Chapter 14
CLARK
‘Clark, I was just thinking about you,’ gushes Pearl after opening her front door. ‘Are you coming in for an early morning cuppa?’
‘A tea would be nice, Pearl.’
She smiles as I step into her hallway. ‘Are you not at work?’
I shake my head. I don’t want to tell her that I phoned in sick this morning after lying awake for many hours worrying about this afterlife test. Everything felt gloomy when I woke up.
To add to my woes, my old coffee machine made me a foul-tasting latte, and my cat refused to come near me. ‘Annual leave.’
She smiles. ‘You have the day off, and you want to spend it with your batty old neighbour – are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I lie.
‘Have you come up with a plan on how we can make Mary’s book a bestseller?’
An uncomfortable feeling passes over me.
I only got to the third chapter last night.
Gritty crime thrillers are not my preferred genre, and the amount of blood and gore in sweet old Mary’s book was a shocker.
After three chapters, I had to put it down because I felt nauseous.
Guilt nibbles away at me. I should have ploughed on with the book and sat up all night reading it.
Instead, I re-watched a football match in bed and fell asleep, and then my alarm went off.
Florence’s face comes to mind. She is a book reviewer in her spare time, and she must know what makes a bestseller. I could ask her to help with promoting Mary’s book.
Pearl’s face is consumed by a worried frown. ‘Clark, you look terribly pale. Are you okay?’
I need to reassure Pearl. ‘I’m fine and I have many irons in the fire with Mary’s book,’ I say, injecting confidence into my voice. I will mention it to Florence if we get another chance at the test.
‘I wanted to ask you another favour while you’re here,’ says Pearl, before we reach her kitchen. ‘All I do these days is ask you for favours.’
‘Pearl, you can ask me all day long.’
She beams at me. ‘You are lovely, Clark. You and Florence will make a great couple.’
Her words make me roar with laughter. ‘I love your humour.’
‘One day you will tell me I was right all along.’
Folding my arms, I make a mock-deadpan facial expression. ‘Pearl – do you want me to do you a favour or not?’
She giggles. ‘The lightbulb in my bedroom doesn’t work. I think it needs changing. I have a spare bulb, and it’s on my dressing table upstairs waiting for you.’
‘Do you want me to do it now?’
She smiles. ‘I’ll pop the kettle on, and you can sort out my lightbulb. Perfect.’
Stepping inside her room is like going back in time to my parents’ bedroom when I was little.
She has the same taste in wallpaper as my mum, a heavy floral print in different shades of pink.
Like Mum, Pearl is also a fan of matching curtains.
Her bed is neatly made, and on top is a pink crocheted throw.
The air is scented with lavender, and the same Nivea face cream my mum has used for years.
Using a chair, I quickly swap the bulbs and check the switch.
Her light is working again. I’m about to leave when I notice a framed black-and-white photo on her dressing table.
I take a closer look. It shows a young man and a woman ballroom dancing.
I recognise Pearl in her younger days. Her expression is poised and luminous.
Wow – she looks amazing. Her dress has flared into a perfect swirl.
I look at her dance partner, dressed in a sharp tuxedo and holding her in classic ballroom form with confident posture.
The lighting is soft and grainy, giving it unmistakable charm.
My eyes fall to the lace runner spread across her dressing table.
On it lie a silver hairbrush and a delicate necklace with a musical-note charm.
The charm reminds me of something. I flick my attention back to the photo and to her dancing partner, with his slicked-back black hair and piercing dark eyes.
A wave of familiarity washes over me. I know he’s not her husband, as she once showed me a photo of him, the one who she hated. He had fair hair and blue eyes.
Where have I seen those dark eyes before?
I’m about to leave when I notice the light bouncing off the tiny musical charm, making it wink at me. Strange – I’m sure I’ve seen something similar before. Taking out my phone, I snap a picture of the photo and the charm.
After leaving Pearl’s room, I head downstairs for that cup of tea she promised.
‘Did you fix it?’ she asks as I enter the kitchen.
‘All done. You now have light.’
‘Super,’ she says, before lifting her teapot and filling up two cups. ‘Thank you, Clark. Shall we drink our tea in the living room? I polished in there yesterday.’
