" o," said the Paxo, "that's double bacon, double egg, double sausage, double black pudding and double toast, double beans and a mug of tea. Do you want sugar with that?"

"Sweetener if you've got 'em," replied the customer. "I'm watching my weight."

"Surely not. You've got the body of a twenty one year old," said Paxo dryly.

"Aye, and she's waiting in the car so get a bloody move on."

"Ha ha," said Paxo, before yelling "hey Weirdo - One Fat Boy Breakfast on the double!"

"Gotcha Chef!" shouted Adam above the din.

The café was unbelievably busy today and amidst clattering, chattering noise of coffee mugs and cutlery being enthusiastically applied to piled high plates, some French guy had been making an almighty fuss all morning. It was giving Adam a real corker of a headache that threatened to split his skull in half and spill pressurised grey matter amongst the bacon that spluttered on the griddle. This was surely contrary to normal standards of hygiene and therefore warranted a quick fag in the lavvy.

He flopped a cheeseburger into a bun and gagged at the oily reek of processed cheese. The smell seemed to follow him everywhere these days, impregnating his clothes and stinking out his flat. He dumped the burger in front of Paxo, formally Howard Packard, having acquired the pseudonym because of his propensity to stuff himself silly. The surly chef was languishing over the Formica counter.

"Take over here will you, boss? I've got a bit of a headache."

Paxo grunted and raised his eyes to heaven, bemoaning his misfortune at being lumbered with such a precious flower, before heaving his enormous pot -belly off the counter with an audible thump and ambling over to the griddle.

"Don't take all bloody day," he grumbled..

Adam made his way down the narrow alley to the Victorian brick outhouse and pushed at the peeling wooden door. A shard of light broke the darkness and sent a colony of spiders scuttling into the dank shadows. He flicked on the low powered bulb and, sitting down on the cracked porcelain bowl, began to read the shreds of tabloid newspaper that the proprietor had thoughtfully supplied in place of toilet paper.

The Frenchman's voice seemed to carry even to this secluded water hole, he thought as he read a very interesting article about a lady who had given birth to a wildebeest. Then, as he struggled to make out the grubby type in the dim light, he was suddenly aware that he wasn't alone. Somebody was reading each word out loud, like an echo, and it sounded like it came from just below his left ear.

Adam flinched and spun round. "Who's there," he cried, "and what the hell are you doing in my toilet?"

"Ah," said the voice, "thank goodness. At last I have the pleasure of meeting my host. I am Monsieur Jacques Delacroix, humble servant to Louis XVI of France and one of the world's only experimental philosophers. As to why I am in your toilet, Monsieur, I do not believe I am. Wherever I am it is very dark, and it smells slightly of cheese. Nevertheless I have been here some time now. This morning I was watching some most revealing images of a young man rubbing oil on the naked body of a young girl."

" I remember that," cried Adam. "I was thinking about Jezebel while I was scraping the fat off the griddle..." He clapped his hand to his mouth, suddenly self-conscious about explaining his grimy fantasies to an empty lavatory.

"Go on," said Delacroix, "I have seen it all already. When I was alive we favoured a fuller figure. Your lover is a bit on the thin side, I think."

"Look, you leave her out of this, she may be an ex-lover by this afternoon and it's none of your damn business anyway. Now come out and show yourself."

"I do not think that will be possible Monsieur. I believe - yes - I think that in some way Monsieur, I have tapped into your consciousness. I am in your head and I know as little about it as you. Perhaps I am un esprit d'amour. An angel of love, to bring the disparate lovers together."

Adam laughed nervously and rubbed his aching temple in an attempt to clear the disruptive delusion.. This was the limit. It was bad enough that he had a crappy life and a crappy job, now he was going bloody mad.

"Judging by some of the things I have seen in here I'd say you may be right," chirped Delacroix.

"What is an experimental philosopher anyway?" asked Adam, determined to reason his visitor away. "How can that work?"

"Well Monsieur, there are plenty of examples - do you know the conundrum about the cat in the box?"

"About how the cat isn't dead or alive until you open the box?"

"Exactly, the proposition is that the cat does not exist in either state until witnessed."

"And you proved that with an experiment?" asked Adam, who was starting to get interested.

"Not quite. The cat was definitely dead. You could smell it even with the lid closed."

There was a sharp rap on the toilet door.

"Hey weirdo, there's someone here to see you," shouted Paxo.

"Coming boss," replied Adam, then to Delacroix, "you stay here."

"Who've you got in there weirdo?" Paxo asked.

"Nobody," answered Adam, "I hope."

Back in the cafe Paxo grunted and pointed his raised eyebrows at the side table where a young woman sat. Adam groaned and made a half-hearted attempt at a cheery wave to Jez, who looked away sullenly and stubbed out her cigarette..

