Page 17 of The Time of My Afterlife

I step outside my house and instantly feel the golden warmth of sunshine on my face. Looking up, I see a cloudless blue sky, which gives me an instant smile. It makes me think about how awful life would be if we failed the test and had to live in that bedsit from hell. I would miss days like today. Yesterday’s experience was shocking and weird, but it has made me appreciate life more.

My eyes survey the cosy loop of red-brick houses that make up the cul-de-sac. They were built in the late eighties, with tiled porches, white UPVC windows and matchbox-sized gardens at the back. Inside, the rooms are compact, and the walls are paper-thin. The houses curve into a broad horseshoe, with my little two-bedroomed semi-detached house at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, and Clark’s house directly opposite.

A car enters the road, turns around, and pulls up across the street. I look over to see who it is, and my heart sinks as I spot the driver of the pink Fiat. It’s Margo. Clark’s ex-girlfriend. To my horror, Clark is climbing out of her car. He spots me, and for a few moments, we stare at each other.

‘Thanks for the lift, Margo,’ he says. She flicks her long blonde hair and drives away. ‘Morning, Florence,’ he mumbles to me as my blood starts to simmer.

I can see the face of my ex, Ben, in my mind.

Ben is a local electrician. We met when he rewired my parents’ house. I had been admiring him from the kitchen table as he sorted the wiring. On the last day of the job, he asked me out on a date. He was tall, blond, and full of cheesy yet funny chat-up lines like, ‘I think you tripped something. Oh… wait, it was my heart.’

When my father overheard us planning to go for a drink he warned me not to go. He claimed Ben was not to be trusted as he had a ‘shifty look’ about him, the work he had done was shoddy, and he’d made too many bad jokes about Mum’s tea-making abilities. I’d laughed at Dad and reminded him that I was in my late twenties and perfectly capable of making my own dating decisions. I also pointed out that Mum’s tea was like drinking a cup of hot milk, and all Ben had done was ask whether she had scared the tea away.

Ben was the only person my dad ever warned me about, and I regret not listening. With retrospect, I should have trusted my father’s judgement, but back then, I believed I knew better. Ben and I dated for three years, and I thought it was love.

That was until he rewired a flat belonging to someone from the pub. He never told me who, but it was a lengthy job, and afterwards he became quiet and distant.

Hot on the heels of this is the memory which refuses to leave my mind.

That heart-stopping moment when I stood in the doorway of his bedroom after coming to surprise him. Ben, my boyfriend of three years, who was supposed to be off work with a stomach bug, was in bed kissing a woman who looked familiar.

My mouth fell wide open, and I started screaming.

He had been cheating on me with Margo, Clark’s girlfriend at the time. It was her flat he had rewired, and she’d also been taken in by his cheesy chat-up lines.

After everything that happened, I didn’t expect to ever see Clark getting back with her.

Clark must sense I’m angry. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he says.

Tears prick my eyes. ‘I don’t care what you get up to in your spare time.’

‘I slept at Bread’s house, and she drove past me at the bus stop. I’m late logging on for work.’ He runs a hand through his messy brown hair. ‘Why am I explaining myself to you, Florence?’

I lock my door and storm off up my path.

‘We have to meet up later, Florence – remember?’

I recall what Iris and Hilda said and groan. Clark and I must be together each evening for the message from the afterlife to appear. I briefly wonder whether we were supposed to meet last night, but I dismiss the thought.

He casts me a confident look. ‘Well, I think I might have passed the test.’

‘What, after a date with your two-timing ex-girlfriend?’

He crosses the road and comes towards me. ‘I’ve told you, she gave me a lift.’

He looks dishevelled. There’s a fresh lining of stubble on his chin, and he’s still wearing yesterday’s T-shirt. They’ve probably spent the night together. The thought makes anger bubble inside of me.

‘Come to the café at closing time,’ I say, through gritted teeth.

‘See you later.’

I storm off up the street, cursing Clark, Margo and Ben.

To take my mind off Clark, I take out my phone, open Instagram and see that Chris was the first to like my new post. I feel a little rush of excitement as I open the café.

‘Look at the queue,’ I exclaim, while processing a card payment and spotting the long line of customers snaking out of the café. ‘Normally we’re quiet after the commuter coffee rush.’

‘Signal fault,’ sighs a customer, shaking her head with disapproval. ‘They’ve promised buses, but no timescales given.’