On the Other Side

by Carrie Hope Fletcher

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; General Fiction

Synopsis

THE NUMBER ONE SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER

Your soul is too heavy to pass through this door,
Leave the weight of the world in the world from before

Evie Snow is eighty-two when she quietly passes away in her sleep, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. It's the way most people wish to leave the world but when Evie reaches the door of her own private heaven, she finds that she's become her twenty-seven-year-old self and the door won't open.

Evie's soul must be light enough to pass through so she needs to get rid of whatever is making her soul heavy. For Evie, this means unburdening herself of the three secrets that have weighed her down for over fifty years, so she must find a way to reveal them before it's too late. As Evie begins the journey of a lifetime, she learns more about life and love than she ever thought possible, and somehow, some way, she may also find her way back to the only man she ever truly loved . . .

On the Other Side will transport you to a world that is impossible to forget. Powerful, magical and utterly romantic, this is a love story like no other from everyone's favourite 'big sister', Carrie Hope Fletcher.

Release date: July 14, 2016

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

Steady lights flickered across her closed eyelids, and in her ears she could hear the rhythmic hum and rattle of a train on its tracks. Evie Snow opened her eyes, expecting to find herself on the 20.32, pulling into an unfamiliar station in an unexplored part of the city, having drifted off to sleep as she so often did when she was younger. Instead, when her eyelids fluttered open, like two twitterpated butterflies, she found herself in the lift of the building she’d lived in when she was twenty-seven years old. She glanced at the button board and saw that the number 7 was lit up, beaming at her. The doors slid open and the rickety lift gave a tiny shudder, wobbling Evie’s already unsteady stance, urging her to get out and keep going. She was sure she hadn’t been in this lift before she’d fallen asleep. She was sure she hadn’t been in this building for over fifty years.

Evie’s gaze flickered up to the polished gold surface of the lift’s walls. She noticed someone else in the reflection, someone standing exceedingly close to her. She spun around to catch the woman she’d seen, but the lift was empty. She was alone. Looking back into the gold, she examined the only reflection it showed her. That of a woman in her twenties, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders in an unruly fashion, curls that Evie had only seen as thin and grey for a long time. Chocolate eyes stared back in disbelief, full of life and vibrancy. Eyes that hadn’t yet forgotten how to shine. The skin on this woman’s face was smoother than her own; it hadn’t yet been weathered and worn from years of crying, laughing, frowning and smiling. Evie reached a hand up to her own face and felt the silky skin under her fingers. A quick, breathy laugh escaped her lips, like she’d been punched in the gut, forcing the memories of this face to the forefront of her mind. When she tilted her head, so did her mirror image, and when she smiled at the sudden realisation that this reflection was indeed her own, the beautiful twenty-seven-year-old Evie in the polished gold smiled back too.

Evie finally stepped out of the lift and the heels of her favourite shoes clicked against the marble floor. She called them her ‘carpet bag shoes’ because of their resemblance to the carpet bag that held Mary Poppins’ impossible treasures. The hem of her floral dress swished around her knees, and suddenly the warmth of her cherished emerald-green coat sank into her bones and she was enveloped in a snugness she’d not felt for a very long time. She wiggled her fingers, realising that her left hand did not yet bear an engagement ring. A ring that had not only weighed down her hand with its extravagant, too-big emerald, but had weighed down her heart too with its significance. She held her hands in front of her, smiled at their emptiness, then swung them by her sides all the way down the corridor.

As she turned a sharp corner that led to her apartment, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her neighbour, Colin Autumn, a man who’d always been kind to her, if somewhat introverted and quiet. She remembered him as a tall, well-built man. The Oxford professor type. He favoured tweed jackets with suede elbow patches and sweater vests, often orange or green in colour. The smell of his pipe had never been a pleasant aroma, but he had a sweet, rarely revealed smile, one that Evie had managed to coax out of him only a handful of times. He’d died suddenly of a heart attack while Evie had lived next door. It was a shock to see him here at all, let alone in such a state. Mr Autumn was now a shell of his former self, huddled on the floor by the door to his apartment, clutching his knees to his chest and rocking himself back and forth. His tweed jacket and sweater vest were gone, and instead he wore faded white-and-blue-striped pyjamas that seemed to swamp his frail, sunken frame. His skin was white and almost transparent. He was quivering, muttering something under his breath, and as Evie cautiously approached him, keeping her back to the opposite wall, she thought she heard him say, ‘Heavy. I’m too heavy!’

