Chapter 15
FLORENCE
I woke up in a sweaty panic after a horrible, vivid dream in which Clark and I had died after failing the test and Mum was in the street telling Pearl about how she’d been worried about me for some time.
She was tearful and started talking about our last call, where she asked me whether I was happy.
Pearl put a comforting arm around her as my mother sobbed about how she would spend the rest of her life wondering whether she should have done more to support me.
I woke up gasping, my pillow damp and my heart thudding away.
To calm myself, I reached for my phone and checked Instagram. Chris had left me a new message.
You’ve officially become my favourite plot twist on Instagram.
His message made me feel lighter and banished the dark feelings.
It was just a dream. This is what I tell myself as I step into the shower.
As the warm water jets splash over my face.
I imagine Chris at our future bookish-themed wedding, standing up at the reception to toast me, his bride, and mentioning how we met on a book review Instagram account.
My heart flutters and I push all thoughts about the afterlife’s test away and savour this moment.
The small, damp patch on my bathroom ceiling tries to distract me, but I ignore that, too.
On my way to work, I think about my next task – speak to Jane next door. I can do this, I tell myself.
‘You look pale, Florence – everything okay?’ Laura asks as she wipes down a table.
‘I didn’t sleep very well,’ I mumble.
‘Are you doing anything nice on your afternoon off?’ she continues. ‘Last week, when you booked it, you said you were going to start your vegetable patch.’
I let out a silent groan. Last week feels like such a long time ago.
‘What are you doing instead?’ asks Laura.
‘Oh, just a bit of life admin,’ I mumble, before hurrying into the kitchen.
I think about Jane and how I will approach getting to know her.
In my head, I can hear Clark telling me Jane loves coffee.
I know I was quick to dismiss him last night, but inviting Jane in for a quick drink doesn’t feel that hard.
‘I see the whiteboard has gone from the kitchen,’ says Laura.
I nod. ‘Life admin needs some planning.’
She giggles. ‘You’re so obsessed with your whiteboard you’ve taken the afternoon off to spend some quality time with it.’
‘Chris left me a message this morning,’ I say, changing the subject.
Laura gives me a concerned look. ‘Be careful, you don’t know anything about him.’
‘He sends me funny book-themed messages.’
‘Normal men don’t do that, Florence,’ she says as she makes a flat white for a customer.
‘What do normal men do then?’
‘They either send you a photo you never asked for, which will show a part of their body, or a thought-provoking GIF.’ She pours the steamed milk into the coffee cup. ‘Normal blokes don’t send clever messages about books.’
‘Chris is going to be different, Laura,’ I say as a train not planning to stop at the station thunders past, making the cups rattle.
‘Jane,’ I say, looking over as she hurries along the path towards her house. She lifts her head and stops. For a few awkward moments, we stare at each other like two people who have made eye contact on the bus and are now committed to saying something to fill the silence.
Words jostle on my tongue. What do I say to the woman I’ve lived next door to for the past two years, yet have only nodded at? The classic ‘Yes, I acknowledge your existence, but please don’t speak to me’ nod.
She and Jack have lived next door to me for all that time, and yet I only know their names because the postman often mixes up our letters. If we didn’t have an unreliable postman, we would be complete strangers.
This is painful. Jane must think I’ve had a malfunction, as nothing is coming out of my mouth. Okay, don’t panic, I silently reassure myself.
The memory of my call with Mum last night rushes back to me. I need to pass this test as I don’t want that to be our last conversation.
‘Do you fancy a coffee?’
Jane blinks. She must be frantically thinking of an excuse. A sick relative who’s waiting for a phone call. A bathroom that needs an urgent deep clean, or an ironing pile that demands attention.
She’s still looking at me. This is so cringe. I must pass this test. My brain leaps into action. ‘I thought it would be nice to get to have a coffee sometime… or maybe a tea?’
‘Really?’ Jane sounds surprised.
I nod. ‘Yes, look, there’s no pressure. Let me know…’
She smiles. ‘I’m free now, and I could murder a coffee.’
Oh, God, she agreed.
I hold the door for her as she walks up my path. ‘This is very nice of you, Florence,’ she gushes.
‘I should have done this two years ago,’ I mumble, silently praying this isn’t awkward. ‘Come inside.’
Jane enters my house. She steps into my living room and points at my bookcases. ‘We have something in common. I’m also a bookworm.’
I take a step back in surprise.
‘I also have an impressive collection. My life motto is “shelf care is self-care”.’
I let out a nervous giggle. This is something I wasn’t expecting.
‘You will have to come and see my shelves sometime.’
