Seven deadly sins

The celestial reception area had the atmosphere of an executive conference. Mary was surprised already that so many earthly traditions had been carried over to the afterlife. If she’d been in charge she certainly wouldn’t have brought over this tradition of greeting delegates with spreadsheets and plastic name badges. And she would have made sure the cakes were at least home-baked. In heaven, everything had the texture of the pre-fabricated. It was, in truth, more than a little disappointing. As for the tablecloth. Had they not heard of bleach, or fabric conditioner? It was off-white and stained, like the shroud of Christ himself. Mary wouldn’t have allowed such a thing in her own home, never mind in the church where she was head deacon, had been head deacon.

Everybody knew that, on the days when Mary was in charge, the doilies would be on the plates and the best tablecloth would be freshly washed and pressed. As for Mary’s cakes. Well, she didn’t mean to be conceited but they were the best in the village and she had the rosettes from the fete to prove it.

Mary edged forward in the queue. That was another thing. Why was she in amongst this rabble? There was no differentiation here, no class or rank. Of course, in the eyes of the Lord, everyone should be equal, but Mary had worked hard for her place in heaven and would really have preferred to be at the front of the line.

As she reached the table, a woman in horn-rimmed spectacles looked her up and down like she was a Victoria Sponge being judged herself. She did not like the feeling.

            ‘Ah,’ said the woman. ‘Mary.’ She scanned the name badges searching for the right one. ‘Greedy Richard, Lustful George, Avaricious Alloicious.’ She smiled at this one, clearly pleased with the way it rolled off the tongue. ‘There we are!’ she said, eventually. ‘Proud Mary! You’re off to the left dear. Room 7. Welcome to your afterlife.’