Page 13 of The Time of My Afterlife

His smile fades, and his green eyes narrow. ‘I wouldn’t want to work with you either. I don’t know why I suggested it. A piece of advice – try not being so bossy.’

Anger bubbles inside of me. ‘You are so annoying, Clark Fielding.’

‘So are you, Florence Hill.’

I check my watch and yelp. I check my watch. It’s nearly five. I stride away in the direction of the café with a newfound determination.

He follows behind me. ‘I don’t think we should tell anyone about what just happened.’

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ I yell behind me.

It takes a few minutes to get back to the café. Laura has put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. I can still see them all inside. Pearl is sitting in her chair, being consoled by Laura. Molly is cleaning the counter.

They all look up as I enter. ‘Pearl, I chased after him, but he got into a van.’

Clark barges past me. ‘Pearl, I also ran after the thief,’ he says, ‘but Florence slowed me down.’

I glare at him. Why does he always have to try to outdo me?

She looks at both of us. ‘Thank you. Luckily, my purse was in my coat pocket. The only things in my handbag were my back door key, a lipstick, a packet of tissues, my hand cream and some mints.’

Clark goes to sit by her. ‘I have a set of spare keys for your house, so don’t worry.’

Pearl leans her head against him. ‘I hope that thief likes my rose-scented hand cream.’

When Pearl and Clark have finished their drinks, he walks her home. I take some painkillers for my head and tidy the café while Laura stacks the dishwasher.

I wipe down tables and think about the test. If we don’t pass, I’ll have to share that sofa bed with Clark Fielding in that dingy bedsit for the rest of eternity. An uncomfortable feeling passes over me.

Laura’s phone bleeps, and she pauses to read it. While she’s engrossed in her messages, I lift my gaze and catch Molly staring at her mum. What is going on with those two?

After everyone leaves, I lock the door and stand by my whiteboard in the kitchen. Grabbing my cloths, I clean and polish as if the board were a priceless museum exhibit. Once I’m staring at a white space, I reach for my red marker. Laura finds it amusing that I have strict rules for colour-coding: blue for café logistics, green for happy vibes, purple for astrological/spiritual, and red for emergencies.

I write the words CHANGE SOMETHING in capital letters. After circling it, I chew on the marker lid. What can I change? My brain leaps into action, and I write down my ideas:

Lose half a stone?

Decorate my bathroom and get rid of that patch of mould on the ceiling?

Convince Mum to stop being friends with Steve.

Start growing vegetables – beetroot, cucumber, carrots, etc.

Get highlights.

I step back and study my list. Nothing is leaping out at me. Also, would the afterlife care about whether I got ash-blonde streaks in my hair? I don’t think so. What about my café? The idea of sorting out upstairs flashes across my mind. I dismiss it as that would be too difficult and going up there reminds me of Dad.

Oh, hang on. With a smile, I write:

Offer Molly a Saturday job.

That’s it. She would be useful, especially given Laura’s preoccupation with her new man. Excitement bubbles inside of me. I will ask Molly tomorrow. Saturdays are always hectic. Having an extra pair of hands will be the change my café needs. ‘Test passed,’ I say, under my breath. Taking out my phone, I take a photo of my planning and save it to my favourites. I get distracted as I notice my entire photo library is full of whiteboard plans. I click on an image from six months ago. It’s titled ‘Life Planning’. Everything apart from the idea about Molly’s job is on there.

‘Wow, at least I am consistent,’ I say, ignoring a little voice from inside me asking why I never follow through with my grand plans.

6

CLARK