Chapter 5
FLORENCE
‘Florence!’ Clark shouts. I blink, and the world snaps back into place.
We’re back on the crossing. The lopsided silver car is hurtling towards us.
Time must have been rewound. We have been given a second chance.
The car is out of control and getting dangerously close. My breath catches. I can’t move.
Panic engulfs me. My limbs have frozen in fright.
I am going to die all over again, and this time, they won’t let me come back due to stupidity.
Clark grabs my hand and yanks me sideways as the car roars past where I was standing a heartbeat ago.
We fall in a tangled heap on the pavement.
I find myself on top of him. His nose is almost touching mine, and I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks.
We both blink in surprise as behind us, the car skids wildly across the crossing before shuddering to a stop.
The smell of burning rubber fills the air.
‘Get off me,’ Clark croaks. ‘I can’t breathe.’
In a mad scramble, I haul myself up.
‘I think you’ve crushed one of my lungs,’ he gasps, rubbing his chest.
‘You pulled me on top of you,’ I snap.
He scowls. ‘Trust me, Florence, that wasn’t a position I chose. Anyway, I think the phrase you are looking for is – thanks for saving my life, Clark.’
I feel the familiar prickle of Clark irritation.
The driver’s door of the car opens, distracting us momentarily. An old man with white tufty hair stumbles out. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He looks over, reaches for a hankie and dabs his brow. ‘I tried to stop the car, but I lost control.’
Clark gets to his feet and stares at me. ‘Well, Florence? What do you have to say?’
Words jostle on my tongue.
Clark huffs and goes to inspect the man’s car. ‘Your tyre at the back is in tatters.’ The old man goes to stand by Clark to inspect the damage. ‘Looks like it was ripped apart by something.’
The sounds of impatient car horns make us look around. There’s a queue of vehicles all waiting for the blockage to be cleared. ‘We need to get the car off the road,’ I say, wiping a layer of sweat from my brow.
A man and woman walking their dog hurry over. ‘Do you need some help?’ says the man, looking directly at Clark. ‘You and I can push it onto the grassy verge.’
‘I can help too,’ I say, slightly agitated at how he didn’t include me.
The man laughs. ‘Leave the heavy stuff to the men, luv,’ he says, before throwing me a patronising look.
‘I’m not your “luv”, and if you must know, I am stronger than him.’ I growl, pointing to Clark, who is grinning at me.
‘Oh, let them get on with it,’ jokes the woman, scooping up her dog. ‘We can go stand on the sidelines and cheer them on.’
The moment is lost as the man and Clark have already walked towards the car.
Reluctantly, I head to the pavement. The old man joins me and the woman with her dog.
He seems unsteady; I offer my arm for support.
With his spare hand, he rummages inside a pocket and takes out a mobile phone.
After several attempts at prodding the buttons, he passes it to me.
‘Would you mind calling my son?’ he croaks.
‘My hands won’t stop shaking. He’ll come and fix my tyre. ’
I smile, take his phone and with the old man’s help, find the son’s name in the call directory.
‘He’s on his way,’ I say after I’ve made the call and hand back the phone.
‘I thought the car was going to knock you down,’ he says. ‘It was terrifying.’
I take his hand and give it a gentle rub. ‘We’re all okay. These things happen.’
‘I only checked my tyres last week.’
The woman with the dog turns to him. ‘You could have driven over a nail. It happened to us once on the motorway. Bloody terrifying. I know how you feel.’
Once the car is safely on the verge and the traffic flows freely again the world seems to snap back to normal. A car horn blares out and my heart stutters. My body starts to tremble as the thought hits me – Clark and I died back there. My delayed shock makes the old man look concerned.
‘My son lives locally,’ he says. ‘He won’t be long. You can go if you want.’
‘We’ll stay with you.’ I smile, still holding his hand.
When his son arrives he gives his father a hug. ‘I see you’re busy causing trouble, Dad.’ He grins and turns to Clark and me. ‘Dad will do anything to get out of looking after his grandkids.’
We all smile, and he thanks us for helping.
Clark and I walk back over the crossing in silence.
My legs feel like they’ve been turned into jelly, I have the start of a headache, and I just want to go back to my café.
I’m also annoyed at Clark for not sticking up for me when that sexist man made his comment about leaving heavy work to the men.
Clark stops once we’re on the other side. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
I’m not explaining myself, so I turn away and watch the traffic.
‘We did go to the afterlife – didn’t we? Or was I hallucinating?’ he asks after a lengthy silence.
‘The afterlife with the burping sink and one bed,’ I mumble, still with my gaze on the road.
He groans. ‘They’ve given us a second chance, which means we have that test to pass.’
‘Yes, we do.’ I turn back to him.
