Chapter 9
FLORENCE
Clark and our failed test are on my mind as I walk home.
His remark that I offered Molly a Saturday job to improve my profit margins made me so angry that it felt like my body had been electrically charged.
I’m still vibrating with irritation now.
He’s the only person in the world who makes me this cross.
I’ve been reflecting on my decision to offer Molly a job.
It was partly prompted by her asking me a few weeks ago, and because Saturdays are busy, but it also stems from that persistent feeling I have about her.
I remember that inner voice questioning whether a Saturday job was enough, which I dismissed at the time.
Every time I see Molly at the café, she’s focused on Laura.
While Laura claims Molly’s moods are just teenage hormones, I sense there’s more to it.
I probably need to talk to Molly again. I feel a twinge of guilt because she wanted to talk about something else, but I was distracted by Clark – that’s a sign.
The secret to understanding this situation involves Molly.
I need to find out what’s really happening.
I suspect it’s connected to Laura glued to her phone, and honestly, I don’t care what Clark thinks.
I turn into the cul-de-sac and see my neighbour, Jane, sitting in her car.
She spots me and looks away. I catch sight of her damp cheeks.
Should I go see if she’s all right? I think about Clark’s relationship with Pearl.
He and Pearl are the exception, I tell myself.
People are no longer close to their neighbours. We all live busy lives.
In two years, I have only ever nodded at Jane. It would be a bit odd if I knocked on her car window and asked her if she was okay.
I hurry up my path and unlock my front door.
While I wait for my microwave-ready curry to cook, I look up the photo of Dad on my kitchen wall.
‘I wish you were here,’ I say. ‘You’d know what to do with this stupid test. Can you believe I’m being forced to work with Clark?
’ My microwave pings, and I take out my food.
It doesn’t look appetising. An orange blob on some rubbery rice – great!
After I finish my curry I message my book-reviewer friend, Ruth, to see if she wants a video call tonight. We normally speak every week.
Like me, Ruth is passionate about books and bookcases.
The difference is that I treat mine like a school design project, while she treats hers like a competitive sport.
We regularly swap photos of our shelves, much as new parents share baby pictures.
All my book spines are sorted into a rainbow gradient, which looks impressive as you walk in through the front door.
I’ve added trailing plants and strings of twinkly fairy lights.
Ruth, on the other hand, has gone full Beauty and the Beast with wall-to-wall bookcases, filled with a mix of horizontal and vertical stacks.
She has also asserted dominance by installing a moving ladder.
She frequently sends me selfies of herself perched halfway up, casually admiring a hardback.
She has an astonishing number of followers on her Instagram account. Before I met her, I’d thought my follower count was impressive. Since she lives in Scotland, we mainly keep in touch via FaceTime.
My phone bleeps as I’m finishing my meal. It’s Ruth.
I am free whenever.
I need to distract myself from stressful thoughts about the afterlife, a nagging worry about Jane next door and how I’m going to talk to Molly.
Once settled on my sofa, I video-call Ruth. She always makes me smile when she appears on my screen, her vast mass of unruly black hair filling the space – she says she tries to tame it with clips, but it always escapes.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ruth asks as she studies my face.
‘Oh, Ruth, don’t ask,’ I groan. ‘It’s a long story.’
She grins. ‘Clark Fielding annoying you?’
I laugh. ‘Something like that.’
Ruth knows all about my issues with Clark. I’ve spent hours telling her at great length about all the things he’s done. She always sighs and says something irritating, like, This sounds like a classic enemies-to-lovers plot.
She holds up a book. ‘I’m reading this. Have you seen or read it?’
I peer at the brightly coloured novel depicting two women sitting apart on a sofa. ‘No, what’s it about?’
‘The turbulent relationship between a mother and her teenage daughter.’
I let out a groan. ‘I’m dealing with that at work. The woman who works with me has a fourteen-year-old daughter. They always seem to be at war and I was going to talk—’
Ruth interrupts me. ‘After reading this,’ she says, shaking the book at the screen, ‘I would stay well away from that emotional minefield. Best leave it to them to sort it out.’
‘Do you think so?’ I ask as doubt begins to crawl over me. Maybe I should find someone else to help?
‘This book has made me grateful that I don’t have teenage children.’
I think about Laura and the number of times she’s talked to me about how hard she’s found raising Molly by herself.
‘Keep away from the mother and daughter battlefield.’
‘But I wanted to see if I could help—’
She interrupts me. ‘You need to read this book and then you will change your mind.’
Ruth and I talk about the latest thriller book she’s also reading. We discuss new releases, and she ends the call by lifting her giant ginger cat onto her lap and waving its paw at me.
Later, I go to bed but I lie awake for ages, thinking about Laura and Molly.
I know Ruth was trying to deter me from getting involved, but I have this nagging doubt that Molly is unhappy about something.
I’ll have a heart-to-heart with her and get to the bottom of what’s going on.
Once I know what it is, I can start coming up with solutions.
This must be what the afterlife wants me to change.
