The Love of My Afterlife(32)

“You go first.”

Cooper turns onto the North Circular and immediately pulls into the fast lane. I wind my window up so I can hear him properly.

“Fine,” he says. “I work from home as a computer programmer. Writing code, testing code, that sort of thing. I’m thirty-three years old. I like to listen to music, drink delicious wine, read novels, explore London and—”

“Did you copy and paste that from Guardian Soulmates?”

“How about you?” he asks, sidestepping my dig.

“I work at Meyer’s Pharmacy as an assistant and I’m twenty-seven.”

“And?”

“And…that’s it.”

“Now is not the time to be facetious. I can hardly introduce you to my parents like that—This is Delphie, who works as a pharmacy assistant, is twenty-seven, and, ah yes, has hooked up all over this town with a man named Jonah, now missing.”

I wiggle uncomfortably and dart him a dirty look for once again bringing up my unfortunate phrasing about sleeping with Jonah.

“Seriously,” he says. “Tell me something real about you.”

The truth is, there’s isn’t much more than that to offer. I don’t really have any hobbies. I’m not a hobby person. What else do I do apart from work and hang out with Mr. Yoon and watch TV? I suppose I love drawing. Well, loved, at least.

“I like art,” I tell him.

Cooper glances over with interest. “Nice. Who’s your favourite painter?”

I smile to myself. “Modigliani. For definite. He’s got such a specific point of view. All those elongated lines, all that melancholy.”

“Did you copy and paste that from the National Gallery website?”

“Did you copy and paste your comebacks from me?”

“Ha! I like Modigliani too. Woman with Red Hair is my favourite.”

“Artists and red hair. They’re obsessed.”

“I mean, I get it.” He shrugs a shoulder.

I give him a sideways glance. Is he…is he flirting with me? His eyes remain on the road, face straight. No. Of course he’s not. The very thought is absurd.

I tut and pat my own red hair self-consciously.

We disappear into our own thoughts for a while and eventually turn onto a road that looks like pure suburbia. Cooper stops the car. “Damn it. I thought we’d have a little time out here to discuss backstory, but that’s my mother at the window. Watching us.”

I look up to see a smiling woman, her face squashed between two window blinds. I’m not sure but I think she wiggles her eyebrows at us.

I’d thought, judging by Cooper’s plummy accent and general demeanour, that his parents would live in a big town house somewhere in Hampstead or Richmond. But we’re in the much less fancy Barnet, parked on a street that looks the epitome of middle class.

“Just follow my lead,” Cooper instructs, sounding slightly nervous, which makes me feel nervous. Hmm, this actually seems like a big deal to him. He really does care what people think and is now probably shitting himself that I was his only option for the ruse.

I lift my chin and decide to use this games night as practice for when I meet Jonah and hopefully, maybe one day, meet his parents. I am going to be the opposite of what everyone thinks I can be. I am going to be fucking lovely.



* * *





I’m doing a great job. I have complimented Cooper’s mum Amy’s dress, as well as the prosecco she gave me. His father, Malcolm, told me I had a handshake firm enough to rival his old friend Doug, who is legendary for his impactful handshakes. Also in attendance at the games night is Cooper’s Uncle Lester, who is a lot older than Malcolm and has already knocked back three proseccos in the fifteen minutes since we’ve arrived.

The five of us are sitting at a large rectangular table by the front window. There are a couple of bowls of crisps and a bowl of chocolate truffles, as well as a stack of board games including Operation and Pictionary. A flicker of excitement unfurls in my belly. I used to love playing Pictionary when I was a kid.

Sipping from my prosecco—being careful to go slowly because last night was more booze than I usually have in a year—I take a peek around the living room. It’s crammed wall to wall with stacks of books and newspapers, the sofa big and cosy looking, a worn pink Persian rug on the floor. I like it.

“You’re not Cooper’s usual type!” Amy remarks, nudging the bowl of crisps over to me. I take one and nibble it delicately around the edge, which makes it crack into two pieces, one of which drops onto the table. I quickly pick up the broken piece and shove it into my mouth. “Beautiful, of course. They’re always beautiful, but yeah, his other girlfriends were all very different to you.”

“What’s his usual type?”

“Well, there hasn’t been anyone in rather a while but when there was, they were one after the other and they all looked the same.”

Cooper rolls his eyes and his dad chuckles.

“How was it that Em used to describe them?” his dad asks.

Amy laughs. “Like a rotation of Wednesday Addamses walking for Chanel.”

I laugh and think of the dark-haired woman in Cooper’s doorway. The description fits. “Who’s Em?”

Amy’s face crumples. She gives Cooper a wounded glance. “You haven’t told Delphie about Em?”