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Andy’s gift

Andy got himself for Christmas. But would his wife be pleased?

By Michel Faber   January 2001

He woke up one morning to find himself alive. If he had thought about himself at all in the last five years, he’d considered himself dead. Occasionally he’d peek out at the world, and for his peekhole he’d use the shrieking idiot the nursing staff called Andy.

But today he had dropped in to the idiot’s head to have a look, and there he was: alive as anything. It was a hell of a shock.

He sat up, immediately aware of the institutional pyjamas he was in.

“Morning, Andy!” said the old man sitting in the next bed.

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