"Hi," he said brightly as he slumped into the plastic chair. Jez pulled a compact from her bag and started dabbing at her makeup in the small distorted mirror.

"You're late," she said, "where have you been, I've been here ten minutes and it smells of cheese in here."

"I had a friend round," mumbled Adam and heard a small snigger come from just below his left ear.

"Are you going to apologise ?" she asked.

"Look I'm really sorry. It's just cash is a bit tight at the moment and I just couldn't afford Del Bistroni's. This cafe's nice though. Let me buy you something."

She frowned and clucked her tongue. "I should have gone out with Gavin. He had a car at least."

"He had an orange 1974 Capri - that's not a car, that's an embarrassment. Most of it was in a box in the garage anyway."

"He was doing it up! Shut-up and buy me a bacon bap, no cheese."

She continued to peer at an invisible blemish on her nose so, after ordering the roll with a pleading look to Paxo, Adam let his eye's wander over her; dark, come-to-bed eyes, perky breasts with a neat little waste, long shapely legs and sexy, strappy, high heeled sandals that had the effect of emphasising her deliciously pert..."

"Skinny arse," said Delacroix suddenly. "She needs to put on weight."

"She's quite fat enough thank you," snapped Adam who was taken aback by the interjection..

"What did you say?" said Jezebel, her false eyelashes wide in astonishment.

"Sorry weirdo," said Paxo whose hand hovered above the table with the bacon roll, "I thought you ordered a roll."

"You PIG !" screamed Jezebel. She snatched up her coffee and hurled it at him before grabbing her handbag and storming out of the cafe.

"You're fired," grumbled Paxo, "and you can pay for the roll."

Adam sighed. And dripped.

He spent the rest of the day in the park drinking cheap cider from a plastic bottle. It rained constantly and seemed to get progressively heavier as Adam's mood became darker. His thin cotton jersey was soaked to the skin.

"Well," said Delacroix cheerfully, "it appears that I am not an angel of love sent to splice two star-crossed lovers."

"Just get out of my damn head, okay ?" snapped Adam, " I know that you're a figment of a feverish imagination so just bugger off."

"Ah yes Monsieur, you raise a very interesting point which I have considered myself. I could be imaginary and yet I am clearly conscious, capable of free thought and speech and can even remember my own rather messy death at the hand of Madame Guillotine. Well before, if not after. Maybe you are a figment of my superior imagination."

Adam shrugged and took another swig from the brown bottle. The dark cloud of depression had consumed him and his stomach felt empty and leaden in spite of the quantity of scrumpy swimming around inside.

"It couldn't be, do you think, that we have stumbled across the proof of Octavia Liebnitz' 1649 treatise?" said Delacroix. "Tell me Monsieur, parlez vous Francais ?"

Adam shook his head. "What the hell did you say?" he asked impatiently, but as the Frenchman began to expound his theory, Adam had already stopped listening.

He'd somehow expected it to end this way. From the very beginning he'd felt like an outsider, like the world was keeping a huge secret from him and that whatever he did, he would never be one of the beautiful people. He was broke, single, jobless and going insane. To top it all the awful cheesey smell had been getting steadily worse until now it was like the acrid stench of rotten meat left in a hot car.

"This life's not for me," he muttered sadly.

Even through the befuddled state of his mind he could sense the sudden interest of his imaginary companion.

"Oui, Monsieur, I think you are probably correct, you are a hopeless case and it would be the kindest thing."

I'll use pills, that's easiest, thought Adam.

"Ah, if only I had the guillotine here we could proceed with the business apace," offered Delacroix, seeming to warm to the idea.

Ignoring the malign whittering Adam's eye caught sight of the old water tower that stood in the centre of the park. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and tottered towards it, discarding the empty brown bottle. The door was bolted and padlocked but the chain looked rusty and frail and with the aid of a thick branch he was able to lever the corroded links apart, and begin the climb up the dank stone stairs that coiled the huge metal water tank. Meanwhile the figmentary philosopher argued the merits of different techniques of termination. By the time Adam had reached the top of the tower and crept out onto the thin walkway above the still black water Delacroix was extolling the virtue of disembowelment by fish harpoon, when the chatter suddenly stopped.

"Monsieur," said Delacroix gravely, "we are on the precipice of the greatest philosophical proofs of all time. Let us hope we are correct."

Adam ignored his delusion and stepped to the edge but, as he looked into the void, he had a sudden pang for home and thought fondly of his mum and dad bickering over the television remote control. He pictured his kid sister, lining up her blindfolded Barbie dolls against the bedroom wall before lopping of their heads with sequateurs, for crimes against the state. He remembered the family dog, curled up with his nose tucked in his tail, whimpering as he dreamt of chasing rabbits across endless rolling hillsides.

