Page 21 of The Time of My Afterlife

The lads and I all went into a club in town. It was good to get away from my ex. I danced with a few girls, but nothing happened. Bread let me sleep on his sofa as I couldn’t be bothered sorting out a taxi.

I went to catch the bus earlier this morning, trying to fight off a hangover from hell. My head felt like it had been crushed in the night, my breath stank of wild dog, and my stomach was having second thoughts about the piece of burnt toast Bread made me. The bus had broken down, and the next one was a half-hour wait. That was when Margo drove past and spotted me. I was late for work, and I needed to join an important Teams meeting. She offered me a lift home, and I got in the car. Sometimes I do wonder whether I should think things through more before I act. As we waited at the traffic lights, Margo asked me again whether we could give our relationship another go. I remained silent. My head hurt, and I just wanted to go home. As Margo turned into the cul-de-sac, I groaned. Seeing Florence on her doorstep was like waking up in a nightmare. I knew what she would think, and I was right.

‘Nothing happened with Margo, Florence. Ask Bread.’

‘It’s your life, Clark,’ she says with a sigh. I watch her move onto a table near the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign guarding the stairs up to the next floor. When Harry and I used to play snooker together, he’d always talk about his plans for the café and the floor above, which he and Florence wanted to redecorate. I wonder if she’s got other plans.

‘Are you going to do anything with upstairs?’

She wipes her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I want to, but it’s finding the time and every time I go up there, I think…’ Her words fade as she looks across at her dad’s face on the notice board. I sense that going up there reminds her of him. Harry was a legend and he left a crater-sized hole in Florence’s life.

I decide to change the subject. ‘Let’s talk about the test.’

‘What’s the point?’ she asks, giving the table a rigorous clean. ‘We will be told we’ve passed soon.’

I scratch my stubble-clad jaw. ‘Do you really think we will?’

She stands up straight and casts me a confident smile. ‘I’ve made a change, so I’ve done what they asked. I made a list and chose one. It wasn’t difficult.’ She touches her nose, as she always did when we were kids when she was lying about something.

I take a deep breath and decide to tell her about what I’ve done. ‘I helped Pearl last night. That was my contribution to the test.’

She puts down her cloth and stares at me. ‘Why did you help Pearl?’

Is she doubting my decision? Have I done something wrong?

I scratch my head and ignore the cold trickle of worry which is making its way down the back of my neck. ‘Well, Hilda and Iris talked about how people have been reaching out to us and wanting us to help them, but we’ve been distracted. So, I decided to help Pearl.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She fiddles with the end of her cloth. ‘I gave Molly a Saturday job.’

Now it’s my turn to make her question herself and pay her back for the afterlife phone contract joke. ‘Right, so the afterlife set you a test, and you respond by improving your profit margins.’

Her eyes are narrowing. ‘I did it because she asked me a few weeks ago and I hadn’t got back to her.’

If looks could kill, I would be a dead man by now. I raise my hands in defence. ‘I’m not judging.’

She chucks down her cloth and walks towards me. ‘How did you help Pearl?’ Her voice is a low and raspy growl.

I shift awkwardly in my chair. Florence is on the warpath. I need to stay calm. ‘Before her friend died, she made Pearl promise her two things. Mary had self-published a book and wanted it to be a bestseller. She also wanted Pearl to track down the true love of her life. I chose to help by selling copies of Mary’s book.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘I made all my mates in the pub promise to buy a copy.’

‘Mary wanted it to be a bestseller, Clark,’ she scoffs. ‘Asking your mates to buy a copy is not going to send her book up the charts.’

I’m about to retaliate when there’s a flapping of tiny wings. We both look up to see a robin circling above our heads. Florence gasps. ‘How did a bird get inside my café?’

Hang on – is that a tiny piece of white paper in its beak?

‘Florence – look at what it’s carrying. It’s a message.’

Before she can follow my gaze, the robin flies over my table and drops the piece of paper. Florence and I dive for the scrap. She reaches it first and casts me a triumphant smile.

She unfolds the message.

This is it. The moment when we find out we’ve been successful.

To my horror, she groans. ‘Not passed. Try again.’ She throws the paper onto the table.