Page 78 of The Time of My Afterlife

My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. He leans towards me and I can’t believe what is going through my head right now – I hope Clark kisses me.

Deep inside me a little voice asks, Isn’t that what you have spent a lifetime hoping for?

‘Do you need any help?’ The bookshop owner appears, making us both jolt and step back. Blushing, I hide my face with my hair and listen to Clark tell her that we’re just browsing.

He grabs my hand, and we race out of the shop and into the sunshine.

We get back into the car and all I can think about is what that voice inside me asked. Have I really been waiting a lifetime for his kiss? Surely not.

‘Are you ready to see Mr Beaver again?’ Clark asks.

I take in a breath of salty sea air. ‘As ready as I ever will be.’

As the car follows the winding road up to the top of the cliffs, I check my phone and see that a few of my book friends have re-shared my story about Jane’s podcast.

We park up outside a cottage painted duck-egg blue. It looks sad, stuck out here on its own, with peeling paint in places and one of its shutters hanging on by only a few screws.

The white door is weather-beaten, and the brass knocker with the angry face makes me smile.

We knock, and there’s no reply. I’m about to suggest to Clark that we go for a coffee and come back later when I hear noises inside. The familiar sound of Mr Beaver moaning drifts through the wood.

He opens the door and gasps.

‘Mr Beaver,’ I say, with a bright smile. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

Goodness me, he still looks the same from our school days. His grey hair looks like a giant pile of cobwebs, his jumper looks like it’s being held together by a few loose bits of wool and his slippers look like they should be in a museum.

‘Florence Hill,’ he snaps, ‘I hoped I would never see you again after your dreadful attempts at algebra.’

‘Likewise,’ I say, with a big smile.

He tries to shut the door on us, but I jam my foot inside so he can’t close it. ‘We would love a tea, Mr Beaver.’

‘I have already told Clark that I don’t want visitors.’

‘Mr Beaver, I know you’re waiting here for Pearl. I know you told her once you’d wait for her in Pixie Cove.’

Mr Beaver stares at me and his face looks like he’s been frozen in time.

‘Can we come inside?’

His expression flickers back to life. We then embark on a glaring match – me versus Mr Beaver. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time to my school days, and he’s handed me my results with the words ‘THE WORST MATHS TEST I HAVE EVER MARKED’. I was a defiant and plucky twelve-year-old who refused to show fear in front of him. I used to think he would love to see me cry over my results, so I refused to give him what he wanted.

To my amazement he backs down first. His face flickers and with a sigh he opens the door wider.

I feel Clark’s warm hand on my shoulder. I glance back and he smiles. ‘You are amazing, Florence Hill,’ he whispers. ‘Annoying at times but amazing.’

30

CLARK

I’m in awe of Florence’s determination with Mr Beaver. Once she’s got her mind set on something, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

‘Where’s the tea and kettle, Mr Beaver?’ she asks as he stands, looking bewildered, by the door. ‘Ah, your kitchen. Found it. Take a seat. I’ll make us all some tea.’

He glares at me. ‘Why did you bring Florence Hill?’

I shrug. ‘She gets results.’