"No," he said, "this is stupid," and stepped back from the edge.

"WHAT?" cried Delacroix. "You must kill yourself Monsieur. Don't be so selfish!"

"What the hell has it to do with you anyway?" yelled Adam above the wind which now howled around the creaking decrepid tower, punctuated by gut-wrenching clashes of thunder.

"I will tell you then," said the Frenchman. "Can you explain how a man who is clearly an imbecile - judging by his choice of reading matter and women - can have the cognitive power to resurrect one of the worlds finest thinkers in a fit of insanity?"

"No," replied Adam emphatically.

"Exactly, you do not even speak French Monsieur. Well, consider you are correct and that I am an invention of your fevered brain. How is it that you know enough to reconstruct my thoughts, emotions and memories? I will tell you how." He paused for effect. "Only if me and your skinny girlfriend were always figments of your imagination. We are all in your head, even your imaginary mother and your dog. They are all inventions of your subconscious. Now you are unhappy with your fantasy world. The fabric of your invention is rotting around you and you have resurrected me in your head to explain the way out, and I will help you."

"So what you're saying," sniffed Adam, "is that every person I ever met, everything I ever saw or learnt, every kiss or hug or word from another human being, was a fabrication of my mind. A I the only person in the world who is real?"

"Oui, Monsieur I believe that is the case. And what is more, your imagination is responsible for every living creature's thoughts and emotions, so..."

"So every bit of pain and fear and suffering there's ever been in the world is my fault."

"I am sorry mon ami. You have nothing to lose. Jump, and discover the secret of the universe."

Adam's eyes began to sting and tears trickled down his face. He laughed suddenly, realising the hopelessness of his situation. He was either the only living soul in the entire world or he was going quickly and certainly insane and either way he knew his futile life was over. As a leaden cloud of loneliness enveloped him he threw back his head, let out a tortured sob, and jumped.

He hit the water with a crash that snapped him back to his senses and he struggled to regain the surface, but by now his diaphragm was jerking convulsively at the shock of ice cold water sucking it into his lungs. He felt the water saturate his jumper and take hold of him, the dead-weight dragging him down into the darkness of the tank. Slowly the pain in his chest disappeared as his brain was starved of oxygen and blackness descended on him like a pall of smoke.

Meanwhile, in the cafe, Paxo shimmered slightly as if seen through a heat haze, and evaporated before the flipped burger had slapped back onto the griddle. Gavin looked out of Del Bistroni's window to see his beloved Capri dissolve to nothing and was just rising to his feet with a well chosen expletive forming on his lips when he too disappeared. This made Jezebel look up briefly from her vanity mirror and when she looked back, she had popped out of existence as well.

And in space, a casual observer would have witnessed a small, pretty blue planet wobble on its axis, before disappearing with a small and disappointingly non-end-of-the-universe "phut", leaving behind a large patch of...

...void.

Black.

Black water.

Light.

Into the water a syrupy, grey light crept, sliding begrudgingly down through the depths.

For a long, long time Adam floated cold and still, slightly curled with his arm and legs hugged to him like a foetus suspended in formaldehyde. The light stretched its tendrils into the depths far below where it revealed a lugubrious shifting movement, like a giant creature stirring from sleep. Up through the water the turgid mud seemed to rise to meet him; first nestling his body in a cold soft bed of sediment, then rising faster through the water until his prone form broke the surface with a crash.

Adam's corpse lay on a newly formed island surrounded by blue water, not just water in fact but a huge boundless ocean that stretched as far as all horizons and swelled and subsided languidly. The park, the water tower and everything that went before was gone. Above his body the wispy clouds started to drift across a new blue sky, whilst around him tiny shoots of grass began to peek through the rapidly drying mud. A vine sprouted by his foot and tangled itself around his leg, while at his head tree broke the soil, grew rapidly, flowered and bore heavy red apples in the space of a few moments.

And Adam's eyes flickered open.

He sat up and looked around him, lost. The air was filled with a fresh green smell, like the first flush of spring.

"Wow. I must have made it to heaven in spite of everything," he whispered , as a bunny rabbit hopped past him. He sat up and watched the rabbit play in the burgeoning grass, glad that they had relaxed the rules on animals entering the kingdom in the face of so much popular support, until it hopped past a pair of legs. Nice legs. Long legs.

"Bloody hell, a naked woman!" cried Adam.

"Hello," said the woman, in a voluptuous, brown velvet voice. "My name is Eve."

"Ah," smiled Adam. "Now this is more like it."