Chapter 32
CLARK
My call with Mum didn’t go well. It wasn’t surprising to hear her erupt into an angry fury after I told her about Dad.
She yelled down the phone and then hung up on me.
I called her back and she shouted some more.
‘You don’t care about me, Clark,’ she said, and followed it up with, ‘You have no idea what this will do to me.’
By the time it finished, I felt like a broken man.
She’d ended the call sobbing her heart out, which made me feel like the worst son ever.
I was told not to bother going over to her house to have a look at her faulty boiler as well, not that I’d planned to anyway.
I keep telling her I’m not a gas engineer, but she doesn’t seem to listen.
I crawled into bed feeling terrible, stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to carry on talking to my father and I also want to have a mother-son relationship.
Sleep wasn’t my friend and I lay awake for hours thinking about Dad and Mum.
My mind cruelly replayed the day Dad walked out on us.
Mum was devastated and I was furious with him.
On the phone later, when he called to see if we were okay, I told him that we never wanted to see him ever again.
I wore that armour of hurt and pain for years.
Until it slipped inside the British Museum and I realised that I still loved him and wanted him in my life.
I’m leaving my house to go to the café early. All my thoughts about Mum and Dad have been pushed to the back of my mind.
When I woke this morning, I had this awful sinking feeling.
I can sort of predict what will happen next.
Mum will be a nightmare, and I will probably have to tell Dad that speaking to him upsets Mum too much.
If Florence and I don’t pass this test and end up dying Mum will probably make a point of telling the congregation at my funeral that I betrayed her by talking to Dad after all the hurt he caused her.
If I hadn’t bumped into him in the museum, I wouldn’t be in this position. We would still be estranged.
But today I need to focus on other things.
The thought of seeing Florence excites me.
Yesterday felt like a turning point for us both.
I’m glad she worked out that I was Chris.
That was a secret that had been weighing heavily on my mind for some time.
The argument we had in the car was awful, but I feel like some good came from it.
She doesn’t feel like my annoying childhood enemy any more.
When I looked at her sitting next to me on the sofa last night all I saw were her honey-dipped eyes, her perfect pink lips and that smile, which melts my insides.
Something has changed between us. I wonder whether that’s what the afterlife wanted all along.
I find Jack sitting on the kerb. He’s in his football gear.
‘Hello,’ I say, with a smile.
He looks up and shields his eyes with his hand as the early morning sun is bright. ‘Hi, Clark.’
‘What are you up to?’
‘I have a football match this afternoon, and Mum can’t come and watch me.’ He kicks a stone angrily. ‘If Dad were here, he would come and watch me.’
‘Maybe she’s busy?’
‘She’s going to visit Gran in the hospital. Gran is fine, and Mum saw her yesterday.’
Poor Jane. I crouch down to his level. ‘She’s probably worried about your gran. Go easy on her. Your mum’s been through a rough time.’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Mum has been recording her podcast, which is annoying as I can’t make a sound.’
‘Do you like making a racket?’
He smiles. ‘Yes, I do.’
An idea unfolds in my mind.
‘I could come and watch you in your football match. I mean, I would have to check with your mum.’
His little face lights up. ‘Brilliant. Clark, that would be so cool.’
‘Let’s go and talk to your mum to check she’s okay with it.’
Florence greets me when I enter the café. Her gaze softens the moment our eyes meet. A pretty smile spreads across her face. ‘How was the call with your mum?’
I shake my head. ‘Horrible. She hates me and I feel terrible.’
Florence makes me a coffee. ‘It’s probably a shock. She’ll come round.’
‘I love your optimism, but you know my mum. She holds grudges, and she hates my father because he left us for another woman.’
Florence froths the milk and I can see she’s thinking about my situation. Once she’s handed me my drink she says, ‘It was never your pain to carry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your parents and their marriage issues were never your business. Him leaving her for another woman was nothing to do with you.’
I reflect on what she said. ‘True.’
‘Was he a good dad?’
I think back to my childhood where we would play football in the back garden, have a game of cards in the shed – he believed everyone should be able to play poker – watch endless hours of sport on TV together and laugh at his terrible attempts at cooking.
He was always there for me when I had a problem at school and was always cool about my mediocre grades. ‘Yes, he was a good dad.’