Evie reached tentatively into her right-hand pocket, hoping she’d feel the familiar shape of her keys. Yes, there they were. Cold in her slightly clammy hand. She brought them out and jangled them happily, momentarily forgetting the sight of Mr Autumn in his hysterical state. She quickly slotted the key into the lock, but her heart sank into her carpet bag shoes when it did not turn.

She tried again.

No luck.

And again, a little harder.

Nothing.

Now she desperately twisted her fingers against the key, but it just wouldn’t budge. Tears pricked her eyes. She stepped back and looked at the door. It was definitely hers. Apartment 72. The gold numbers shone brightly on the polished wooden door, taunting her now that she couldn’t get in. She looked at Colin, who had stopped rocking and was watching her.

‘Mr Autumn?’

‘Miss Snow? It’s been years.’ His voice crackled like an old record player.

‘Where are we?’ She crouched by his side. She wanted to embrace him, but he looked so weak and fragile she was afraid her arms may break him.

‘Where are we, you ask. We lived here for years. You know this place.’

‘Of course but … I can’t get in.’

‘Too heavy … you’re too heavy. Oh goodness, Evie, not you too. Too heavy. Too heavy.’ And with that, he returned to his rocking and muttering.

Evie stood and stumbled back to her door. As she beat her fists against it, a few tears spilled over and ran down her rosy cheeks. She clenched her eyes shut, wishing with all her heart she knew what was going on.

‘Why can’t I get in?’ she whimpered.

Through her closed eyelids she saw yellow dots twinkling. She quickly opened her eyes to see her door sparkling with thousands of delicate little lights, dancing about the wood. They moved smoothly into formation, creating words for her to read.

Your soul is too heavy to pass through this door.

Leave the weight of the world in the world from before.

Once it is lighter your key shall then turn,

And you will be able to have what you yearn.

‘My soul is too heavy? What does that mean?’ She took off her coat, now feeling hot and flushed.

‘Taking off your coat won’t help you get any lighter, little Evie.’

A short man stood at the end of the corridor. Mr Autumn had gone quiet, and Evie could see that he was now sucking his thumb, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that they’d turned into mere lines. The man who had spoken was in his mid-forties but looked far older. A cigarette was hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he talked like it wasn’t there at all.

‘Dr Lieffe.’ Evie let out a sigh of relief when she saw him. He was a plump, slightly balding Dutchman, with the sweetest button nose, who had been the apartment building’s doorman. Warmth radiated off him in inexhaustible waves, as it always had done when Evie had lived here. Dr Lieffe knew the name of everyone in the building, and all their business too. Not because he pried, but because you couldn’t help but trust him. He made sure everyone got their letters and packages, and at Christmas time he snuck bags of chocolate coins in with their post. He also thought of himself as a bit of a matchmaker, and was always trying to pair off the single apartment dwellers. On one occasion, long before Evie moved to the building, he’d succeeded, and had been honoured to be an usher at the wedding of Danny Thorn and Rose Green. From then on he referred to himself as Dr Lieffe, lieffe being the Dutch word for love. Eventually it caught on, until no one in the building remembered his real name.

Evie was one of his favourite tenants because she took him cups of hot chocolate when it got cold, and chilled pink lemonade in the summer when his little desk fan just wouldn’t do. He’d passed away soon after she had moved out of Apartment 72, and she’d attended his funeral, along with most of the people who’d lived there past and present. The apartment building had been his favourite place in the world.

‘I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you!’ Evie ran to Dr Lieffe and he gave a throaty laugh as he embraced her, a little awkwardly, as she was a good foot taller than he was.