‘It’s a deal,’ I say, feeling my shoulders soften. ‘I love your motto. When I’m feeling down, I glance at my pretty bookshelves and feel better.’
‘Me too.’ Jane beams. ‘What’s your favourite genre?’
‘It was crime and thrillers, but I’m getting back into romance. You?’
She lets out a sigh. ‘Romantasy. Anything with dragons and handsome men in head-to-toe leather with long, wavy hair.’
We both laugh, and the awkwardness washes away. She points to my candle. ‘I love the old bookshop scent too. You’ve got good taste.’
I smile. ‘I often put it on and imagine I’m lost in a beautiful old bookshop.’
Jane nods. ‘With wooden ladders that move.’
I think of Ruth. ‘My book friend has a ladder for her bookcases.’
‘Does she boast about it?’
‘She sends me selfies of her hanging off it.’
Jane mockingly rolls her eyes. ‘How rude.’
We both laugh before heading for my kitchen. On the way, we pass my whiteboard. Jane lets out a squeal. ‘This is fab. Do you use it a lot?’
I nod. ‘It’s been my saviour.’
She surveys it and nods. ‘Very retro. I need one too. Oh, look, you have a good selection of pens and cloths. Love it.’
I make us both a coffee, and we carry our mugs to my breakfast bar table.
We sit opposite each other, and for the first time in two years, I get to look properly at Jane. We must be similar in age. Like me, she wears her hair up in a messy bun, has a heavy fringe that frames her face, and favours minimal makeup. She looks like someone I would be friends with.
‘Nice coffee,’ she says after a few sips. ‘Thanks for treating me to one of your posh coffee pods.’
‘Thanks, coffee and books are my two essentials in life.’
She smiles, and we go quiet. I watch her survey my sunny yellow kitchen and blue wooden cupboards.
Her eyes settle on my photo of Dad on the wall.
It was taken during a family holiday to Santorini, where he’s laughing, in a blue Hawaiian shirt, pink shorts, and leather loafers, holding a glass of Ouzo and a cigar.
He stands on a roof terrace with white buildings, some with blue domes, and the blue Aegean Sea in the background.
‘Is that your dad?’
‘Yes, it is. Sadly, he’s no longer with us. I miss him a lot. His photo being in here means I talk to him every day, though.’
Jane doesn’t lift her gaze away from the picture. ‘I have a photo of my late partner up in my kitchen too. I always tell him what I’m cooking.’
‘I’m sorry, Jane.’ This is something I didn’t know about her.
She nods at my dad. ‘You look like him.’
I smile. ‘We share the same eyes and nose. Not the bald head or the moustache though.’
Jane smiles. ‘He looks like a lot of fun.’
‘He was the life and soul of every party. If there wasn’t a social event to go to, he would create his own.’
Jane and I sip our coffee in silence. To my surprise, it doesn’t feel awkward.
I recall what she’d said about losing her partner. ‘How are you doing? That must be tough for both you and Jack.’
She flicks her focus to her coffee. ‘It’s okay. Jack and I are getting through it, slowly.’
‘How long has it been?’
She takes a sip of her coffee. ‘Two years.’
‘Dad passed away three years ago.’
We exchange a knowing smile, and I find myself questioning why I left it so long to get to know Jane.
‘The first year was the worst,’ she says.
I nod. ‘Definitely, things felt a little easier after the one-year anniversary.’
‘It’s the loneliness that I struggle with.’ Jane’s voice wavers. ‘I know I have Jack, but he’s eleven years old, and his conversation topics are mainly football and Xbox games.’ She sighs. ‘No one talks about how lonely it is after the love of your life dies.’
Jane is lonely. That’s sad. She seems lovely. I feel a little twang of guilt for not getting to know her sooner. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Jane. I saw you in your car, and I should have come over.’
Her eyes are watery. She wipes them with the sleeve of her top. ‘I don’t like crying in front of Jack, so that’s why I opt for my car.’ She flicks her eyes to the table, like she’s ashamed.
Her words bring back a memory of when I used to do the same after my miscarriage.
‘Crying in cars is very therapeutic,’ I say. ‘Crying in front of a whiteboard is good too.’
She smiles. ‘We have so much in common.’
In this moment, I know I need to help her. Help her somehow with her loneliness.
My brain leaps into solution mode. ‘Do you have any hobbies or interests? There’s a board in the café that has loads of clubs you could join and meet new people. I’ve heard good things about the running club, and everyone is always raving about the yoga classes at the community centre.’
Jane shakes her head. ‘They’re not for me.’
‘Oh, okay. If not sports, what about art? There are painting classes, and there’s a creative writing club that meets every Tuesday at the café.’
‘I’m not arty.’
This is hard. But I persist.