“Surely you can handle it?” snorted Sal. “What would be gained by me coming in?”

“Well, you’re the boss,” replied Jez apologetically. “The buck stops with you. In the event of a – erm? – tragedy, I mean.”

Sal bit her tongue. She felt furious. This was the first Saturday she had taken off work in two months and now her deputy had rung up because of what he had described as an emergency situation no less, a member called Gavin Cresswell stuck in the club’s lift. 

Hullo?” asked Jez into the silence. “Are you still there?”

Sal glanced at her watch. It displayed 27 minutes after noon. “How long’s he been in there?” she asked. 

“Half an hour or thereabouts,” said Jez. “He’s alone and – “

“You’ve been upstairs to the bulkhead and attempted the manual release mechanism, I assume?” Sal interrupted testily. 

“Yes. It judders the cage a lot but nothing else,” Jez confirmed. “We must have tried it half a dozen times, much to Gavin’s distress. He started shouting at us to stop and in very abusive terms. He’s terrified the cage might suddenly release and crash down to the ground floor.”

“You will have to summon the emergency engineer,” she told him.

“I have done already,” said Jez. “But he’s in Deptford. He’s got to drive right across London to get here. It could take hours. And the member, Gavin,  it says in his application notes that he’s agoraphobic.”

Sal ran the word through her brain, thinking she might have misheard. “Agoraphobic?” she repeated. “Meaning he’s afraid of wide open spaces?”

“It’s a bit more than that,” said Jez. “I think it includes a fear of enclosed places.” 

“Then why the hell did he get into the lift in the first place?” she asked. “I mean it’s only one flight of stairs up to the gym area?”

“The old boy was coming down,” Jez corrected her. “He’s eighty and I assume he must have been too knackered after his workout to walk.”

Eighty! Oh fuck! Sal thought to herself. He could have a seizure while waiting! It didn’t bear thinking about. The negative publicity would cost the club dear. It might even – never mind, don’t go there. “I’m on my way,” she blurted out. “Text his membership details to my mobile, will you? And contact his registered next of kin. Oh, and make sure you keep in touch with him. Constant reassurance is of the essence. Don’t let him start thinking he’s been abandoned. Okay?”

Jez carried out those instructions to the letter. First the text to Sal then the call to Gavin’s daughter, Alice. It went directly to ansaphone and he left a call back message. Finally to the unfortunate gentleman himself. The ring tone played out for ten seconds before a voice croaked wearily, “Hullo? Who is this?”

“It’s me again, Gavin. Jez, the deputy manager,” Jez announced, trying his best to sound upbeat. “How are you bearing up?”

“I’m not up,” came the reply. “I’m lying on the floor staring at the roof of the lift. Can’t you open the trapdoor and lower a ladder down so I can climb out?”

“Like I explained before, Gavin, there isn’t a door in the roof,” said Jez. “I now have an ETA for the engineer though. It’s one thirty-five.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a trapdoor?” mumbled Gavin. “I can see a square thing.”

“It must be a decoration,” suggested Jez. “There’s definitely no hatch.”

“There is in the films whenever you see someone stuck in a lift,” complained Gavin. “I’m parched. Is there no way to get water in?”

“I’m afraid not,” apologised Jez. “We’ll have hot drinks aplenty for you once you’re released and a wholesome lunch.” No reply was forthcoming. “Still there, Gavin?”

“Where else would I be?” grumbled the old man. “My phone battery’s on red. The juice has almost run out.”

“Okay, then I’ll leave you in peace,” said Jez. “Make yourself as comfortable as you can. Help is not far away. Rest assured.” 

Comfortable? thought Gavin with an ironic sneer. The dimensions of his stainless steel mausoleum he had calculated at six feet long by four wide and ten high. As a chamber its chief characteristic was antiquated utilitarianism. It looked not so much tired as terminally soporific. The red emergency light kept pulsing neurotically and he cursed his stupidity in forgetting to ask the deputy manager to cancel it. The truth was that when the deputy bloke had phoned up for the third time Gavin had been lying there in a crumpled trance trying to mentally conjur what his CBT coach referred to as “life-enhancing thoughts”. The first few times he had sex with Kathy, for instance, watching Geoff Hurst score England’s fourth goal in the 66 world cup final, swimming with dolphins in The Bahamas. Those thirty minutes had passed quickly enough but now unexpectedly it seemed he was faced with another hour. The emergency eye seemed to taunt him horribly. “Shut me out if you can, loser!” its frenzied winking implied. He twisted his back to it, challenging his mind to return to those safe places and peak experiences of yore.