‘I wish I could say the same. I do hope it wasn’t painful. Did you go in your sleep?’ His English was impeccable. If not for the very slight accent and the pride he had in his country, Evie wouldn’t have known he was Dutch. He took the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out in a wall-mounted ashtray in the corridor. He never usually smoked inside the building, but strangely, Evie couldn’t smell the smoke at all.

She frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘Oh Evie.’ He gave her an affectionate smile, tinged with sadness. ‘This is the afterlife. Well, it’s the afterlife’s waiting room, at least.’ He reached out to her and they linked arms as he started to lead her back to the lift.

‘The afterlife’s waiting room,’ she repeated, trying to make sense of it all. She felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole, except it hadn’t led her to a fantastical world where animals could talk and tell the time. Instead she was in a world that belonged in the past, where people long dead were alive once more.

‘You see, when you die, provided you’ve lived a good life on earth, always trying to be the best version of yourself that you can be, you go to your favourite place,’ Dr Lieffe explained.

‘Heaven?’ Evie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Ah, yes, but your own personal heaven. You’ve passed on, Evie. I’m afraid you’re dead.’ He squeezed her hand.

Of course, she thought.

‘Yes, I … I think I remember. Now that you mention it.’ She concentrated hard, squeezing the memories out of her head. ‘I lived a good long life. I married. Had two children. I was …’ she paused, ‘happy. And I died with my children and grandchildren at my bedside. Yes, I remember now.’ Her lips turned up at the corners and she lost herself in her mind’s eye, recalling images of her children all grown up. Then she shook her head slightly and brought herself back to Dr Lieffe, who was standing before her, ushering her into the lift.

Evie looked at herself in the polished gold, and saw that she still looked twenty-seven. It’s not that Evie was vain, but when she’d been so fond of her own assets, like her caramel curls and her chocolate eyes, it had been hard to watch them fade into shades of grey, along with all the life and excitement she had once felt.

‘Clearly you were at your happiest here, in this very building. As was I. So when we passed on, we came back here.’ Dr Lieffe pressed button number 2, but it didn’t light up. ‘Damned thing.’ He pressed it again with a little more force, and the yellow light shone dimly through the small frosted number. ‘However …’ He paused, still looking at the button, a troubled expression on his face.

‘Ah, there’s always a catch. You may have three wishes, but you can never wish for more wishes.’ Evie chuckled lightly, but the look on Lieffe’s face gave her the feeling that it might not be as easy as she’d like.

‘It’s only a small catch, Miss Snow. You couldn’t open your door, could you?’ Evie shook her head. ‘That’s because you’re holding on to possessions that aren’t allowed to pass through with you.’

‘Possessions? But I didn’t bring anything with me. I found myself in these clothes when I arrived here, wearing these shoes, with my keys in my coat pocket.’ She felt again for the keys, and when her fingers wrapped around them, she pressed them into her palm as hard as she could, forcing herself to believe that they were there and she was here and everything was all right.

‘Not all possessions are material, my dear girl.’ The lift gave a sudden jolt and started to shudder its way down the shaft. Dr Lieffe hit the wall with a clenched, white-knuckled fist – suddenly disproportionately angry with the situation. Evie gave his arm a gentle pat. At last the doors opened, slowly, as though they didn’t want to reveal what lay beyond them.

‘Evie,’ Dr Lieffe took a deep, unsteady breath, ‘this is the second floor.’

‘Yes …’ She waited for him to continue but he said nothing, nor did he move to exit the lift. ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve not been down here in a long while. I try to avoid it as much as possible, but you must see what’s down here.’ He took a step towards the door, holding tightly to her arm. ‘Our souls are very delicate, and there are certain things that can weigh them down. When we feel guilty, hold in feelings, bite our tongues, keep secrets – that puts a great burden on our fragile souls. These man-made weights attach themselves to our spirits and start to drag us under.’ Dr Lieffe hadn’t looked at Evie once since they’d arrived on the second floor. His gaze was concentrated firmly up ahead, at the approaching turn in the hallway, his steps slowing. Blue-tinged lights flickered over their heads, and electricity buzzed.

