Chapter 28
CLARK
She’s quiet. In fact, she hasn’t said a word since I picked her up. This is unsettling. I have also noted she won’t look me in the eye.
My heart is pounding against my ribcage. Something is wrong.
We have a two-hour car journey together, and I am riddled with fear.
When Florence is angry about something, I always run and hide. Like when Mr White Socks has done his business in her garden, and I catch sight of her storming across the road carrying her poo bags. I don’t answer the door.
I can’t work out what she’s upset about. Chris’s parcel would have arrived this morning, which would have made her happy. We sorted out things with Molly last night as well.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask, with a wavering voice.
‘Fine,’ she snaps.
Oh, God, I am in trouble.
Do I pull the car over and talk to her?
Or do I carry on and hope she calms down?
If she explodes in the passenger seat, I might be a danger to other drivers. Perhaps it’s best to pull over and let her erupt?
This is going to be tough.
I indicate and pull the car into a quiet street. After turning off the engine, I turn to her. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’
There’s a frosty silence, and she carries on looking out of her window.
‘Florence?’
She turns to me, her amber eyes glowing with rage. ‘You’ve been masquerading as Chris – haven’t you?’
Blood drains from my face, and my heart comes to a grinding halt.
‘What?’ I squeak.
She blinks several times before growling, ‘You are Chris.’
I feel sick.
‘You’ve been stalking my Instagram and catfishing me.’
What? Catfishing? Why does she have to take things too far? ‘Let’s clear one thing up. I was not catfishing you.’
‘You were using a fake identity to trick me,’ she hisses, releasing her long, wavy hair and letting it tumble around her shoulders. ‘I should report you.’
She’s so angry she’s trembling.
‘I wasn’t catfishing you.’
‘Yes, you were.’ She flicks her hair off her right shoulder. ‘There was no need to catfish me.’
‘I was not catfishing you.’
‘I bet you and your mates had a right laugh,’ she growls, ‘Making me believe you were someone else.’
Lowering my voice, I rub my forehead. ‘That’s not how it was, Florence.’
‘Well, how was it, Clark?’
I let out a heavy sigh. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay after…’
‘After what?’ she shrieks, making me jolt.
A woman walking two dogs passes my car and gives me a concerned look.
I ignore her and take a deep breath. ‘I know you had a miscarriage last year.’
She gulps and blinks. ‘Who told you?’
‘Your mum. I wanted to talk to you.’
Her eyes are flashing with anger. ‘A simple “hello” or “how are you?” would be sufficient.’
I throw my hands into the air with frustration. ‘I have tried that. But you don’t want to talk to me.’ The volume of my voice startles her. I lower it. ‘I would never laugh at you, Florence.’
‘You made out you were someone else,’ she snaps. ‘I thought Chris was real.’ A sob escapes from her lips. ‘You made me believe in love again.’ Tears roll down her cheeks. ‘I will never forgive you for this.’
Waves of guilt are crashing over me. Oh, God, what have I done?
She’s dissolved into tears. Meanwhile, I feel like the worst person to have existed.
‘Is that what you think I would do?’ I ask, gently. ‘Make fun of you?’
‘We’ve been enemies for so long,’ she says, through a sob.
‘You might be the most annoying person I have ever met,’ I explain, ‘but I would never do something like that. I am proud of your book reviews and Instagram page. It’s great, and you might not know this, but I like books, too.’
She wipes her cheeks. ‘There was no need to pretend to be somebody else.’
I rub my forehead. ‘I never thought Chris would have such an effect on you.’
‘Chris made me smile with his comments,’ she says. ‘Last Christmas, when I was feeling low, it was his… I mean, your comments about the thriller author who gave everything away in the first chapter… that brightened up my day.’
‘I remember that book. The photo you did with the rope, the police tape and the magnifying glass was so cool.’
She remains silent.
‘If you must know, I came to the hospital when your mum rushed you there.’
She looks at me. ‘What?’
I nod. ‘I sat in my car for eight hours praying you and your baby were okay.’
I watch a tear trickle down her cheek. She’s studying my face. ‘Really?’
‘Your mum texted me before you left for the hospital. I am so sorry you had to go through that.’
She wipes her cheek.
‘You would have made a great mum, Florence.’
She shakes her head. ‘You think I’m annoying.’
I hold her gaze. ‘A mother needs to be annoying. It’s a key requirement.’
She starts to cry again, and I instinctively pull her against me. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist and allows me to cuddle her. As she sobs, I wipe a tear from my own cheek.
When she finally sits up, her lips form a weak smile. ‘I didn’t know you came to the hospital.’ Her eyes scan my face. ‘Wait – you’re crying too?’
I nod. ‘What you went through upset me. I was so proud of you for choosing to raise the child yourself.’
‘It was an awful time,’ she mumbles.
‘I should not have pretended to be Chris. I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I wanted to talk to you after all that, and Chris was a stupid idea.’
She nods and reaches out to place her hand on my arm. ‘Thanks for being at the hospital. I didn’t know you’d done that.’
‘I might find you annoying, but I do care about you, Florence. No one knows this, well, apart from your dad, but my mum had a miscarriage when I was seventeen.’
She blinks. ‘What?’
I take in a shaky breath. ‘It was a shock. She thought she had early menopause symptoms. Dad was speechless for a few days after she did the test. I was also stunned. It was a real curveball, but deep down we all loved the idea of a little person coming into our family. Even me, a spotty seventeen-year-old who spent far too long playing video games, daydreamed about being a big brother. We kept it a secret as Mum was older and we didn’t want to jinx it.
She lost the baby and it broke us.’ I run a hand through my hair.
‘It was awful, Florence. Mum cried for days and she and Dad were never the same again. I often wonder whether losing the baby caused their marriage to fall apart.’
She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’
A tear trickles down my cheek. I turn to her. ‘I didn’t want you to feel like you were on your own, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.’
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and she tenderly wipes away my tear with her thumb.