When they failed to materialise Gavin recalled a Buddhist once saying to him. “If your back is against the wall, at least try to appreciate that you have something holding it up.” What the hell did that mean anyway? I’ll give it two minutes of reflection tops, he thought with a glance at his watch. In the event he arrived at an answer in fifty seconds, namely “Every adversity contains its compensations if you look hard enough.” So what were his compensations – ensconced in this dungeon? Gavin racked his brain, a cognitive exercise which at least managed to kill another five minutes. Then an answer to the riddle came to him. Before leaving the gym to get in the lift he had emptied his bladder in the toilet. Imagine if he had waited until he arrived on the ground floor to do it instead! He would by now be swimming in urine. The cage suddenly creaked and Gavin involuntarily swiveled his head towards the reverberation. “Call that a compensation?” mocked the emergency light. “You’re tilting towards the edge of desperation, mate!”

Gavin opened his phone instantaneously and pressed redial on the most recent call. “Is that Jazz?” he bawled.

“Jez. Yes,” came the laconic reply. “Can I help?”

“Jazz, Jezz, whatever your name is, yes you bloody can!” he retorted. “I need this emergency light switched off. It’s driving me mad. It’s taunting me.”

“Oh, it’s you sir,” Jez said. “The light in the lift is taunting you?”

“Taunting. Taking the piss. Don’t you understand English?” blustered Gavin. “I can’t do anything my end. Just pull the plug on it – “ 

Jez did not hear any more. The line had been abruptly cut off. He instantly pressed the redial icon and heard a voice announcing that the person he was trying to speak to was not presently available. “Joc?” he called to the counter assistant who was doling out towels to incoming members. “Do you know how to disconnect the lift’s emergency light once it’s been activated?” She shrugged ironically as if to imply that the answer to such esoteric questions was well above her pay grade. Then Jez’s phone chirped into life. “Oh, Gavin,” he responded. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“This is Sanjeev, from the lift emergency service,” corrected the caller. “I’m stuck in football traffic near Penge on the South Circular. I need to revise my ETA.”

“Till when?” asked Jez.

“Not really sure,” declared the engineer. “I’ll ring again with a progress report.”

Jez urged the man to do his best then tried Gavin’s phone again. It remained unavailable. Either the old boy has panicked and rung the fire brigade or maybe the Samaritans, he thought with alarm, or else his mobile ran out of juice? Under the counter a contraption labeled intercom link to lift caught his eye. He pressed a green button and began speaking. “That thing hasn’t worked for years,” pointed out Joc.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” chuntered Gavin to himself. “I have to pretend I am somewhere else.” He had pressed whatever tissues he could find in his pockets into the space between his eyes and his spectacle lenses but the artificial darkness thus created retained a disconcerting aura to it. It felt as if he was gazing at a partial eclipse of the sun. Sleep would be impossible. He knew that. The aches had not just settled in, they were spreading – buttocks, knee joints, neck. Whichever way he contorted his body only served to locate a new area of discomfort hitherto unnoticed. Elbows, shoulders, diaphragm. Gradually he began to identify each locus of pain with somebody he had known in his long lifetime. Somebody with whom he had unfinished business. His father. A schoolmaster. A boyhood friend. How could this be? he found himself wondering. That these bodily aches are now metabolising as people? Gavin realised he had a choice in the matter. He could either own the pain or the individual but not both simultaneously. One seemed to displace the other in his sensibility. It was fascinating to watch them assembling one after another like a gallery of demi-rogues and misanthropes suddenly resurrected from the deepest recesses of his mind. In between visitations and the cross-examinations accompanying them he recalled the aphorism that a drowning man sees his life flashing before him.

When Sal eventually came bustling into the reception foyer she was less than pleased to learn that the engineer had not yet arrived. “This intercom thing,” said Jez, “do you know how it works? Gavin’s phone has gone dead.” She fiddled around ineptly for a couple of minutes before giving up. “The engineer got stuck in the Millwall traffic,” explained Jez, “and now he’s hit the Chelsea gridlock.”

