The Love of My Afterlife(28)

“The bee’s knees, eh? Still no.”

I start to drag myself along the corridor towards my flat. I traverse the whole distance on my bottom so that I don’t have to stand up and risk revealing anything to Cooper.

“Why are you scooching like that?” His brows dip in confusion, creating a little rivet above his nose.

“I…I like to mix it up. Walking all the time is no fun.”

Cooper shakes his head like he can’t quite figure me out. He leans back against the banister. “You really don’t care what people think of you, do you?” he says.

I shrug. “Mostly no.”

“How do you do that?” He narrows his eyes. “My sister used to tell me I cared entirely too much of what people thought of me. That it was stunting me.”

“You obviously don’t care what I think of you, though. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so rude to me all the time.”

Cooper shrugs. “I’m only rude to you because you’re rude to me.”

“Well, that’s because you were rude to me first.”

“Your memory is skewed, Delphie. You were definitely the instigator of—” He gestures between us. “This.”

I scoff. “I don’t have time for this! I have to get back on with looking for Jonah.”

Cooper runs a hand through his hair, the front lick of it dropping to obscure one eye. “Well, I very much care what my parents think of me. What am I supposed to tell them?”

I throw my hands up. “I don’t know. Tell them you have other plans tonight, moping about or playing your shit music or whatever it is you do in your personal leisure time.”

“I’d already told them I was free because I actually wanted to attend games night. Just me. But then they invited you, and I couldn’t come up with an excuse that they would accept, so…Come on. I thought we were in a quid pro quo agreement here.”

“I’m not exactly the meet-the-parents type,” I try. Which is to say I’ve never had a boyfriend whose parents I could possibly meet.

“Clearly I know that but—”

“Start that sentence again.”

“Apologies.” Cooper’s mouth twitches upwards a little. “That was rude of me. But it would just be this once. Just to get them off my back. And also, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even know Jonah’s surname.”

That’s true. In that sense, Cooper may have literally saved my life. And if I get my life back from Merritt, I rather like the idea of Cooper owing me one. Maybe I could use his fireplace whenever I wanted to in the winter. Or have him deliver my packages directly to me so I don’t have to traipse downstairs and risk running into scary Mrs. Ernestine. Ooh, maybe he could do a couple of shifts for me at the pharmacy? I’d like to see how well he maintains that arrogance after being forced to inspect Mrs. Wren’s antibiotic-resistant toenail infection bi-weekly.

“Fine,” I say with a cool smile. “I’ll do it. What time do you need me?”

He pulls his phone out of his tight jeans pocket. “Give me your number. I’ll double-check with my parents and text you once I know the definite time.”

I recite my number with an eye roll before Cooper leaves me be. Twenty minutes later my phone vibrates with a text.


I’ll be waiting in the lobby at seven pm.


Are you allergic to anything?



Just you, I type out before sniggering. Then I delete it and write No allergies instead.





15





I’m running late for Mr. Yoon, so I speed through my shower and change into a faithful old T-shirt and extra-roomy shorts. While I’m getting dressed, my phone dings with a non-Merritt text.


Delphie, did you mean what you said last night? It is me, Aled, by the way.



I screw my face up because all memories of what I said last night and to whom have already squirrelled themselves away into the corners of my brain. And how does Aled even have my number? I puzzle for a moment before remembering I had to input it into the form to get my library card. Rolling my eyes, I shove my phone back into my shorts pocket and head next door.

Mr. Yoon is tucked in at his kitchen table, beavering away at the crossword. The bright sun lights up his coarse grey hair, making it look silver. The fresh ashtray I laid out earlier is already three cigarettes deep.

I think of the morning after I got a birthday card from Mr. Yoon. Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t managed to eat the entire cake myself, so I took a slice over to his house to say thank you. He cut the cake slice into two, sharing half with me, and we sat at his kitchen table, not saying a word but somehow knowing that what was happening was needed by the both of us.

“Morning,” I trill, opening the fridge to get some milk. It’s almost bare. Mr. Yoon is usually good at keeping himself well stocked with groceries. But it seems like he’s completely forgotten to make his order. I catch sight of the red circular emergency button he had installed on his kitchen wall a few years ago. It’s from a company called London Home Team. If he’s ever in any trouble or becomes unwell, he can press the red button and someone will turn up to help him. I don’t know if it’s a private or council service, but either way I make a note to call the number on the laminated card beside the button. Maybe they offer grocery shopping services? Or perhaps someone could come in and help Mr. Yoon in general? If all of this goes tits up and I’m gone, then things should be set up so that he’s got the help he’s clearly starting to need.