He sold his father’s house not that long after he died. This was the house where he’d grown up and for the most part it had been just the two of them. That is, until he left home at the age of nineteen.

It had taken some time to sort out his father’s affairs. There were legal matters to be dealt with. There was everything his father had left behind in the house. He found the task of clearing the house difficult and upsetting. Excavating the years that had flown. He kept telling himself the same thing. Once I have done all this once I have sorted  everything out then I can get back to my life. This seemed to him to be a reasonable expectation. However it didn’t work out that way.

Of all the memories of his father what seemed to persist the most was his voice. He would hear it often. Sometimes at unexpected moments. It could be to comment on some activity his son was engaged with. He might give him advice when for example he was out driving. You cut that a bit fine he would say and then sigh as he always used to. On other occasions the voice would be critical or questioning or sometimes simply resigned. Ah well the voice might say as if his father realised that there was nothing he could do apart from remind his son of his absence.

To his knowledge his father had never been involved in a car accident and for that matter nor had he. That is until not long after the sale of his father’s house had gone through. He was on a straight stretch of country road where cars took the opportunity to make up for lost time. Another driver coming in the opposite direction misjudged an overtaking manoeuvre. As a result, he found himself facing the oncoming car. There was nothing he could do to avoid it. When asked later how he had survived the collision, he said, according to the emergency services, an airbag saved my life.

During his period of recuperation he found time to wonder about many things. Such as where did the voice in his head actually come from? Not the voice of his father who was dead but the one who articulated his own thoughts. The one that appeared to be under his control. Or at least he imagined it were so. His mind had never been more active during this time. As he lay there for long hours memories seem to arrive freely. He remembered lying on the grass in the back garden at home as a child and staring at the sky. He remembered wondering as he looked into the blue how far he could actually see. At night there were the stars and he had already learned about light years which although they seemed to be referring to time were actually talking about distance. One evening he found himself looking up his father’s house online and saw that the new owner had put it up for rent. It was strange to see the photographs in the listing. It was as if he saw them from a great distance as if the house were in a foreign country. Or maybe it was that the photographs appeared to be from another time. He didn’t wait long before contacting the landlord. I know it sounds strange he told him but I really would like to rent the house.

Once he had moved in he realised that the landlord had made very little in the way of changes to the house. This pleased him. Perhaps life would not return to normal but at least it would seem to be familiar. Being back home also gave his father something to say. The window frame that needed to be repaired the tree that needed to be pruned. He wondered whether it was he or his father that seemed to be haunting the house. He hadn’t kept many of his father’s things but one thing he found difficult to part with were a couple of his suits. They were well made in fine quality wool and didn’t show much sign of wear. He managed to find a tailor to alter the suits so that they now fitted him.

One morning when he rose he saw that it was going to be a fair day. He found a shirt and tie and then put on one of the suits. He had decided that he was going to visit his father’s grave which was in a cemetery not far from the house. His father had left specific instructions about the grave. The type of headstone the plinth and the ledger. He’d also specified the inscription which was to include his birth date and the date he died. Anyone interested in how long I prevailed can do the arithmetic themselves he’d said. His father had been a family doctor in the neighbourhood for forty-five years. Even now he remained amidst his patients. He had cared for successive generations of many families. Once as a small boy he’d been with his father in a queue at the butchers when they were both quickly ushered to the front by man in a blood-stained apron. His father was someone too important to be left waiting when there was important work to do. When he was a teenager after his mother died he remembered sitting at the breakfast table as his father stood by the door. I must take my leave of you now he said with mock formality.  It is time to venture forth and once again save the world.

He strolled through the cemetery and then arrived at his father’s grave. He hadn’t seen anyone else on his walk. The ledger shone in the sunlight and before he knew it he found himself lying down on this slab of polished marble that lay in front of the headstone. He got comfortable on his back and gazed up at the clouds and the blue sky. The same blue sky that he’d seen as a child in the garden. The same infinity beyond it. The same wonder at how many random things had to have happened for him to be alive on this tiny rock in a vast universe. Who had said this to him? Whose voice? A teacher perhaps whose name was long forgotten. Best leave it at that. He had wanted to be able to say, I remember. The remembering pleased him. The clouds that took on shapes. The sky that welcomed him. Lying in the garden as evening approached waiting for his father to return. As far as he could tell there was nothing stirring around him. He remembered how he had closed his eyes and waited listening for the latch on the gate. Often the same question: well, did you save the world?

It wasn’t clear what had made the sound that woke him up. Later he realised that it was a scream that had been stifled. He opened his eyes and immediately squinted in the brightness. He turned his head which was resting on the marble. An elderly woman in an orange coat stood beside the grave staring at him. The back of her hand was against her open mouth. He lifted himself onto his elbows his eyes watering from the glare and for a moment her shape began to dissolve. She had taken a step back and appeared to be gasping silently. He climbed to his feet and dusted off the suit that had been his father’s. The woman was now stumbling backwards unable to tear her gaze away from him. He recognised her as one of his father’s patients. Mrs York he said there’s really nothing to worry about. He wanted to put her at ease. He tried to think of the kind of thing his father would have said. Please he said I’m… but she continued to back away from him. I’m …. He wanted to retrieve the situation by making light of what she had seen. There was a familiar voice inside his head. He took a step towards Mrs York.  I’m back he said and did his best to smile reassuringly. I’m back to save the universe.

He stayed a couple of more months in his father’s house. It turned out to be an exceptional summer with many warm evenings. He was able to spend them in the garden. During this time he decided he wasn’t going to wear his father’s suits anymore. When he moved out he left them hanging in the wardrobe.