His jaw tightens and his brow furrows. ‘Any ideas on how we pass? What is the “something” we need to change?’
Two young women walk past us and stop at the crossing. The blonde woman, with long, wavy hair, a short denim skirt, and sunglasses perched on her head, smiles at him. ‘Hi, Clark.’
I watch his face light up. ‘Hey, Emma. How are you?’
All my irritation with him rushes back to me. It makes my headache intensify. I am not standing here while he flirts with every female that crosses the road. I have a test to pass.
While he makes Emma and her friend laugh, I hurry away.
‘Hey, Florence,’ he shouts a few moments later. ‘Wait.’
He’s by my side and flashing me that boyish smile of his. ‘What is it that we need to change?’
I’m still annoyed by his casual flirting at the pedestrian crossing.
After all we have endured, you’d think meeting women would be the last thing on his mind.
I am not discussing it with him. The man annoys me, and from what I’ve just witnessed, he is easily distracted by a short denim skirt. ‘Clark, I work better on my own.’
‘I don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing,’ he exclaims, his voice tinged with desperation. ‘We need to talk about this.’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry, you’re on your own.’
He blinks at me for a few seconds. ‘Don’t you think we should work together?’
I scoff. ‘Clark, I am not working with you.’
His smile fades, and his green eyes narrow. ‘I wouldn’t want to work with you either. I don’t know why I suggested it. A piece of advice – try not being so bossy.’
Anger bubbles inside of me. ‘You are so annoying, Clark Fielding.’
‘So are you, Florence Hill.’
I check my watch and yelp. I check my watch. It’s nearly five. I stride away in the direction of the café with a newfound determination.
He follows behind me. ‘I don’t think we should tell anyone about what just happened.’
‘I wasn’t planning to,’ I yell behind me.
It takes a few minutes to get back to the café. Laura has put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. I can still see them all inside. Pearl is sitting in her chair, being consoled by Laura. Molly is cleaning the counter.
They all look up as I enter. ‘Pearl, I chased after him, but he got into a van.’
Clark barges past me. ‘Pearl, I also ran after the thief,’ he says, ‘but Florence slowed me down.’
I glare at him. Why does he always have to try to outdo me?
She looks at both of us. ‘Thank you. Luckily, my purse was in my coat pocket. The only things in my handbag were my back door key, a lipstick, a packet of tissues, my hand cream and some mints.’
Clark goes to sit by her. ‘I have a set of spare keys for your house, so don’t worry.’
Pearl leans her head against him. ‘I hope that thief likes my rose-scented hand cream.’
When Pearl and Clark have finished their drinks, he walks her home. I take some painkillers for my head and tidy the café while Laura stacks the dishwasher.
I wipe down tables and think about the test. If we don’t pass, I’ll have to share that sofa bed with Clark Fielding in that dingy bedsit for the rest of eternity. An uncomfortable feeling passes over me.
Laura’s phone bleeps, and she pauses to read it. While she’s engrossed in her messages, I lift my gaze and catch Molly staring at her mum. What is going on with those two?
After everyone leaves, I lock the door and stand by my whiteboard in the kitchen.
Grabbing my cloths, I clean and polish as if the board were a priceless museum exhibit.
Once I’m staring at a white space, I reach for my red marker.
Laura finds it amusing that I have strict rules for colour-coding: blue for café logistics, green for happy vibes, purple for astrological/spiritual, and red for emergencies.
I write the words CHANGE SOMETHING in capital letters. After circling it, I chew on the marker lid. What can I change? My brain leaps into action, and I write down my ideas:
Lose half a stone?
Decorate my bathroom and get rid of that patch of mould on the ceiling?
Convince Mum to stop being friends with Steve.
Start growing vegetables – beetroot, cucumber, carrots, etc.
Get highlights.
I step back and study my list. Nothing is leaping out at me.
Also, would the afterlife care about whether I got ash-blonde streaks in my hair?
I don’t think so. What about my café? The idea of sorting out upstairs flashes across my mind.
I dismiss it as that would be too difficult and going up there reminds me of Dad.
Oh, hang on. With a smile, I write:
Offer Molly a Saturday job.
That’s it. She would be useful, especially given Laura’s preoccupation with her new man.
Excitement bubbles inside of me. I will ask Molly tomorrow.
Saturdays are always hectic. Having an extra pair of hands will be the change my café needs.
‘Test passed,’ I say, under my breath. Taking out my phone, I take a photo of my planning and save it to my favourites.
I get distracted as I notice my entire photo library is full of whiteboard plans.
I click on an image from six months ago.
It’s titled ‘Life Planning’. Everything apart from the idea about Molly’s job is on there.
‘Wow, at least I am consistent,’ I say, ignoring a little voice from inside me asking why I never follow through with my grand plans.