He Has Returned

A work of pure fiction by

Andy Gilbert.

Copyright notice

This work is the sole copyright of the author and his heirs and assigns. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form without the express written approval of the author.

Hello, dear reader.

For the sake of the narrative I’d like you to suspend your previous knowledge of the biblical story of Jesus. Just suppose he came back this week to Earth. How would he feel? It’s a couple of thousand years since he was last here and we have moved on considerably. For the better? Let’s let him decide. The story within these pages is just a yarn about how things might have happened if he came back today and how the world would maybe treat him. I chose how to write the story. You can choose if there may be a little bit of fact among the fiction. Remember, it’s only a bit of a yarn.

Enjoy

Chapter 1

It started off as such a normal day.

The weather forecast had promised a nice mild spring morning.

My own internal forecast had promised a mild hangover after a late evening with my brother Kevin.

Both forecasts were right on the button.

Arriving at the office just a half hour late, I ducked up the back stairs to avoid being spotted by any of the senior management hanging around in the foyer. I sat at my desk and shuffled papers around to make it look like I’d been there for an hour and hoped none of the bosses had noticed my absence. I have a self inflicted headache which diminishes what little enthusiasm I already have for my job. It hadn’t taken much persuasion for Kevin to get me out on the town. We’re identical twins and it adds a new dimension to picking up girls when our two differing personalities speak to them. They usually go for one of us because they’re turned off by the other one. I should add here that I’m the nice guy and Kevin’s more of the love them and leave them type.  It was a mid week night and we didn’t chat any one up and we both ended up not very well prepared for a day’s work.

I needn’t have bothered looking busy as the office grapevine said the management team had all been in a meeting for the last two hours. I had been a contributor to the Telsonic ad campaign that had turned just a little negative and embarrassed the company bigwigs more than just a little bit. I had a lot of hope that my small part in the campaign was not part of a meeting that had got the directors out of their beds two hours early. I am a junior account exec at our firm. It’s a nice title but it means nothing other than I am at the bottom rung on the ladder in corporate world of public relations.

I only discovered much later that the meeting, which had been going on for more than two hours, was so that the members of the board could discuss which of the account execs they could coerce into taking on the latest project for Lockyer and Son Ltd. To be more accurate, this was actually the second meeting at which they were trying to persuade any advertising account executive into taking on what was probably the most awkward job the company had ever been asked to handle. It was at this second meeting that my name must have risen to the top of the pile.

I should explain that Lockyer and Son is a PR firm to the stars and wannabe stars and one of the largest firms of its kind in London. You’ve probably seen or heard some of their campaigns without realising that you may already have been acquainted with my work for the company. Those mini choc bars you buy in bags? Yep, that’s one of my brighter ideas. The manufacturers wanted ideas to sell more choc bars. My suggestion, somewhat flippantly, was to cut them in half. And you’d sell twice the numbers. One of the senior execs rushed off to the top floor and on the way up in the lift, it became his idea. That’s the kind of firm I work for!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I received a phone call at 9.35am from the big boss’s personal assistant asking me to come up to the boardroom. I stepped away from my desk and headed to the lift with a feeling of doom. I’d been the only account exec summoned from my floor. Everyone else in our office avoided my gaze. Like me, they all probably believed I’d been summoned to get a going over for the Telsonic cock up.  It’s like walking to the torture chamber. Everyone feels sorry for you but they’re damn glad it’s not them, so they are quite happy that you are to be the sacrifice. The lift doors opened as soon as I pressed the button. I didn’t even have to wait. You know things are bad when even the lift is ready and waiting to take you to your doom. Pressing the button for the top floor was something of a novelty as employees on my low level were never given the privilege of mixing with the top level and as the doors opened to the top floor I was just a little overwhelmed. I had always wondered how we got away with charging such high fees for our services.  Stepping out of the lift I could see where a lot of it had been spent. Walking to the management suite reception I was very impressed with the decor. There were leather chairs all around the reception area and Oriental rugs were casually scattered on the parquet flooring. The artworks on the wall were fairly expensive looking modern art. They were obviously expensive because they looked like... well they looked like something I had never imagined or seen in my life before. I also stopped for a moment at a huge and ugly looking sculpture that only grabbed my attention because I could not work out what the heck it was supposed to represent. I figured the company had gone for the elegant, established and tasteful look. It must have set them back a few quid but that was Lockyer and Son. A classy image was all important.