Florence smiles. ‘That’s the important bit. You’ve carried your mum’s anger and pain at your dad for too long. It was never yours to own.’
I stare at her. She’s right. Mum’s issues with his betrayal were never my problem.
Harry was always good at reframing my problems. Over a game of snooker, I would talk about something painful, and he would make me see it in a different light.
Florence has inherited his gift. ‘Thinking of it like that makes me feel better.’
She grins and gestures to the stairs. ‘Your decorating job is calling you.’
‘Where’s Laura?’
‘Ronan is taking her to the lake for a picnic. Molly should be here soon so she can help me.’
‘Wow, Ronan’s good.’
She laughs. ‘A bit too good. Oh, and by the way, I’ve started reading Mary’s book.’
I feel a little twang of guilt. I should have done that. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s not what I expected from her. It made me feel a little sick actually.’ She frowns. ‘Mary didn’t strike me as the sort of person who would write about murder. First chapter in, and her character is killing her husband.’
‘Maybe she was a fan of crime?’
‘My friend Ruth has stopped reading it.’
A shiver shoots down my spine. ‘But we need Ruth to review it on her Insta – don’t we?’
Florence casts me a strained look. ‘Yes.’
‘What do we do now then?’
She lets out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe we’re not supposed to help with Mary’s book?’ I say, trying to sound optimistic.
Florence shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid our task is to get as many people as we can to read it. The way I am looking at the test now is – if there’s anything we believe to be tricky or difficult, it’s for us to change.’
A queue is forming behind me. I need to get on with the painting.
It’s early afternoon and I have come home. I’ll be watching Jack play football later, which will help take my mind off everything. It’s also going to make him happy.
The upstairs of the café looks amazing. The second coat makes the walls brighter and it’s now an airy and light room. My body aches though from the effort.
I kick off my trainers and lie down on the sofa.
As I think about what I need to do with the woodwork, my eyelids start to feel heavy, and my body sinks further into the cushions.
I feel sleepy. If I close my eyes for two seconds, I’ll feel better, I decide.
There’s no need to set my alarm on my phone. I never sleep for long.
Soon, I’m asleep and back in the afterlife’s bedsit. I’m lying on the sofa bed with Florence. It doesn’t feel like a nightmare as we’re spooning each other, and the feel of her peachy backside against my groin is doing things to me.
BANG. BANG.
I wake up, startled and confused. Someone is banging on my door.
I check my phone and gasp. It’s late afternoon. Oh, God, I’ve missed Jack’s football match. I dash to the door to find Florence on the doorstep. She stares at me. ‘Have you been asleep?’
Rubbing my bleary eyes, I nod. ‘I missed Jack’s game.’
‘What?’
‘He was cross at his mum not going so I said I would go and watch him.’
She lets out a groan. ‘Oh Clark, he was asking for your help and you… fell asleep.’
I groan, hang my head and wait for Florence to scream and shout. To my surprise, she doesn’t. ‘Come on. Let’s get in the car and drive to the school. We might still make it.’
‘It will have finished now.’
She nods. ‘We can still try and see Jack.’
I grab my car keys, and we race out to my car.
As we drive to the school, I notice Florence is flicking through Mary’s book like she only wants to find out how it ends.
‘Have you given up reading it as well?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘It’s non-stop murder. I need to look at the ending.’
I park in the school car park where parents and their tired and muddy children are heading for their cars. ‘Damn, we’ve missed it.’
Florence is engrossed with the back of Mary’s book.
I catch sight of a sad-looking Jack walking out of the school gates. ‘Jack,’ I shout after jumping out of my car. ‘Jack – wait.’
He spots me and scowls. ‘Go away, Clark.’
A wave of guilt crashes over me. ‘Mate, I’m sorry.’
‘Go away.’
I’m about to run after him when Florence shouts, ‘Clark, come here.’
Half of me wants to chase after Jack and try to make up for missing his game and the other half wants to see what Florence wants. I know I should go and see Jack. That is the right thing to do, as I’ve let him down.
‘Clark,’ yells Florence. ‘You need to see this.’
She’s standing by my car and waving Mary’s book at me.
I turn back to the car.
‘The acknowledgements page,’ says Florence. ‘Mary was a serial killer.’