d spoken out loud. ‘Just count your blessings Moira hasn’t yet. She tends to listen out for the blaspheming and swearing, but that doesn’t mean she won’t hear what you think of her scarf if you’re not careful. How about I tell you a joke?’ he suggested, his eyes twinkling again.

  Lisa gave a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘OK.’

  ‘Good girl,’ he said approvingly. ‘My dog has no nose.’

  She looked at him in bewilderment. ‘How does he smell?’

  ‘Awful.’ George flung back his head, laughing uproariously.

  Lisa gave a high-pitched giggle.

  George tried again. ‘Have you ever heard of a racehorse called Dusty Carpet?’

  ‘Um…no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s never been beaten.’

  Once again he roared with laughter.

  Lisa laughed shrilly. ‘George?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Turning to face him she once again marvelled at the way her body seemed so at peace, effortlessly obeying her wishes. ‘Am I dead, George?’ she asked. ‘Is this heaven?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but there are rules about what I can tell you.’ He paused. ‘I can tell you this isn’t heaven. This is sort of like a waiting room.’

  She gazed up at him hopefully. ‘So I’m not dead?’

  He sighed and shook his head. ‘Can’t answer that.’

  Lisa regarded him with growing frustration. ‘Are you an angel?’

  His eyes began to twinkle again as if he was enjoying himself. ‘No. I haven’t been here long enough. I’m…in training, shall we say?’

  Lisa pounced. ‘Hah! So you’re an angel-in-training?’

  ‘There aren’t any angels, Lisa—well, not like you mean.’

  Lisa was certain she should have had a thumping headache by now, but she had never felt so clear-headed—and so utterly confused. She looked at George suspiciously when he began humming ‘I’m an Angel in Paradise’ to himself. Trust her to get the only angel or whatever he was who told bad jokes and hummed. After a few bars, he changed to ‘Heaven on the Seventh Floor’.

  Moira suddenly reappeared, making Lisa jump. Jesus Christ! The woman was like a bloody jack-in-the-box.

  ‘I heard that,’ Moira said, before turning to George. ‘A quiet word, George?’ she said crisply, her pink Cupid’s bow lips tight as an anal sphincter. Lisa had the feeling that Moira wasn’t a fan of George’s little medley of hits.

  ‘It has been decided one of them will be going back,’ Moira was saying sotto voce.

  ‘Which one?’ George asked, making no attempt to lower his voice. Lisa suspected he was making sure she could hear.

  ‘Lower your voice!’ Moira hissed. ‘I think it will be the other one.’

  ‘Her?’ George exclaimed in disbelief. ‘I’ve seen her life play. Why should she get a second chance? She made her poor husband’s life a misery.’

  Moira drew herself upright. ‘That’s not for us to decide,’ she replied frostily. ‘I know you’re new, but you must understand there are rules that need to be abided by.’

  ‘Rules,’ George grumbled. ‘It’s wrong that the bad’un gets another go round and the good’un stays back.’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Moira insisted. ‘You stay with Lisa until word comes through and then escort back whomever is chosen.’

  She disappeared again.

  Lisa looked at George anxiously. She didn’t like the sound of that. When she opened her mouth to question him, he merely shook his head and began to tell her more of his terrible jokes.

  ‘Will you be alright if I leave you for a minute? I’ll come right back,’ he said after a while.

  Lisa looked around but couldn’t see anybody who might have called him. She shrugged. ‘OK.’

  He disappeared.

  She was amazed at how calm she felt. She didn’t know where she was or what had happened to her since the blue car had hit her, and she was in the company of people in white who could disappear and read minds. Lisa was concerned her family might be worrying about her, but apart from that she realized she was in no hurry to leave George and his jokes.

  When he returned, he was wearing a thoughtful expression. Lisa waited while he stood silently beside her. Finally he said, ‘Sometimes rules need to be broken.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she aske
d warily. ‘George, you’re not going to do anything that’ll get you into trouble with Moira, are you?’

  He grinned. ‘Not a lot she can do about it, is there?’ He laid his big hand gently on the small of her back and began to hum ‘Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel’.

  Lisa shook her head in bewilderment.

  They began to drift away from the calm, soft light towards a brighter, sharper light buzzing with noise. Lisa felt strangely reluctant to leave the oasis of peace behind her. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Somewhere you should be,’ George replied with a reassuring smile. ‘Just close your eyes, Lisa, love, close your eyes…’

  She was floating again, down a long corridor, in the opposite direction this time, towards all the other people she sensed around her but couldn’t see. Then she popped out into bright lights and noise and saw her sister. Sherry was standing in the middle of a corridor in her police uniform, struggling with another cop who Lisa recognized as Dillon Taylor, Lisa’s boyfriend before the endometriosis had taken over her life.

  Sherry was looking furious and desperate at the same time. Dillon’s handsome face had the taut, mask-like expression of somebody in deep shock hanging onto their self-control by their fingertips. He was holding Sherry tightly by the upper arms, telling her repeatedly that she couldn’t go in there.

  Lisa put out her hand to touch Sherry as she went by but was unable to stop; her fingertips grazed her sister’s forearm but she couldn’t feel her. ‘Sherry!’ she called. ‘Sherry!’

  Sherry stopped struggling and turned sharply towards Lisa, a puzzled expression on her pretty face. She looked frightened. ‘Did you hear that?’ she demanded sharply and looked at Dillon. ‘It sounded like Lisa! Did you hear her?’

  Lisa opened her mouth to try again, but suddenly a tremendous force seemed to lift her up and suck her at great speed towards the double doors beyond Sherry and Dillon. She screamed, convinced she was going to smash into the doors, but suddenly she was through the other side. There were people in blue overalls clustered around a body on a trolley. Bags and plastic containers of fluid hung from poles attached to the bed. Monitors were beeping and flashing. A woman wearing a heavy, blue apron was pulling what appeared to be an x-ray machine out of a doorway opposite.