I gathered my thoughts together, checked my fly was done up and walked towards the reception desk. The receptionist barely lifted her head and silently pointed me in the direction of the boardroom before returning her attention to her computer screen. Walking across the polished floor I knocked on the boardroom door and entered.  I didn’t have time to take in a good look at the room. In the middle of the room was a long table with perhaps a dozen people sat around it. Two of the people in the boardroom took one look at me and put their head in their hands. The chairman, at the head of the table, gave me a beaming smile down the length of the table.

I should describe our chairman, Sir David Lockyer. Age fifty-plus, tall and sturdy in a semi-military style. Very ‘top drawer’ in everything he does. His suits are from Saville Row, his cars are from Rolls Royce and his speech comes from an elocution teacher. His real background is from his family upbringing in the Fulham Rd area. He might even come out with the occasional ‘Guvnor’ but only with a very well modulated plum-in-the-mouth type of utterance. Other than that rare occasion, Sir David is one of life’s upper class opportunists and, with a career based on an uncanny instinct for spotting an opportunity, has risen to the head of the family firm. He adopts a patrician air of upper class bonhomie that would take in a lot of people. Having worked for Lockyer & Son for two years, I’ve heard the stories of how Sir David got to where he is.  A small part of me admires him for his ruthlessness and a larger part of me is determined not to get on his wrong side. Today was the first time I had been the subject of Sir David’s bonhomie. I wasn’t aware he even knew my name!

Do come in, Andrew. You know everyone here, don’t you? Oh no, of course you possibly won’t.

One of the head-in-hand brigade cut in, Christ, Sir David, you have to be joking.

Hardly an appropriate epithet in the circumstances, replied the chairman which silenced the board member. Sorry, Andrew, do come in and take a seat.

I sat down at the only vacant seat at the table when Whitney, Sir David’s very elegant, smartly dressed secretary got the nod to get me a cup of coffee. All the guys on my floor talked about Whitney as being a very attractive young lady.  I admit those weren’t the words they actually used, but its close enough.  Seeing her up close, I reckoned the reports didn’t do her justice. She was a real ‘hottie’.  She had a very nice, pleasant face and good figure and all that, but there was just something about her that took her to the next level. I also noted to myself that things were either moving in slow motion for me or my brain was in high activity mode because I remember thinking to myself that I’d never get near this type of bird unless I went to clubs that you only got into by knowing someone with a top line motor or a platinum credit card. I’m sure you know what I mean. I should have been making myself ready for the axe. Instead I was having a bit of a perv at the legs of the secretary. Maybe I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I was? By the aroma coming from the coffee pot, it was real coffee, as well. There’s none of your Nescafe instant coffee for the boys on the top floor.

While I was waiting for Sir David’s secretary to return with my coffee I had a look around the boardroom table at the people who formed this august body. I recognised a has-been pop star of yesteryear with a desire to become respectable and a fistful of money to toss around. He had enough money to buy himself a seat on the board. At least he smiled and nodded when I looked at him. The rest of the board looked less than comfortable with my presence and I figured they were only there to pick up their directors fees and rubberstamp Sir David’s decisions. While I was being offered sugar in my coffee by the lovely Whitney, Sir David gave the board a brief summary of my career with Lockyer and Son to date. It was a very brief introduction as there were few highlights to mention.

The chairman cleared his throat and everyone at the table sat back and looked at me.

Andrew, he said, The board were delighted with your ideas for the Sands Gate project. There was a good bottom line for us, and a satisfied client to boot. A really, er, super effort.

It looked like I might be up here for a pat on the back, so I relaxed a little and sat up a little straighter. Thank you, Sir David. I had the idea for the logo from graffiti. Sir David cut across me with Yes, well, that’s a great step in your career with Lockyer and Son and rather vindicates our faith in you after the rather unfortunate outcome of the Telsonic account.

It appeared my biggest ever PR cock-up had also reached the top floor Ah yes, well I can also explain that Sir David.

No need to explain, Andrew. Sir David waved his hands dismissively. We have faith in you and to demonstrate our faith we, the board, have unanimously... there was an emphasis on the word unanimously at which a number of those present at the table seemed to shuffle a little uncomfortably. We have unanimously Sir David continued, decided to appoint you as head of the newest project for the company. As of now, you are to take full control of the JSOG account.

This was a turn up. I’d expected a bit of a going over for the Telsonic cock up. Not that I was taking all the blame, of course.

Sir David continued after a dramatic pause, Andrew, as of now, you are solely responsible for the ‘JSOG’ account. I’d like to offer my personal congratulations. It’s rare for one so new to the firm to be given a sole charge account. Now, Whitney here, He gestured to his secretary, who was standing a little closer to me than was comfortable for either of us. Whitney, here, will fill you in on the details, and I am sure you will be keen to get started, so we won’t delay you a moment longer. Good luck, dear Boy.