Sal strode rapidly to the lift shaft. It had been roped off with yellow tapes, the sort the police use in the event of a crime scene investigation. “Gavin, can you hear me?” she shouted. “This is Sally, the general manager. How are you feeling?” No reply. “I said how are you feeling?!”

These final words filtered remotely into Gavin’s sensory ambit and immediately became integrated into the conversation he was having with the apparition of a former girlfriend. “I am feeling guilty and remorseful,” he mentally replied. “I took you absolutely for granted. It is no excuse but I was self-absorbed, consumed in my own pain.”

The old flame gazed back at him through tragically sad eyes, her lips trying to form words. “You’re wrong,” he heard. “You were a selfish lout. Is that clear?”

Outside the lift Sal exhorted Gavin a second time. “Be strong,” she repeated. “You will soon be out. He’s almost here!” 

When she arrived back at reception Sal told Jez, “Gavin didn’t reply. Not so much as a murmur. I”m worried.”

“He’s a bit deaf,” interjected Joc. “I’ve noticed he wears hearing aids. Could be the batteries have run out?”

“Or he’s fallen asleep?” suggested Jez. “My grandad catnaps three or four times a day. And he’s only seventy-four.”

Where did all these damsels in distress come from? Gavin was asking himself. Did I really ruin so many? He wanted to tell them that it takes two to dance the Armageddon tango, that those to whom emotional damage is done inevitably do emotional damage in return. Simultaneously he wanted to prostrate himself at their feet, to weep and to beg forgiveness. He wanted to croon the Elton John song, Sorry Is The Hardest Word. But most of all he wanted to escape from this purgatorial prison. He wanted the liberty to return to his smug delusional way of life. He did not want to die like this in multiple forms of pain. If his time had truly come then he wanted to expire comfortably and fast asleep in his bed. Was that too much to ask?

“He is not going to be deprived of oxygen, is he?” Sal was asking her deputy.

Jez shook his pony-tailed head. “Nooooh,” he replied coolly. “That was the first thing I asked Sanjeev. He’s got enough for twenty-four hours.”

“And what about this reference to agoraphobia in his application notes?” Sal continued. “Is that liable to complicate things?”

“It shouldn’t do,” surmised Jez. “Like you said before, he did choose to get in there. Nobody forced him.”

Sal felt less than convinced. She retreated to her office after warning Jez to alert her as soon as the engineer walked in. She had been in the job just over two years and in all that time the lift had malfunctioned just once, over-loaded with weights and treadmills by a corner cutting gym supervisor. Luckily nobody had been in the cage at the time. Acting on intuition, she fingered through her files for the repairer’s report. It appeared within seconds at her probing finger tips as expected three drawers down under L, secured neatly inside a cellophane folder and next to a servicing ledger. It did not take her long to read the documents through. After which she exclaimed, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” before sinking dejectedly into a chair.

“Don’t talk to me about love,” the latest apparition was saying to Gavin. “You never loved anybody but yourself. You had the gift of the gab and I was too young and naive to see through you!”

They were swarming around him now, pushing each other to get properly in his face, enemies and ex-lovers alike. “A fake macho man, if ever I saw one!” chipped in somebody else who bore a resemblance to a blonde psychology student he once dated. 

“We were all faking something or other when we were kids,” he retaliated as he struggled to remember her name. “What were you faking? An air of cultural sophistication? Holier than thou moral rectitude?”

“Don’t lecture me about moral rectitude!” the vision said. “You don’t understand the half of it. But you soon will, once you cross over to the other side!”

“The other side of what?” Gavin demanded. “Are you in your right mind?”

“It’s happening right now,” she continued. “You’ve got half an hour left at the most. You’re fading away. You’re leaving your body and entering the spirit world – and you ain’t going to like it one bit. They don’t make it easy over here for newcomers. They’ll have your nose to the grindstone for aeons. You have to earn your spurs.”

When Jez finally popped his head round the door of Sal’s office to tell her the engineer had arrived he found his boss pacing up and down with a face like thunder. “Sanjeev’s got straight on the job,” he chirped. “Reckons to have Gavin out in fifteen minutes.” Sal did not seem to hear, such was the intensity of her preoccupation. “I said the engineer reckons to – “

“I heard what you said,” Sal cut him off unceremoniously. “I don’t suppose you managed to ascertain by any chance what Gavin did for a living before he retired?” Jez looked chipper again. He nodded, feeling proactive and ahead of the game. “Well? Are you going to tell me?” she grimaced.

