Page 77 of The Time of My Afterlife

Clark laughs. ‘She already sounds better after twenty seconds than I did after fifteen episodes.’ I giggle, and he chuckles. ‘Sad but true, Florence.’

Jane’s voice sounds warm and intimate. Like a late-night confession on a radio show from the eighties.

‘“On this week’s show, we’re going to be hearing from listener PippaPeepToes, who has been struggling with loneliness due to being single, as all her friends are either rushing up church aisles or pushing out babies.

‘“We will also be hearing from RestlessinWigan, who hasn’t felt herself since the love of her life left for a new life in Spain.”’

We listen intently to an email from PipppPeepToes, who shares her story, noting that she’s surrounded by friends who seem to be going in different life-stages than she is. She has no desire to have children or get married. Then Jane moves on to a heartbreaking email from RestlessinWigan, who is missing the love of her life, who left to join the Spanish fire service because he was originally from Madrid.

Clark and I are speechless. Jane’s podcast is so engaging and captivating.

‘What a great idea for a podcast,’ he says when the episode finishes.

I want to help Jane promote the podcast, so I open my Instagram and add the podcast link to my story with the words #Mustlisten.

‘I’ve shared the link with my followers,’ I say, while Clark focuses on the road ahead.

He nods. ‘I’ll share it too. I’m so proud of her for doing that.’

The memory of her sitting in my house gathering the courage to tell me about her secret project rushes back to me. I recall how I started lecturing her on editing software, marketing and release schedules. She didn’t need all that. All Jane needed was someone to say ‘just start’. And ‘you will find a way’. It makes me think of all my life plans I have made. All the things I have wanted to do but have put off due to thinking they were too hard or not as shiny as the next new idea that pinged into my brain. Planting those seeds wasn’t difficult and nor was watching Clark decorate the upper floor of the café. All I needed were those words ‘just start’.

By the time we reach Pixie Cove, I feel like a different person.

Pixie Cove looks like it was plucked from a romantic comedy. It’s the perfect setting for a cosy romance in a sleepy coastal town.

It has narrow cobbled lanes, white cottages that lean into one another like good friends and a strip of golden sand.

‘Wow,’ I exclaim, watching the boats bob lazily on the water. ‘What a fabulous place. I can see why Pearl and Mr Beaver fell in love with it.’

Clark comes to stand by me. ‘It’s a shame Pearl will never get to see Pixie Cove again.’

I look up at the slate-grey cliffs hemming in the little coastal town and the swooping seagulls in the peacock-blue sky. ‘Why not? She must see this place again, Clark.’

He nods. ‘You’re right. She needs to return to Pixie Cove.’

‘Where does Mr Beaver live then?’

He points up to the top of a cliff where a lonely cottage sits.

‘Wow – he must have amazing views.’

‘First,’ says Clark, ‘I want to show you something.’

‘What?’

He leads the way until we come to Pixie Cove’s bookshop. ‘I know you love books. You should have a quick look in here. It’s also where I…’ He pauses. ‘Bought you that notebook.’

I smile. ‘You have good notebook taste.’

The bookshop feels like something out of one of my dreams – when I am not being terrorised by the afterlife.

It has creaking floorboards, overstuffed shelves, a reading nook which looks out over the beach and the wonderful smell of old paper and vanilla. We both wander around for far too long with goofy smiles on our faces. ‘It’s so lovely,’ I whisper as we meet at the back in the history section.

He is staring at me. His jade eyes have a new intensity. ‘Florence,’ he whispers, reaching out to take my hand, ‘I’m sorry about what happened with Chris.’

I step closer to him. ‘You were looking out for me.’

With his thumb, he rubs the back of my hand. ‘Always.’