Page 11 of The Time of My Afterlife

I nudge her. ‘We can’t go back without any clues.’

She scowls at me. ‘I don’t care what you think. I’m going back.’

Irritation courses through me. I let out a heavy sigh. ‘Fine.’

Hilda flicks over a page on her clipboard. ‘Your first message from the afterlife will appear tomorrow evening.’

Iris clears her throat. ‘We will now send you back to your lives. Remember, to pass the test, you must change something.’

There’s a flash of bright white light, and then the world goes dark.

5

FLORENCE

‘Florence!’ Clark shouts. I blink, and the world snaps back into place. We’re back on the crossing. The lopsided silver car is hurtling towards us. Time must have been rewound. We have been given a second chance. The car is out of control and getting dangerously close. My breath catches. I can’t move.

Panic engulfs me. My limbs have frozen in fright.

I am going to die all over again, and this time, they won’t let me come back due to stupidity.

Clark grabs my hand and yanks me sideways as the car roars past where I was standing a heartbeat ago. We fall in a tangled heap on the pavement. I find myself on top of him. His nose is almost touching mine, and I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. We both blink in surprise as behind us, the car skids wildly across the crossing before shuddering to a stop. The smell of burning rubber fills the air.

‘Get off me,’ Clark croaks. ‘I can’t breathe.’

In a mad scramble, I haul myself up.

‘I think you’ve crushed one of my lungs,’ he gasps, rubbing his chest.

‘You pulled me on top of you,’ I snap.

He scowls. ‘Trust me, Florence, that wasn’t a position I chose. Anyway, I think the phrase you are looking for is – thanks for saving my life, Clark.’

I feel the familiar prickle of Clark irritation.

The driver’s door of the car opens, distracting us momentarily. An old man with white tufty hair stumbles out. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He looks over, reaches for a hankie and dabs his brow. ‘I tried to stop the car, but I lost control.’

Clark gets to his feet and stares at me. ‘Well, Florence? What do you have to say?’

Words jostle on my tongue.

Clark huffs and goes to inspect the man’s car. ‘Your tyre at the back is in tatters.’ The old man goes to stand by Clark to inspect the damage. ‘Looks like it was ripped apart by something.’

The sounds of impatient car horns make us look around. There’s a queue of vehicles all waiting for the blockage to be cleared. ‘We need to get the car off the road,’ I say, wiping a layer of sweat from my brow.

A man and woman walking their dog hurry over. ‘Do you need some help?’ says the man, looking directly at Clark. ‘You and I can push it onto the grassy verge.’

‘I can help too,’ I say, slightly agitated at how he didn’t include me.

The man laughs. ‘Leave the heavy stuff to the men, luv,’ he says, before throwing me a patronising look.

‘I’m not your “luv”, and if you must know, I am stronger than him.’ I growl, pointing to Clark, who is grinning at me.

‘Oh, let them get on with it,’ jokes the woman, scooping up her dog. ‘We can go stand on the sidelines and cheer them on.’

The moment is lost as the man and Clark have already walked towards the car.

Reluctantly, I head to the pavement. The old man joins me and the woman with her dog. He seems unsteady; I offer my arm for support. With his spare hand, he rummages inside a pocket and takes out a mobile phone. After several attempts at prodding the buttons, he passes it to me. ‘Would you mind calling my son?’ he croaks. ‘My hands won’t stop shaking. He’ll come and fix my tyre.’