Page 43 of The Time of My Afterlife

‘Pixie Cove. How far away is that?’ I open Google Maps. My heart sinks. ‘Two hours and eleven minutes.’

‘You need to find him, Clark.’

I scratch my head. ‘I suppose I could go this afternoon. I’ve thrown a sickie at work.’ I look at her. ‘Do you fancy a road trip?’

Something flickers across her face. For a few fleeting moments, I think she’s going to say yes. Then she blinks and casts me a disapproving look. ‘A road trip with you? No thanks, Clark. I have better things to do with my time.’

My irritation levels spike. ‘How come I have to drive all the way to Devon, and you get to be bossy to Jane over a latte?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’ She shakes her head and walks towards the front door. ‘We need to pass the test.’

‘Hang on, what do I do if I find him?’

She shrugs. ‘Tell him about Pearl.’

‘This doesn’t feel very fair,’ I moan.

‘Clark, we need to pass. This stupid test is messing with my head.’

I nod. ‘Me too. Earlier, I hugged Pearl like it was the last time I’d see her.’

She looks at me with watery eyes. ‘Find Mr Beaver, Clark.’

I sigh and glance again at Google Maps. Pixie Cove, here I come.

17

FLORENCE

I glance back at Clark’s house as I cross the road. When he asked me whether I wanted to go on a road trip with him, a tiny voice deep inside me whispered, ‘Say yes.’ It was a shock to hear it. But my mind quickly reminded me of all the things Clark has done to annoy me over the years.

Now, as I head home, I can’t shake this nagging doubt that I’ve made the wrong decision. Should I go with him to find Mr Beaver? We would be forced to spend hours in a car, making small talk. What would we say to each other?

It would be a car journey from hell as we would argue all the way there and back. Nope, I am not putting myself through that. He is quite capable of driving to Devon by himself to track down Mr Beaver.

As I unlock my door, I watch him leave. He glances over at me, and I am reminded of the things that surprised me when I went inside his house: the photo of Dad hanging in his kitchen. I find Clark irritating; however, seeing that photo on his kitchen wall made my heart skip a beat. Knowing that he visited Mr Beaver in the hospital also touched me. This is a new side to Clark. It’s as if someone has shaken up the pieces of the jigsaw of him in my mind and rearranged them.

Guilt nibbles away at me as I think of him driving to Devon.

Should I have gone?

I need to distract myself. I pick up the romance book I’m currently reading and try to push all thoughts about Clark to the back of my mind. But once my brain gets hooked onto the subject of Clark, it can’t stop, and the distraction doesn’t work. How does he know I review books? It was probably Mum, although I don’t think I’ve ever told her about my bookish Instagram. She knows I love reading and always comments on my pretty bookshelves, but I can’t recall talking to her about my reviews. She isn’t on social media, so she couldn’t have seen it that way.

Putting my book down, I glance towards my back garden. In my head, I can hear Laura’s voice – You were going to make a start on your vegetable patch.

Today the sun is out, and it’s warm. It would be a perfect time to get started. I have all the equipment, as it’s been gathering dust in a box in my shed. Dad loved being outside, sleeves rolled up, his hands covered in dirt and talking about how the garden quietened his busy mind. He always used to lecture me about how we both have the same restless brain and how growing vegetables would help deal with the daily barrage of thoughts.

I’ve been saying I will start gardening for three years. Every time Mum comes over, she always looks outside and says, ‘Still no sign of a vegetable patch?’

Or I could just start it another day? I do have a lot on my mind.

It’s so easy to say do it another day.

The urge to go outside starts to fade as my mind reflects on the afterlife’s test. If Clark doesn’t find Mr Beaver, we will fail tonight and be sent back. That will be our third chance. I picture Mum, and that same uncomfortable feeling from last night returns. I don’t want to leave her with questions about whether I was happy. An idea unfolds in my mind. I could go outside, create a patch, plant some courgette seeds (as Google tells me they’re the easiest for beginners to grow), and then video-call her later. That might be a nice thing to do.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I am on my feet.

The shed door sticks and then groans as I open it. Inside, everything smells of dust and old wood. The box of tools is where I left it three years ago. On top are the courgette seeds I bought a few weeks back when I got a similar urge to start. Dad’s old gardening gloves are sticking out of the box. For a few seconds my heart wobbles. Putting them on will be hard. They will bring back memories of him. Do I want to do this?