The Love of My Afterlife(43)

My heart warms at hearing that Amy liked me very much. I liked her very much too. I liked how it felt when she patted the back of my head. I swallow, and a weird sensation tugs at my chest.

“Why the aquarium?”

“Bev loves all that touristy stuff,” he says vaguely. “And, you know. Tropical fish are cool.”

I nod. Tropical fish are cool. And seeing Amy again does sound nice. Really nice, in fact. But I can’t. I’m in a life-or-death scenario right now and luck does not appear to be on my side. I can’t waste time gawking at sea creatures. “I’m sorry,” I say with a small shrug. “I really can’t.”

Cooper nods quickly. “Of course. Yes, of course. Mum asked me to ask, so I, you know, asked. We’ll be meeting for coffee at Laurents café beforehand, if you change your mind.”

I nod. “You need to deal with that,” I say, pointing at his undone lace.

He speedily ties the lace, double knotting it and pulling so hard I wonder how on earth he’ll be able to undo it again.

“So,” I say once he’s standing back up, “all this time, I’ve been living above the best crime writer of our generation?”

“Oh, I was never that. I’m not a writer at all anymore.”

“Seems like a pretty cool job to dump in favour of becoming a computer programmer.”

Cooper gestures towards the door. “I should get going.”

On his way out he stops by the kitchen table, glancing down at my nude sketches. Shit.

“They’re private!” I say sharply, hurrying over.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, bending his knees to get a closer look, tilting his head to the side.

I wave him away. “They’re not that good. I don’t really draw anymore. This was a one-off.”

Cooper stretches back up and looks right at me. “They’re beautiful, Delphie,” he repeats, his voice unnervingly gentle.

I swallow and look down at my feet. “Well, thanks,” I mumble, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Right then,” Cooper says, voice back to normal plummy confidence. “Have a good evening.”

I watch him stride out of my flat, an odd prickle of disappointment in my stomach. I peer down at my sketches again, seeing them through Cooper’s eyes.

Maybe they are beautiful.

I take out my phone and snap some pictures to send to Mum.





22





Rather than frantically guessing where in the park Jonah might be, I plonk myself outside the Serpentine Lido in the hopes that his running group takes the same route every morning. I buy myself a bottle of water from a nearby cart and settle myself onto a bench with a view of pathways to the left and the right. This way I can get a decent heads-up of his approach, no matter what direction he’s running in. While I wait, I idly watch the early morning swimmers and imagine how pleasant it must feel to be in the cool water during this insane heat. I spot an elderly couple splashing about at the far edge of the water, giggling like teenagers. I wonder how they met, and if they knew right away that they were soulmates.

My phone buzzes.


I’m only sending this because my mum insisted but she wants you to know that we’ll be at Laurents café at 9 in case you have time to join us for a coffee before we set off to the aquarium. Best, Cooper.



I tap out a response.


I’m waiting to see if Jonah is jogging in the park again but there’s no sign of him. I should probably keep waiting, but please thank your mum for the invitation.



I press send.

Then I can’t help but type out:


Best? You sign your texts Best?

What do you suggest in place of best?



I bite my lip and have a think.


I don’t think you have to formally sign off. Maybe just a relevant emoji would work.



A few seconds later…





I laugh out loud in surprise. Then, realising that I shouldn’t be staring down at my phone when Jonah could run past any minute, I reply with a and shove my phone back into my pocket.

After an hour passes with no sign of Jonah, I consider moving to a different spot. But what if that’s the exact moment he shows up?

After two hours of waiting, I call up Kensington Leisure Centre only to be informed that the running club has been cancelled for the remainder of the week on account of the dangerously rising temperatures. When I ask the receptionist to please, please, please give me Jonah’s contact details, she reacts the same way as Claude did at the drawing class—like it’s an absolute outrage for me to ask her to do something so unprofessional.

I plod dejectedly back towards my flat, my head spinning with panic, my underarms soaked with sweat, my heart squeezing with doubt about what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

“Merriiiiitttttt, help meeeeee!” I whisper, already knowing that she won’t respond from wherever she’s hiding. I picture Kat at the drawing class. She seemed like she might be persuaded to talk if Claude hadn’t been there to stop her. Could I track Kat down? But how? I know even less about her than I do Jonah.

“Aaaaargh,” I moan to myself as I walk down Craven Road. I pull out my phone and google “Kat nude model London.”