Page 83 of The Time of My Afterlife

If I hadn’t bumped into him in the museum, I wouldn’t be in this position. We would still be estranged.

But today I need to focus on other things. The thought of seeing Florence excites me. Yesterday felt like a turning point for us both. I’m glad she worked out that I was Chris. That was a secret that had been weighing heavily on my mind for some time. The argument we had in the car was awful, but I feel like some good came from it.

She doesn’t feel like my annoying childhood enemy any more. When I looked at her sitting next to me on the sofa last night all I saw were her honey-dipped eyes, her perfect pink lips and that smile, which melts my insides. Something has changed between us. I wonder whether that’s what the afterlife wanted all along.

I find Jack sitting on the kerb. He’s in his football gear.

‘Hello,’ I say, with a smile.

He looks up and shields his eyes with his hand as the early morning sun is bright. ‘Hi, Clark.’

‘What are you up to?’

‘I have a football match this afternoon, and Mum can’t come and watch me.’ He kicks a stone angrily. ‘If Dad were here, he would come and watch me.’

‘Maybe she’s busy?’

‘She’s going to visit Gran in the hospital. Gran is fine, and Mum saw her yesterday.’

Poor Jane. I crouch down to his level. ‘She’s probably worried about your gran. Go easy on her. Your mum’s been through a rough time.’

Jack shakes his head. ‘Mum has been recording her podcast, which is annoying as I can’t make a sound.’

‘Do you like making a racket?’

He smiles. ‘Yes, I do.’

An idea unfolds in my mind.

‘I could come and watch you in your football match. I mean, I would have to check with your mum.’

His little face lights up. ‘Brilliant. Clark, that would be so cool.’

‘Let’s go and talk to your mum to check she’s okay with it.’

Florence greets me when I enter the café. Her gaze softens the moment our eyes meet. A pretty smile spreads across her face. ‘How was the call with your mum?’

I shake my head. ‘Horrible. She hates me and I feel terrible.’

Florence makes me a coffee. ‘It’s probably a shock. She’ll come round.’

‘I love your optimism, but you know my mum. She holds grudges, and she hates my father because he left us for another woman.’

Florence froths the milk and I can see she’s thinking about my situation. Once she’s handed me my drink she says, ‘It was never your pain to carry.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your parents and their marriage issues were never your business. Him leaving her for another woman was nothing to do with you.’

I reflect on what she said. ‘True.’

‘Was he a good dad?’

I think back to my childhood where we would play football in the back garden, have a game of cards in the shed – he believed everyone should be able to play poker – watch endless hours of sport on TV together and laugh at his terrible attempts at cooking. He was always there for me when I had a problem at school and was always cool about my mediocre grades. ‘Yes, he was a good dad.’

Florence smiles. ‘That’s the important bit. You’ve carried your mum’s anger and pain at your dad for too long. It was never yours to own.’

I stare at her. She’s right. Mum’s issues with his betrayal were never my problem. Harry was always good at reframing my problems. Over a game of snooker, I would talk about something painful, and he would make me see it in a different light. Florence has inherited his gift. ‘Thinking of it like that makes me feel better.’