He waved his hands at me with a gesture that was somehow dismissive. That was my cue to go so I put down my coffee, got up and followed Sir David’s secretary out to her office. As I closed the boardroom door behind me, I could hear a fairly animated discussion start up. I wondered what else was being discussed as I followed Sir David’s secretary to get the information on the JSOG account.

As well as thinking Sir David had taste in office décor, I also appreciated he had taste in his secretarial staff. As I said, Whitney was a good looker and to my surprise she gave me a warm smile as we walked over to her desk. Maybe I’d better describe Whitney as well because she does have a hand in the story so to speak. First off, she is a very tidy-looking young lady. Tidily well dressed and all that but she had that something extra that made you give her a second look when she passed you in the corridor. Maybe five foot six tall with shortish light brown hair that isn’t light enough to be blonde but has enough colour in it so you wouldn’t call it ‘mousy’. Her build is not what you’d call voluptuous but she is still very pleasing to the eye. And speaking of eyes, I now noticed she had a real twinkle in her baby blues which was matched by the traces of a giggle in her voice.

I thought it best to sound as if I knew what I was doing so I gave it the ‘cool young executive’ tone of voice. Hi, er, Whitney is it?

Maybe I had misread her signals. She picked a couple of folders from her desk and gave them to me before taking me across the office to introduce me to Lesley. Whitney then turned and walked away back to the boardroom. Lesley was Sir David’s personal assistant and seemed like a decent bloke. He talked with a soft Scottish brogue, if that’s the right word. He dressed very tidily in the usual corporate attire although I think he may spend a bit more on his clothes than I do. He was also very efficient. I realised that once he started to sort me out with the travel papers and expenses. I also got the impression he may have been a teeny bit gay but tried to hide it. I have a younger brother who doesn’t date girls either, so I sort of knew the signs to look out for.

He finished the paperwork and turned back to me. His polite smile immediately turned to a grin. So, they finally got someone to take it on? You’re the fifth one they tried to dump it on today. He almost seemed to be laughing at my being put in charge of the JSOG account.

Well, obviously they left the best till last. I replied. On reflection I didn’t recall being aware that they had offered it to everybody else in the building before they had offered it to me. That somehow didn’t fill me with confidence.

Er, what exactly is the JSOG account, Lesley? Sir David didn’t go into too much detail. He said you would fill me in.

They never even told you and you still took it on? He raised his eyebrows and grinned at me. I don’t know whether it was because Sir David hadn’t told me, or that I had been so stupid as to take the job on in the first place without knowing the details.

It’s the ‘Jesus, Son of God’ account." said Lesley, as if that neatly explained everything.

What? Like it’s something for the church? I asked.

No, you berk. He said. It’s Jesus. You know, the Son of God. He’s come back and they are holding him at Liverpool Central Nick.

Chapter 2.

I gazed at Lesley with something akin to disbelief on my face.

What, the big JC? What am I supposed to do? No, this is a windup! I had the feeling this was going to be a bad day. It also blew my ‘cool young executive’ style of chat.

Well if they’re holding him at Liverpool Central Nick, I’d suggest your first move would be to go and arrange his bail. Lesley was grinning again. It doesn’t do to have the Son of God going stir crazy. He might get a touch toey and zap down a plague of locusts on you.

I know Lesley is gay and has those little mannerisms that gay guys often have, but when he added his soft Scottish accent it was quite nice and friendly humour if a little disturbing. I assumed he was being humorous, as the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Lesley, you’re a right barrel of chortles but can you tell me what this really is? This Son of God thing is a wind up. It is, isn’t it?

Don’t you believe it, Andrew? The Board’s been tossing this around since yesterday. Sir David got a call to Number 10 for lunch. When he got back he called an urgent meeting of the board and they’ve been trying to find a sucker to take it on since then. There were probably four yesterday that turned it down and another four today. You’d have been the ninth or tenth account exec they’ve offered it to. Hang on a bit.

He picked up the phone and gave someone on the other end my details.

Right, Andrew, give it ten minutes and your ticket will be ready to pick up from accounts. You’re booked on the 11.15 shuttle, Gatwick to Liverpool. Expenses aren’t a problem. Whitney gave you the subject folder and the other folder is on one Michael McCartney. He’s the one who discovered JSOG and is bankrolling us to handle the account with the right amount of dignity.

I had a go at stepping back. Give it a rest, I can’t be landed with this one. I don’t even go to bloody church.