‘To be able to pass on, to step through your door, you must rid yourself of those weights. Let your feelings be known, open your heart, forgive people. Whatever those burdens are, you need to let them go. Otherwise, there’s no way through the door and you’ll become stuck.’

As they moved further down the corridor, the sound of groaning became audible. Not just one voice, but several, in a strange and aching chorus.

‘Dr Lieffe … why are we on the second floor?’ Evie was now clutching his sweaty hand, their fingers interlinked as they edged towards the haunting voices.

He sucked in a breath. ‘This is the floor on which the more … reluctant residents of this building reside.’

They turned the corner, and Evie gasped.



‘What are they doing?’ Evie stopped, and pulled at Dr Lieffe as he tried to continue forward. ‘Why aren’t they inside their apartments?’

If she’d known these people once, she didn’t recognise them now. Their faces were grey and gaunt, their skin transparent. They were all dressed in the casual clothes they’d usually wear for lounging around their apartments. Pyjamas, dressing gowns and gym gear that had probably never seen a day of exercise. Everything in shades of black, white and grey. Around them were puddles of colour – blues, reds, pinks, oranges, greens – that had melted from their bodies and garments and were now soaking into the carpet and smudged on the wallpaper.

‘What’s wrong with them? They’ve lost all their … colour,’ Evie whispered.

‘They’re stuck, my dear girl,’ Dr Lieffe explained. ‘They refuse to let go of what it is that’s keeping them here. They’ve been here so long, they’ve become shells of who they were. They’ve got no life, no colour left in them. It’s all just … melted away.’

One man was leaning up against his door, scratching pathetically at the wood. The door remained glossy and unscathed, but his fingers were bruised and bleeding stumps, his blood jet black. A woman was muttering, speaking rapidly, some words louder than others. She was cradled against her door, banging her head on the frame. Another woman was trying to catch imaginary phantoms in the air around her. As Evie watched her flailing about, the woman hit herself on the nose, which made her yelp. Judging by the stream of black running down her face, it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. There was a large patch of dried blood on her white tank top, and her hands were covered in black stains. Evie could see the liquid caked under her fingernails as she swiped her hands through the air.

The constant cacophony was too much. The sounds came in waves and started to make Evie feel queasy.

‘I’ve seen enough,’ she whispered. ‘I want to go back to my apartment.’ She tried to turn, but Dr Lieffe pulled at her arm, not letting her go.

‘Look at them, Evie. Take it all in, and make sure you don’t turn out the same.’ He spoke sternly, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him – a completely different person for a moment – but then his face softened, he loosened his grip and together they walked swiftly back to the lift. Evie pressed number 7 continuously and fast until the doors closed and the lift began to rise. Then she leaned against the wall and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

‘I can’t be one of them.’ She shook her head fiercely, hammering home the point to herself as much as to the little Dutchman.

‘We call them The Hopeless. And I’m glad to hear you say that.’ The relief was clear on Dr Lieffe’s face.

‘No, I won’t be hopeless. I am full of hope. I’m a Hopeful.’ Evie spoke fast, convincing herself that the words were true. ‘But I don’t know what it is that’s weighing down my soul. I don’t know how to fix this.’ A lump had formed in her throat.

The lift doors opened and they both stepped out immediately, wanting to be rid of the memory of the second floor, though they didn’t yet move towards Apartment 72.

‘Evie, I’ve heard every single person who’s come back to this building say exactly that, and not once has it been true.’ Evie looked down at her carpet bag shoes sheepishly. ‘Remember, I was the gatekeeper to this building, and everyone within it told me their business. You and I both know what it is that’s keeping you here. You just need to admit it to yourself first.’ He started walking towards her door.

Evie understood what he was saying, but something else now puzzled her. ‘Dr Lieffe, if this is the afterlife’s waiting room, and people get stuck here because they can’t move on to the actual afterlife, and if you know exactly what it is that lets people pass on, why are you still here?’

Dr Lieffe stopped halfway down the corridor. He looked her right in the eyes as his own filled with tears. She felt embarrassed and gazed down at her shoes, letting him have a moment to himself.