“He was a lawyer,” replied Jez. “Specialised in property acquisitions and ownership liabilities apparently.” And he beamed back, panting with his mouth agape like a dog who has every expectation of an affectionate pat on the head. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Sal snarled. “Go and see if Sanjeev’s got everything he needs!”

Gavin had decided enough was enough. “Fuck off the lot of you!” he bawled at the mob. “I know you’re just a hallucination! You don’t really exist! Clear off and leave me in peace!”

“I’m not a hallucination. Don’t kid yourself,” smirked a man in an academic gown. He was holding a gym shoe, the weapon he used to prolific effect in the classroom to punish any pupil whose homework test dropped below seven out of ten. “I’m not averse to giving you six of the best even now, sonny Jim. Or at least when you join us on the other side.”

Gavin suddenly realised how rapid his breathing had become, how hot and sweaty his body felt, the cramping in his guts. “You are not real, sir!’ he shouted. “You are a figment of my imagination!”

“If I’m not real, how come you can see and hear me?” asked the French master. “How come your body is sweating from the sheer terror of the beating awaiting you?”

“Because – because – “ stammered Gavin, “because I’m having a panic attack.”

Once Jez had left her alone Sal googled the NHS, inserting the word agoraphobia in the search bar. Two lists of symptoms appeared under the headings Physical and Cognitive. She scanned them with increasing anxiety, especially noting the terms hyperventilation, diarrhea, ringing in the ears, and fear you are losing your sanity. Her 999 call got rapidly diverted to the ambulance service operator who listened carefully to the garbled story, asking questions where appropriate. “It may be as long as half an hour,” he explained. “Saturday afternoon is inevitably a busy time with all the sports events going on. I’ll do my best. In the meantime if the lift is opened and he’s in good shape, which most likely will be the case, please ring us back to cancel. Okay?”

Sal hung up, feeling somewhat reassured. I must not be seen as being in any way negligent, she told herself and only then remembered the lift manifold. It clearly stated that the lift had to be serviced twice a year to ensure efficient functioning but the record log at the back indicated nothing had been done for over three years! How the hell could this oversight have happened? She was supposed to have a peripatetic maintenance manager who advised her on all structural matters. If the lift was outside his terms of reference nobody had ever informed her. Or had they? She racked her memory to no avail. A club with over six hundred members and ninety full and part-time staff to deal with, how on earth was she supposed to find time to deal with a bloody lift? She began prowling up and down the office floor again, wondering who to ask without betraying her possible culpability. If the lawyer started looking under the club carpet once he emerged from his ordeal then the shit might really hit the fan. He could demand serious compensation and her job might be subsequently on the line.

She retrieved a half litre bottle of brandy she kept locked in a bottom drawer and took a long swig. Get a grip, woman, she urged herself. You’re catastrophising. He’s a fit man for his age. His records state he works out five times a week. Three hours in a lift is hardly going to harm him. I’ll lay on the sandwich lunch and the soft soap. Maybe throw in two or three months free membership. Another swig, a deep inhalation of breath and she was ready to rejoin the world of her underlings and members. “Where’s Jez?” she asked the counter assistant as she arrived in reception.

“He took the engineer up to the bulkhead room above the lift,” Joc replied. “By the way, Jez asked me to tell you he’s just had a phone call from Gavin’s daughter. She’s on holiday in Florida.”

To get to the stairs Sal had to pass through the cafeteria. It seemed busier than usual, clusters of recovering exercisers sipping their vitamin drinks, munching burgers, gazing at wall mounted TV screens or personal laptops and phones. Some greeted her amicably, others remained in their own heads. As she passed between the tables she thought she heard a voice behind her say, “That one’s got a drink problem” but chose to ignore it. Someone held open the swing doors that led to the stairwell and as she rounded the corner to access them almost collided with Jez coming the other way. “Oh, Sal, excuse me,” he apologised. “Good news. The lift is now down. All Sanjeev has to do is lever the door open.” Sal offered the engineer her thanks in addition to her hand and off they collectively strolled down the corridor that led to the lift entrance opposite the men’s changing room. Sanjeev seemed a nice biddable bloke, full of remorse for his tardiness. When they reached the portal she demurely stood well back while the men ripped off the yellow taping and the engineer went into action, forcing a long iron gemmy into the space between the edge of the door and the facade.

