Chapter 11
FLORENCE
It feels strange watching Clark enter my home for the first time.
Odd, almost unnatural. We’ve never set foot inside each other’s houses, despite constant efforts from our respective families.
My mother and Clark’s mother are still close and cling to the delusional belief that we will one day marry.
I always roll my eyes at Mum and say, ‘Over my dead body.’
Clark has stood at my door many a time to argue about my parking or the pile of little bags outside his front door, filled with his cat’s poop found in my back garden. But he’s never been invited in.
He grimaces, which I think is his way of signalling that this new situation we find ourselves in is a struggle for him too.
I watch him stride into the living room.
For a few seconds, he stops to survey my white bookcases and my rainbow-gradient book spines.
He sniffs the air. ‘What’s that weird smell? ’
I point to the lit candle on my coffee table. ‘The scent of an old bookshop candle.’
‘It smells like a school classroom.’
The urge to chuck him out is strong, but I resist. ‘It was expensive.’
‘You were conned.’ He goes to lean against my mantlepiece. His brown hair looks unruly and wild.
‘You can sit down, Clark.’
He shakes his head and leans against my mantlepiece like a Victorian father with a pressing matter on his mind. ‘I just want to get this over with.’
I sit on the sofa. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Good. Sam across the road needed someone to talk about a personal issue with.’
I gaze out of my living room window at Sam’s house, which is next door to Pearl’s. ‘He used to come to the café a lot before he caught his train to work,’ I say. ‘Did you go to his house?’
Clark shakes his head. ‘I took him to the pub and we chatted it through.’
My curiosity has piqued. ‘Oh, what was his issue?’
‘I’m not going into details. What about you?’
Molly’s face flashes up in my mind. ‘I talked with Molly.’
He arches an eyebrow. ‘About extra shifts? Florence, the afterlife didn’t set you a test to increase your café’s takings.’
Anger ignites inside of me. ‘Stop saying that.’
He shakes his head and looks away.
‘Molly has been on my mind for ages. There’s been something troubling her. I did think the offer of a Saturday job would help her, but today I got to the bottom of her issue. She doesn’t like Vince, Laura’s ex-boyfriend. That’s what’s making her frosty with her mum.’
‘What have you done to help?’
I fiddle with the zip on my cushion. ‘Laura needs a new man in her life. So, I helped her secure a date with the Irish guy in the café. They’re going out later this week.’
Clark arches an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you were doing earlier while forgetting about my order?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Yes. You didn’t help with your complaining.’
‘You looked like you were flirting.’
My eyebrows are rocketing up my forehead. ‘I was busy matchmaking, Clark.’
‘Are you sure that’s what Molly wants?’
I feel a prickle of irritation. He won’t tell me what he’s done, but when I share details of my progress, he starts picking it apart. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I hope we pass,’ he says, checking the time on his phone.
Feeling proud of my breakthrough with Molly and Laura’s potential suitor, I lean back and let out a little sigh. If the robin confirms we’ve passed, I will celebrate. Maybe I’ll buy a new pair of shoes. I need to do something.
There’s a flapping of wings, and a white dove shoots through my open window. I gasp. ‘They’ve changed the bird. That means something. I’m sure doves signify hope.’
A huge smile breaks out over Clark’s face. ‘I think we’ve passed, Florence.’
The dove flies above us. My body is flooded with relief as I watch it. The test is over. It was clearly about changing the direction of Laura’s love life and letting Sam, the neighbour, talk about his troubling issue.
A roll of white paper falls from the dove’s beak onto the coffee table, and it shoots back out of the window. I gulp as Clark picks it up. He casts me a hopeful look. ‘I have never wanted to see the words “you’ve passed” so badly.’
‘Open it,’ I say as my heartbeat quickens.
He unfolds it, and to my horror, I watch his grin disappear. The corners of his mouth curve downwards, and his eyes flick to the floor. ‘Not passed,’ he groans. ‘Try again.’
My heart grinds to a halt. ‘What? But they changed the bird to a dove?’
He nods and lets out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t get it. We’ve helped our neighbours, and we’ve failed again.’
I rise from the sofa. ‘There must be a mistake. I had a big talk with Molly in the café, and I got to the bottom of why she’s feeling sad. I changed something.’
Clark runs a hand through his thick brown hair. ‘What do we do now?’ he moans, heading for my armchair to sit down.
‘We’ve failed twice,’ I say as my heart lurches. ‘This is not good.’
‘I agree. We will probably only get three attempts to pass.’
I’m gripped by panic. ‘Three attempts? Really? Why do you say that?’
He shrugs. ‘Three strikes? I reckon if we get another fail, we die.’
Tears prick my eyes. ‘I don’t want to live in that bedsit, and I don’t want to die.
’ My voice cracks. ‘What will Mum do without me?’ A stray tear escapes and trickles down my cheek.
In my head, I picture her sitting alone at her kitchen table, looking up at photos of Dad and me hung on the wall.
My mind replaces it with an image of my café closed, with a ‘FOR SALE’ sign outside.
Emotion builds inside of me. More tears come, and I wipe them with my sleeve.
Clark’s staring at his hands in his lap. ‘Pearl doesn’t have any family who lives near here, and now Mary’s gone – who will check on her?’
‘We can’t fail again, Clark. There’s a lot resting on what we do next.’
He nods as I return to the sofa with fingers itching like mad. I wish my whiteboard were here. If it were, I’d lunge for it like I am possessed and unleash a chaotic explosion of thoughts, arrows, circles and stick people.
‘What are we going to do?’ His voice sounds shaky.
This situation needs serious planning. I need my emotional support object. Rising from the sofa, I grab my door and café keys.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks.
‘I’m going to get my whiteboard.’
He blinks in surprise. ‘Your what?’
‘My whiteboard. It’s in the café.’
‘A whiteboard? Seriously?’ He’s staring in what looks like disbelief. ‘What is this – school? Time-travelling back to Year 9 maths is not going to help us.’
I let out a heavy sigh. ‘Well, it helps me in stressful situations, so you can think what you like.’
‘What will you do with your… whiteboard?’
‘I’ll bring it back here. Then I’ll do a quick brain dump and start planning.’
He gets to his feet. ‘Do you think we should do some joint planning?’
My shoulders and neck stiffen. No way. I am not doing that with him.
‘Florence, this could be our last chance to get this right. Sometimes two heads are better than one.’
I open my mouth but then close it. I hate to say this, but he has a point. We’re in a precarious situation.
‘If I go get my whiteboard and bring it back here, you can’t sit and make unhelpful comments about my creative problem-solving process.’
He arches an eyebrow, and I can see the faint hint of a smile. ‘I won’t do that. What does this process involve?’
I feel the prickle of familiar irritation. He finds my whiteboard amusing. ‘I’m not going into detail, Clark,’ I sigh. ‘You can stay here or come with me. The choice is yours.’