It’s the afternoon, and the café has been quiet. I make sure to clean the tables by the door when Molly calls in. ‘Molly,’ I say, making her whirl around. ‘I’m sorry for the other day. I got distracted by Clark. You sounded like you had something on your mind. Do you want to talk?’
Her face brightens. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
She doesn’t want a drink, so we go and sit by the window. Laura is busy serving a crowd of school children that has just walked in.
‘What’s going on, Molly?’
She blinks and glances towards the counter. ‘Mum’s back in touch with Vince.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Vince is Laura’s ex-boyfriend who she was dating when they first moved here. They split up a year later.
‘He’s back from working in Saudi Arabia, and he wants a second chance.’ Molly casts me a pained expression. ‘I don’t want her and Vince to get back together.’
So, all the talk of a new man was Vince all along. That’s why Laura wouldn’t give me any information. I sit and reflect on what Molly’s told me. She doesn’t want the man back in her mum’s life. I know Laura can do better than Vince.
An idea pings into my mind. Could I do some matchmaking and perhaps distract Laura? Maybe she needs to date someone else. Yes, this feels like something I should do.
‘Molly,’ I say with an air of confidence, ‘leave it with me.’
‘What are you going to do?’ She takes out a tube of glittery pink lip gloss and applies a thick coat.
I smile. ‘Find your mum a new man.’
I was expecting Molly’s face to light up at my idea, but it falls, and her shoulders begin to droop. At that moment, the café door jangles, and in walks Clark. He strides up to the counter.
‘I’ll have a cappuccino and a ham toastie, please, Florence,’ he says brightly, before I have a chance to approach.
I turn back to Molly. ‘Leave your mum to me.’
‘How are you getting on with the test?’ Clark asks when I go to the counter and note down his order.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘What about you?’
He smiles that lopsided boyish grin of his. ‘Very well. Tonight, I will be helping someone, and I reckon because of my actions, I will pass.’
His confidence makes my body crackle with irritation. ‘Take a seat, Clark, and I’ll bring you your order.’
Once he goes to sit down, I poke my head into the kitchen. Laura is not on her phone for once and is sorting out a food order. ‘Can I have a ham toastie for Clark?’
She lets out a frustrated yelp and rolls her eyes. ‘I want to chuck this toastie maker out of the window. It’s being temperamental again. Why isn’t it working?’
I sigh. ‘Have you tried switching it on and off again?’
She nods. ‘You go and serve. I’ll get it working.’
The doorbell jangles again as I make Clark’s coffee.
A handsome man with short black hair and piercing blue eyes enters, pulling a black suitcase on wheels and with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
He comes to the counter and smiles, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.
After casually running a hand through his hair, he orders a pot of tea and a jacket potato with cheese.
His velvety Irish accent reminds me of Laura; she’s always told me her dream man would be tall, handsome, and charmingly Irish.
Vince is neither tall nor handsome, and he’s from Bristol.
This man has given me the perfect opportunity to help Molly.
‘Laura,’ I say, glancing over my shoulder. ‘Come in here for a sec.’
Laura appears, wiping her hands on a tea towel, mid-rant about the toastie maker. Her eyes land on him, and something flickers across her face. Like magic, he smiles at her and says, ‘Do you want me to have a word with your toastie maker?’ That Irish accent of his is like warm butter on toast.
Laura doesn’t miss a beat. She laughs. ‘If you can charm that thing into behaving, you’ll be my hero.’
He casts her a wicked smile. ‘Ah, now,’ he says, stepping closer to the counter. ‘I’ll do my best. But I must warn you, once I start being someone’s hero, it’s hard to stop.’
Wow – he’s good. Laura’s eyes have widened.
They start talking and I notice she’s touching her earrings a lot. This is a good sign.
‘I’m here with work for the next two months,’ he explains with his gaze fixed on her. ‘I might need showing around.’
Laura giggles like an excited schoolgirl.
‘My name’s Ronan.’
‘I’m Laura,’ she says, tidying up the napkins.
This is amazing. I haven’t needed to put much effort into encouraging these two. What are the odds? They’re like two lovestruck characters fresh from one of the romance books I review. The fictional couple with the undeniable spark who lights up when the other appears.
I glance at Laura, who looks like she’s been handed a winning lottery ticket.
Vince and those tanned men on the dating apps could be a distant memory if Laura shows Ronan around the town. I glance over at Molly. She’s scowling at me. Maybe fourteen-year-olds are never happy, no matter what you do.
‘Excuse me,’ says a familiar, annoying voice. I turn around to see Clark. ‘Where’s my coffee and toastie?’
I roll my eyes at him. ‘Please be patient, Clark, we’re busy.’
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ he mumbles, before heading back to his seat.
‘Laura,’ says Ronan, leaning against the counter. ‘When are you free this week to show me around?’
Ripples of excitement pass through me. Laura has discovered a new man. This will change the relationship between her and Molly.
‘Test passed,’ I whisper to myself.