Page 117 of The Time of My Afterlife

Hilda pipes up. ‘Florence, your dad says he loves you, and he wants to say to Clark – thanks for keeping my promise.’

Florence turns to me. ‘What did you promise my dad?’

I hold her hand. ‘When we’re waiting for the ambulance, he asked me… to look after you.’

She blinks. ‘Really? Dad asked you that?’

‘I will always look after you.’

‘Even when my coffee doesn’t taste right?’

I laugh. ‘It tasted great, I was just being an idiot.’

Hilda and Florence stand up. ‘We must go now,’ says Iris. ‘I need to stop this storm.’

‘A waste of money,’ snaps Hilda. ‘You knew we were running out of budget.’

Iris scowls at Hilda. ‘Live a little, Hilda.’

They wave their clipboards at us. ‘You’ve been great,’ says Iris. ‘Enjoy your life together.’

‘Oh,’ says Hilda. ‘Nana Olive says hello as well, Clark. She told me to tell you to stop feeling guilty. She loves you very much.’

I wipe my eyes as the room goes blurry.

‘Goodbye, both,’ says Hilda. ‘Make the most of this second chance.’

I pull Florence close. ‘Don’t worry – we will.’

When the door closes I lift Florence up and twirl her around as she laughs. ‘We have our lives back,’ she shouts.

After placing her down I gaze at her. ‘Kiss me, Florence Hill. Can we skip the sugary cup of tea and go to bed?’

She giggles and kisses me. ‘Clark Fielding, I love you.’

EPILOGUE

A YEAR LATER

I’m standing at my whiteboard in the café, clutching one of my markers and staring at what I have just scribbled down. Two strong arms slide around my waist, hands settling over the gentle swell of my bump. I feel him exhale against my shoulder. His breath is warm and steady. I glance at his face and spot a smile spreading across his face.

‘You’ve been busy,’ he murmurs, before kissing my neck.

‘Another name came to me as I was making that last latte. Our little girl wants us to consider all possibilities.’

He lets out a mock sigh. ‘I see she’s already being demanding. There’s no hope for me.’

I giggle and lean back into him. ‘Yes, she is. What do you think of my latest name?’

He stares at the name. ‘Olive.’

‘Do you not like it?’

‘I love it.’ His voice crackles with emotion. ‘Are you sure?’

I lean my head against his. ‘One hundred per cent.’

‘Olive Fielding sounds good,’ he says, with a wry smile.