Page 82 of The Time of My Afterlife

‘Another chance,’ he says, with a smile.

I nod and feel a new burst of determination. ‘We need to do as many tasks as we can. No more sitting around like this.’

‘But I feel drained,’ he exclaims.

I rise from the sofa. ‘There’s work to be done. You need to talk to your mum.’

He lets out a groan. ‘Please don’t make me open that can of worms.’

I pat his shoulder. ‘Come on. Let’s give this our best shot.’

‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘Home, and I will be speaking to Ruth.’

I head for the front door. ‘See you at the café early tomorrow morning.’

‘Yes, boss,’ he says.

The second I’m in my house I FaceTime Ruth. She answers straight away. In her hand is a half-eaten chocolate muffin and there are crumbs scattered around her mouth. She holds up her Kindle. ‘I’ve started this weird book.’

‘Weird?’

She nods. ‘I’m two chapters in, and I am not getting any good-bookish vibes.’

I groan. ‘Ruth, you have to like Mary’s book.’

After another bite into her muffin, she shrugs. ‘I’ll do my best but I want you to know, Florence, that while I’m reading this I am missing out on my favourite author’s next book which arrived today.’

‘Ruth, I am begging you to keep reading.’

She arches her eyebrows and raises the remains of the muffin to the camera. ‘I’ll carry on demolishing this and wading through your friend’s guide to murder.’

Feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, I climb the stairs to bed.

It doesn’t take long for sleep to find me.

When I wake the next morning, I can see a message from Ruth. It was sent a few hours after I spoke to her.

I am giving up; this book is not for me. Sorry, Florence, life is too short to read a book you dislike. It’s not very well written, and I don’t understand the plot.

After screaming into the pillow, I decided to read the book myself.

32

CLARK

My call with Mum didn’t go well. It wasn’t surprising to hear her erupt into an angry fury after I told her about Dad. She yelled down the phone and then hung up on me. I called her back and she shouted some more. ‘You don’t care about me, Clark,’ she said, and followed it up with, ‘You have no idea what this will do to me.’

By the time it finished, I felt like a broken man. She’d ended the call sobbing her heart out, which made me feel like the worst son ever. I was told not to bother going over to her house to have a look at her faulty boiler as well, not that I’d planned to anyway. I keep telling her I’m not a gas engineer, but she doesn’t seem to listen.

I crawled into bed feeling terrible, stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to carry on talking to my father and I also want to have a mother-son relationship.

Sleep wasn’t my friend and I lay awake for hours thinking about Dad and Mum. My mind cruelly replayed the day Dad walked out on us. Mum was devastated and I was furious with him. On the phone later, when he called to see if we were okay, I told him that we never wanted to see him ever again. I wore that armour of hurt and pain for years. Until it slipped inside the British Museum and I realised that I still loved him and wanted him in my life.

I’m leaving my house to go to the café early. All my thoughts about Mum and Dad have been pushed to the back of my mind.

When I woke this morning, I had this awful sinking feeling. I can sort of predict what will happen next. Mum will be a nightmare, and I will probably have to tell Dad that speaking to him upsets Mum too much. If Florence and I don’t pass this test and end up dying Mum will probably make a point of telling the congregation at my funeral that I betrayed her by talking to Dad after all the hurt he caused her.