It did not open easily, however. An inch, then a second inch and finally a juddering third. At this point Sanjeev donned a thick pair of leather gloves and reverted solely to his hands. More resistance and scraping before suddenly the barrier capitulated and the hole gaped wide before them. Sanjeev moved instantly inside with the result that Sal’s view became obscured. She saw him bend forward towards the floor but her primary sensory experience was of a horrible stench. Words were being spoken but whoever lay there did not appear to respond to them.

Joc, still doling towels behind the counter, became aware of an ambulance arriving well before it veered into the main car park. The racket of the siren set her teeth on edge, the sudden intuition of a disaster about to see the light of day. She vacated her post and went outside to ensure they did not miss the members’ entry point and cruise off towards the golf range, catching the driver’s attention just in time. “This way!” she waved. The vehicle, all yellow enamel and flashing blue lights, screeched to a halt, reversed five yards and swung straight towards her.

“Are we still needed?” asked the passenger medic shouting through the window.

“I think so,” she replied. “Follow me.”

“Hey! I can’t get my car out!” an irate member shouted as the three of them hurried through the automatic glass doors, utterly oblivious to his impatience. “Just pull forward a few yards!”

The receptionist spotted Sal first, lingering on the edge of a group of prurient spectators close to the lift. “The ambulance men are here,” she announced to her stunned boss. “Have they got him out yet?”

The medics did not wait to hear the answer. They weighed the situation up in a microsecond. “Excuse me, sir, leave this to us,” said one of them, maneuvering both Jez and then Sanjeev out of the way.

“I think he’s still got a pulse,” advised Sanjeev to their backs. “And he’s soiled himself.”

When the ambulance had taken Gavin away Sal took the bereft lift engineer for a consoling cup of coffee in her office. “If only I had taken the motorway route,” he groaned. “I would have arrived much sooner. You must think so badly of me.”

The beverages had been brought in on a tray together with the cucumber and salmon sandwiches specially prepared for Gavin’s celebratory lunch. “I think nothing of the sort,” Sal reassured him. “Your professionalism has been exemplary. Would you like a brandy with that?” Sandeev shook his doleful head. “I shall be writing a letter of commendation to your employer. Do you mind if I take a drop?” she added, emptying what remained in the bottle straight into her Americano. 

“I would do anything to rectify my negligence,” he said. “I really would.”

She offered him a sandwich which he declined. “I hate to ask you this,” she said. “But.” Then changed her mind. “No I can’t possibly.”

What is it?” he coaxed. “Please say.”

“No, it would be the devil’s own cheek to even suggest such a thing,” insisted Sal.

“Go on, tell me. I won’t be offended, honestly.”

“It’s just that the lift is due for its six monthly service,” she conceded, “and now that you are here – well, it makes sense to get it done. I’m so sorry. I can see by your face what you think. Please just forget I spoke about it.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” replied Sanjeev. “I’d be happy to do it. The thing is I’m on emergency duty. If another breakdown call comes in I’d have to drop everything and leave.”

“Of course you would. That’s perfectly understood,” agreed Sal. “I should of course make it very much worth your while, cash in hand, and you would get to keep all of it even if you’re summoned away within five minutes of starting.”

Three hours later he returned to her office and announced that all was finished. “I’ve even reconnected the intercom underneath your reception counter,” he explained as she handed a beige envelope stuffed with twenties. “If you give me the manifold I’ll update the service record.”

“I’m terribly sorry it’s been temporarily mislaid,” she smiled. “I think the company ops man took it away with him last time he was here. If you can just put your stamp on a blank piece of paper I’ll do a cut and paste job later.”

The engineer was only too pleased to oblige. “Any news from the hospital about Gavin?” he asked on the way out.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “We’re all still on tenterhooks.”

“Make sure you give him my best wishes next time he’s in,” said Sanjeev.

Sal promised she would and shook the engineer’s hand warmly, having long since decided not to spoil the poor man’s day any further by revealing that Gavin had died at the hospital just twenty five minutes after Sanjeev had begun servicing the lift.