‘Well,’ he said, after what seemed like an everlasting moment, ‘I’ve never had anyone ask me that before.’ She glanced up as he wiped a tear from his cheek with his thumb. ‘Evie, this building, these corridors, they are your waiting room. Just like everyone’s heaven is different, everyone’s purgatory is too. My own life was so miserable that I found my happiness through other people, through getting to know their stories and occasionally being part of them. When I arrived here after I died, the entrance doors to the building wouldn’t open. Not until I forgave my ex-wife for divorcing me. I knew deep down that it wasn’t her fault; she just wasn’t in love with me any more. But I’d blamed her for years. My waiting room was in front of this building, and once I’d let that grudge go, the doors opened for me and I got to be in my own personal heaven.’ He gestured around him at his happy place, his little piece of paradise. ‘Talking to the people in this building and offering my services where I could was my entire life. So it makes sense that my heaven is back here, helping people like you find their way into their apartments.’

In that moment, Evie couldn’t think of anyone she’d met who had a bigger, more selfless heart than Dr Lieffe. Then she remembered another man she’d known, once upon a time, and a weight in her own heart tugged her downwards. Dr Lieffe saw the pain flicker across her face.

‘Evie. You know what it is that’s keeping you here. Don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she sniffed. ‘I do.’ She didn’t realise she was crying until Dr Lieffe moved to her and tentatively rubbed a tear from her jawline with the same thumb he’d used to wipe away his own. ‘It’s … it’s my secrets.’

‘Secrets, Evie? You’re sure?’

‘Yes. Positive. There are certain things I kept from my family. Partly because nobody needed to know, and partly because I couldn’t bear to relive them. There wasn’t a day that went by when they didn’t catch me off guard. I’d be walking up the stairs in my own home and think there was an extra step, only to find there wasn’t. I’d be in the garden, tending to flowers, and my breath would catch. If you threw my heart into the air, it would fall to the ground twice as fast with the weight of those secrets, I’m certain.’

The idea of sharing the things she’d forced herself to keep hidden for so many years felt all wrong, but at the same time oddly right. There was a chance she could feel light again. A chance to dance without her feet being nailed to the floor. A chance to put her unlived past to rest.

Sometimes, she thought, we reach a fork in the road and choose to go one way, then wonder what would have happened had we chosen the other path. Even more so when the path we end up on was chosen for us and the other path is so far away, there’s no chance of ever turning back. Evie had once reached a fork in the road and had had no choice but to take the wrong path.

Dr Lieffe sighed heavily and gave a small smile of relief. ‘Well then. That’s the hard part over. The next bit is comparatively easy, you’ll be glad to hear.’ He started leading her back down the corridor to the lift, past Mr Autumn, who was now curled up fast asleep outside his door, still sucking his thumb.

‘But how do I even begin to fix this? I’m dead. I can’t go back to the …’ she paused, trying to think of what to call the world she’d left behind, ‘the land of the living and seek out all the people I’d need to talk to in order to open my door.’

Lieffe took her hand in his and squeezed it, whether to calm himself down or to comfort her, she couldn’t tell. Then he led her back into the lift, which Evie was already sick of seeing. This time, he pressed the button marked 0.

‘There’s always a way, Evie.’

The doors closed.



The lift sank down to the ground floor. Lieffe then led her through the foyer, behind his desk – where he stopped to pick up a cigarette and light it – through a kitchenette and down a flight of stairs that seemed only to lead to darkness. Lieffe flicked a switch and a dim, yellow light revealed a disappointing basement. A floor that Evie had never had cause to visit all those years ago. She’d guessed it was just storage space for the things previous residents had left behind, or where lost property lived. She herself had lost a few things while living here: a red and white polka-dot umbrella, three pairs of sunglasses that she’d bought in progressively bigger sizes in the hope they’d be too big to lose, and a pair of flip-flops that she’d kicked off in the lobby while chatting to Lieffe one warm summer’s evening after having been out at a party in a park where she’d got a little tipsy. Each time she’d noticed something m. . .