Chapter 12
CLARK
Florence’s whiteboard is now attached to her living room wall. It’s bigger than I expected. We had to move a bookcase to set it up.
The board has been up for six minutes, and already it’s a chaotic mess of arrows, wonky circles and…
What are those things at the bottom? I take a closer look.
Oh, God, she has even drawn dodgy stick people.
Her creative problem-solving process is like watching a tornado cause havoc.
It was frantic, aggressive and, honestly, a little scary.
She’s out of breath and admiring her handiwork.
‘This is very retro,’ I say, glancing at her board, the collection of coloured markers she’s clutching and the collection of cloths to wipe it clean. ‘You know, there are phone apps that could do all of this. There’s no need to travel back to the nineties every time you have a problem.’
‘I’ve tried phone notes, Post-its and notebooks,’ she says with a sigh. ‘They don’t come close to giving me the sort of joy I get from my whiteboard.’
‘Joy? Seriously?’
She looks at me as though I’ve just questioned the sky being blue.
‘You can’t dramatically clean a notebook, important Post-its fall to the ground when you’re not looking, and my phone notes give me cryptic messages which I don’t understand, like – “Buy that thing,” or “Do that thing.”’ She gestures at her board. ‘This allows me to get creative.’
I glance at one of her stick people with spiky hair and jug-like ears who looks like they are being electrocuted.
‘You can say that again.’ Hang on a minute – is that stick person me?
The next person has long, flowing hair and is wearing what appears to be an apron.
I touch my ears – are they really jug shaped?
‘Even the sound of the markers on the board does things to me.’
I stare in amazement at Florence. This is a strange and quirky side to her I never knew existed.
‘When did this board come into your life? You didn’t have one when we were kids.’
She shakes her head. ‘I got it last year after I lost…’ Her words stop, and she flicks her eyes to the floor.
I know what she was going to say. She got the board after she lost her baby.
I take in a shaky breath. Florence doesn’t know that her mum told me about her pregnancy and even texted me in a panic before she rushed Florence to the hospital.
‘You’re a project manager,’ she says, changing the subject quickly. ‘Surely you must love planning?’
I laugh. ‘At work, yes, I do plan things, but in real life, I do the exact opposite. Do something and think about it later.’ Margo’s face from the car flashes up in my mind.
‘What other things have you planned on your board?’ I ask, staring at her creation.
‘Decorating the first floor of the café, starting a vegetable patch and other things,’ she mumbles.
She hasn’t done anything with the café’s floor above or the vegetable growing. So much for her creative-planning process.
I look at the thoughts she’s scribbled down. They’re mainly about what Iris and Hilda said to us back in the afterlife, a few relate to the grotty bedsit, and one is about being forced to share a bed with me. This is not really a plan. More of a brain dump.
She sighs, grabs a cloth and starts to vigorously clean her board.
Once finished she reads my mind and says, ‘Now the planning can start.’ I watch as she taps the marker against her chin.
‘Are you going to think of ideas for the both of us?’ I ask.
‘Clark, I’m not doing all the hard work. You need to contribute.’
I scratch the back of my neck. ‘This is new to me. I do whatever comes into my head.’
She draws a line down the middle of the board and writes our names at the top of each column. She turns to me. ‘What do we change?’
I rub my shoulder, and that nagging thought about Mary’s book comes back to me. ‘Well, Pearl has been asking me to read Mary’s book, and I keep putting it off.’
She writes ‘Mary’s book’ under my name. ‘That’s an easy one for you.’
I stare at the board, and my mind leaps into action. ‘Reading a book doesn’t sound like much of a test – does it? That’s not going to change much.’
Florence glances at me. ‘What do you mean?’
I remember Iris sounding like a teacher who took joy in giving out extra-hard homework. In school, Mr Beaver was happiest when assigning us the most challenging maths problems he could find. ‘We need to do the hard or difficult things. That’s the change they want to see.’
Florence lets out a groan and shakes her head. ‘Really?’
‘That’s how we pass,’ I say. ‘We must choose something we don’t want to do because we think it will be too much of a challenge.’
‘There is something I’ve been putting off,’ she says, fiddling with the top of her marker.
‘Which is?’
‘I need to make friends with Jane next door and find out why she’s emotional and always hiding in her car. I’ve been avoiding that.’
I nod as she writes ‘Jane’ in her column.
‘I can’t believe you don’t know your next-door neighbour.’
She scowls at me. ‘We’re not all like you.’
‘What do you mean – friendly?’
She shakes her head with disapproval and taps at my column. ‘What thing do you not want to do other than read that book?’
I think back to my conversation with Pearl. ‘Tracking down Pearl’s mysterious true love. She hated her husband and has always said that she married the wrong man.’
Florence takes a step back and admires the board. ‘Tracking down her true love sounds to me like the right direction – reuniting two lost souls.’
I feel a flurry of excitement, mingled with optimism, in my chest. ‘Florence, that makes total sense. That sort of task does sound celestial. I’ve been avoiding helping Pearl as I fear what I might find.’
She casts me a worried look. ‘Her mystery true love could be dead.’
‘Or seriously ill?’
‘Or living on the other side of the world?’
Florence writes ‘Pearl’s true love’ under my name. ‘Do you think you can find out who this long-lost love of Pearl’s is?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t have a choice. We need to get this stupid task done. Frustratingly, I’ve asked her before, but she refused to share his details, despite my suggestions to search for him online – she seems to hope he will find her.’
‘Tracking down this mystery man doesn’t feel like a quick test,’ Florence muses. ‘I mean, it doesn’t feel like something you could do in twenty-four hours.’
‘You’re right. But we don’t have any more options. I will also have to read the book tonight as a backup.’
She nods. ‘Tomorrow after work, I’ll see if I can speak with Jane.’
‘You could invite her in for a coffee?’
My suggestion makes her roll her eyes. ‘Clark, if I want your help in making friends with my next-door neighbour, I will ask you.’
I shrug. ‘I see Jack in the street. If you must know, Jane loves coffee.’
‘I can sort out my own task,’ she snaps. ‘Close the door on your way out.’
I point to the board. ‘Is that the end of our planning?’
She nods. ‘If I think of anything else, I will let you know.’
‘Oh, and… can I check something – was the stick person with the spiky hair and ears that looked like jugs me?’
She touches her nose. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Clark.’