Lesley had already turned back to his work as the boardroom doors opened and the board members started to file out. I nipped over to the lift and was back at my desk within a couple of minutes trying to make some sense of what had just happened. I felt sure that I would wake up at any minute and the whole thing would be a bad dream. On the one hand I was elated to have my own account to run with, but on the other hand the subject of it gave me some real concerns.

The next hour jogged right past me and before I knew it, I was sitting in business class at 20,000 feet over Birmingham and heading for Liverpool to meet the Son of God. Every time I thought of him as ‘Jesus’ my nerves got the better of me and I panicked. My religious upbringing was limited to Sunday School and Miss Denby. She was stern old spinster who, every week, gave us ten minutes of What a loving person Jesus was. The rest of the hour was spent telling us how many different ways Jesus could find out if we were naughty and all the things he would do to us when we got caught. It might have coloured my attitude to the church and God and all that Bible stuff. Now I’m flying at 20,000 feet over what might be the M6 and I’m about to meet the Son of God. Yeah, you might say I felt a little nervous. Calling him JSOG made it easier for me to think about whom my next appointment was with.

While I was going through the paperwork Whitney had given to me, I also opened the file of our client’s sponsor, Mr McCartney. The usual job specifications sheet was reasonably bare. The project sponsor, McCartney, was a businessman in ‘The City’. The desired end result of having our company work on JSOG was not filled in which also gave me no idea of what I was supposed to be doing. Lesley had told me this was a rush job. The info had only started coming after Sir David’s lunch at ‘Number 10’. Normally, before the folder was handed to an account exec, there would be at least thirty pages prepared that detailed the desired result, project guidelines and budget etc. There were also, usually, maybe a dozen pages of demographics on the proposed customer base. That info was needed to help us formulate a marketing plan. I was more than a little disappointed to find less than five pages in total between the two folders. Either Whitney or Lesley had added one of those little sticky memo note things that suggested I read the Bible if I wanted to find out about JSOG. I wasn’t too sure if they were being helpful or smart.

While I was trying to make sense of the notes, my cell phone rang. It was Ma. I mean it was my mother. She was ringing to remind me it was Matt’s birthday on Saturday and I shouldn’t forget to send him a card. A present would be good but a card was the least I should do. She was going on about a gift voucher and I was trying to tell her that I shouldn’t be speaking on my cell phone while I am in a plane. Then she went on to ask me why I was on a plane. This conversation could have gone on for a while with Ma, so I told her the steward was telling me to turn my phone off and pressed the close button. I’d probably pay for that later but my focus was more on the client I was to meet.

Descending into Liverpool airport, I was wracking my brain for everything I could remember about JSOG from Miss Denby’s ‘Sunday school for budding sinners’ classes as a kid.

I recalled that he was crucified, dead and buried. He rose from the dead on the Thursday. No, he rose on the third day. Oh yeah that’s where we get the long weekend at Easter. I remembered that quite easily. What else was there? The road to.... the road to somewhere beginning with G. No it was D. Detroit? Delhi? Damascus! The road to Damascus! Something must have gone down on the Damascus motorway. What else was there? His mother and father were Mary and Joseph. Then there was the virgin birth. Oh yeah and the three wise men and the star at Christmas. And the three wise men brought gold, frankincense and the other stuff beginning with ‘M’. Money! That’s it; they bought gold, frankincense and money. He was born in a manger. Isn’t a manger one of those things that cows eat hay from? Was Joseph a farmer? Funny, I thought he was a carpenter. I’d better do some client research before I put my foot in it with Jesus. No, not Jesus, I had to call him JSOG. The prospect of meeting the Son of God gave me the willies. I did remember things like God knew everything that happened and he counted your sins and stuff like that. That gave me a brief panic attack as I recalled one or two things in my immediate past that may not have completely fitted fully within the intent of the Ten Commandments. I put those down to a judgement call and that reminded me about the day of judgement, which brought on another panic attack. Thank you so much Miss Denby! I needed all this to be brought back right now! A Bible, I thought to myself, I’ll get a Bible and do some reading in the taxi.

By 12.55 pm, I was sitting in the passenger lounge at John Lennon airport flicking through a Bible I’d bought from the bookshop. After ten or so pages reading about Adam and Eve and then Cain and Abel getting up to no good, I gave up. There’d been no mention of Jesus at all. I was certain the Bible was about Jesus, but maybe I’d been wrong about that as well!

By 1.20pm I was hoping the whole thing was a windup. It had to be, didn’t it? Probably it was just some psycho who