I smile as she adds a drop of milk and stirs them. ‘Thank goodness you’ve dusted because I would have refused if you hadn’t,’ I say, jokingly.
She gestures for me to grab the cups and to follow her.
Pearl’s living room has a similar décor style to upstairs, with pink floral wallpaper, matching curtains with tiebacks, and more signs that a prolific crocheter has been at work.
There are crocheted cushion covers, a selection of crocheted sofa throws, and all the little tables contain crocheted mats.
We normally sit in her kitchen when I come over, so this is a treat.
Once she sits down on a pink velvet wing-backed chair and I take the sofa, I decide to broach the subject of her mysterious true love. My mind keeps replaying the image of the male dancer in the photo.
‘While fixing your light,’ I say, ‘I saw the photo of you from your ballroom-dancing era.’
I watch her face light up, and her crinkly blue eyes twinkle. ‘Oh, they were happy days!’
‘You looked fabulous.’
She casts me a coy look. ‘I don’t like to boast, but I think I was the best-dressed female dancer.’
‘Who was your partner?’
Something flickers across her face. She clasps her hands together and presses them against her chest. ‘That was the man I should have married.’
Bingo – this is what I want to hear. If Florence were here with me, I would be boasting a triumphant grin.
‘I know you’re guarded about revealing his identity, but don’t you want to find out what happened to him?’
Her hands are still pressed against her chest. I can see she’s squeezing them so tightly her knuckles are going white. ‘I’m scared, if you must know.’
‘Scared?’
‘That he found someone he truly loved and never thought of me again.’ Her voice crackles. She fishes out a hankie from her cardigan sleeve and dabs at her eyes.
‘But what if he still thinks of you? What if he’s been waiting for you to find him?’
She remains silent.
‘You would regret not knowing.’
Releasing her hands, she touches one of her silvery curls. ‘I don’t think he’d want to see me in my old age.’
‘He would also be in his seventies.’
She takes a sip of her tea. ‘You’re sounding like Mary. She was always pestering me to tell her his name. “I will ask one of my police contacts to help us locate him,” she would say.’
I arch an eyebrow. ‘Mary had contacts in the police?’
Pearl sighs. ‘I must read her book. The trouble is, every time I think about Mary for too long, I get upset. I miss her terribly.’
‘I can understand that.’
She puts down her cup and dabs at her watery eyes.
I can’t give up now. I am so close.
‘Mary wanted you to find your true love – didn’t she?’
She nods.
‘Well, do it for Mary.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
I sense this is a big step for her. With a pained expression on her face, she says, ‘What if he’s no longer with us, Clark?’
‘That could have happened,’ I say gently. ‘But he could still be alive and thinking about what happened to you.’
She stuffs her hankie back up her sleeve. ‘Or hating me, still, for agreeing to marry my awful boss.’
‘That could be right too. But if you don’t look for him, you’ll never know.’
She gazes out of her living room window. ‘There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t thought about him. Even when my children were born, it was he I thought about, not my husband.’
‘This love you had for this mystery man has stayed with you a long time.’
‘It has,’ she murmurs, before turning her attention to me. ‘I will think about your kind offer to help me find out what happened to him.’
‘You know where I am if you need me.’
She smiles. ‘I agree it would be good to find out where he is and what sort of life he has lived. I just need to prepare myself for the things I don’t want to hear.’
I nod but silently vow to study the man’s face in the photo.
I’ve seen those eyes before. All I need is a few days, and I will work out who they belong to.
My heart sinks. This is going to take time, and I don’t have much of that.
Even though the afterlife has given us no clues about when the test ends, I have a feeling it will end after three failed attempts.
Worry blooms inside me. I will have to read Mary’s book even though I don’t believe it’s enough.
Pearl is behind me as I open her front door. She thanks me for popping in and sorting out her light. This could be the last time I see her. Turning around, I hold open my arms. ‘Any chance of a hug for a good friend, Pearl?’ I croak.
She casts me a bewildered look. ‘Clark, are you feeling unwell?’
‘I just need a hug,’ I mumble, fighting back a wave of emotion.
She smiles. ‘Come here then.’
I pull her close and blink away tears. Her hair smells of lavender, like my nan’s.