Page 81 of The Time of My Afterlife

I’m expecting her to tell me about how she can’t close the café tomorrow and remind me that we need to do tasks together, but she doesn’t. ‘Good plan,’ she says, which leaves me speechless. ‘As long as you’re okay with driving all that way. I’ll give you money for petrol.’

‘Are you feeling, okay?’ I ask.

She nods. ‘Time is running out, and I trust you, Clark.’

31

FLORENCE

Pearl listened intently to our recount of the meeting with Mr Beaver. She also loved hearing about Pixie Cove. Once we’d finished, she nodded and folded her hands in her lap. Clark and I were on the edge of our seats. We wanted her to be filled with nervous excitement at finally having the chance to meet her true love after all these years, and to beg us to take her to him. To our dismay, she said, ‘I’ll give this some thought.’

Our hopes plummeted.

Worry coursed through my veins. What small things had we changed today? We had driven to Pixie Cove, listened to Jane’s podcast, nearly kissed in a bookshop and talked to Mr Beaver about Pearl. My body started to tremble. They felt like tiny and inconsequential shifts. The afterlife will soon get bored of this approach. As Pearl changed the conversation and talked about one of her friends, Clark’s hand found mine. His fingers wrapped themselves around my fingers, and in a few seconds, my panic started to ease.

With heavy hearts we walked to his house.

‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’ he asks as he puts his key in the door.

I sigh and nod. ‘It’s frustrating. No one seems to be moving to our timeline.’

‘I know what you mean. I thought Pearl would have jumped at the chance to go and see him after what we told her.’

We step inside his house. ‘I just hope the afterlife understands.’

He wearily rubs his forehead. I notice his jaw has tightened and his face has become taut. ‘This is tough.’

I think of Mum. ‘At least Mum knows I started my vegetable patch, and we made a start on the upper floor of the café.’

He lets out a groan. ‘I still haven’t told my mother about Dad.’

We sit down beside each other on the sofa. I think about what he said earlier about what happened to his mum. ‘Do you really think your mum’s miscarriage contributed to your mum and dad splitting up?’

Clark rubs his face. ‘She stopped talking and became distant. Dad didn’t know what to say to her. It was tough.’

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and see a message from Ruth. I quickly explain to Clark. ‘Last night I messaged my friend about Mary’s book.’

‘Oh really?’

‘She’s got loads of followers. More than me. She’s text me to say she’s downloaded it on her Kindle and has started reading.’

‘You have experience of the book world,’ he says, quietly. ‘I should have asked for your advice when we started.’

I lift my gaze to his, and he smiles. ‘I should have asked for your advice too when Jane spoke about launching a podcast.’

For a few seconds, he holds my gaze, and I feel a fluttering in my chest.

We’re distracted by a strange cooing sound, followed by a steady flapping of wings. Clark stares in amazement. ‘Florence… look!’

I turn to see a fluffy white owl flying over to where we’re sitting. My heart skips a beat as it comes to perch on Clark’s coffee table, the familiar rolled-up piece of white paper in its beak. Its feathers glow with a soft radiance. We watch as it surveys us and then drops the message on the table. With a soft coo it flaps its wings and flies towards the back of Clark’s house.

For a few moments, we stare at the rolled-up piece of paper.

Clark takes a deep breath and reaches over to grab it.

YOU’VE FAILED AGAIN! TIME IS RUNNING OUT.

Relief floods through us both. We both lie back and let out huge sighs.