The Love of My Afterlife(66)

“Oh really? How’s that?”

He laughs. “That Christmas Eve after I first moved in. I accidentally opened one of your packages—a box of paints, I think. I brought them up to your flat, and you were clearly pissed, open bottle of sherry on the table.”

The old bottle of Christmas sherry I found in the cupboard. I had been sad that night. Lonely.

“Shit. What did I say to you?”

Cooper’s eyes glint. “You told me I was handsome on my face. I hadn’t remembered the exact expression until you said it to that bouncer earlier.”

I bury my head in my hands. “Wow.”

“I liked it,” he laughs. “I told you that I thought you were pretty on your face. But then you told me to get out because you were a lone wolf, unable to love or be loved. Something like that. You told me to leave, so I did.”

“Mortifying.”

“I thought you didn’t care what people thought of you.”

“Most people. Not all people.”

He smiles at this.

I sit up. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get to sleep.”

“Me neither. Do you want a drink?” Cooper stretches up like a meercat and looks over towards the kettle. “There’s…tea. Only tea.”

“Tea is perfect.”

As Cooper stands up and wraps the other bedsheet around him, I push the pillows against the headboard and sit up too, watching as he boils the kettle and dunks tea bags into the big yellow mugs that have been provided.

“Sugar?”

“What am I? Twelve years old?” I say, mimicking him. “I’ll take two, please.” I won’t be needing healthy teeth anymore, so what does it matter?

Cooper hands me the mug, and I take a sip, exhaling contentedly. “It’s a good brew.”

“Like I said, being an author is a lot of making hot drinks while you panic about what to write next. I’m well practised.”

Cooper climbs over to the opposite side of the bed and leans his pillow up against the endboard so that we’re facing each other. I flip the bedside lamp on, his face lit in full colour. His cheeks are pink, his lips redder than usual, like all the blood has rushed into them.

“Why are you not a writer anymore? Did you get bored of it?”

Cooper looks down into his mug and bunches up his nose. “No, I stopped writing after Em died. It’s like my brain just forgot how.” He gives a small mirthless laugh. “No amount of hot drinks helped. Every time I sat in front of the computer, my heart just felt empty. Like nothing mattered unless Em was there to talk to about it.”

“Did she read your books?”

He nods. “She’d read all my first drafts. Crime wasn’t her kind of thing, but she was the first one to take me seriously. Before I got an agent or a deal. She’d read everything and send me notes. Good notes. Sometimes harsh, but good. She was so much more insightful than anyone gave her credit for. She’s the reason there’s a love story in my first book. Said no-one would give a shit about a bank robber unless he had something real to lose. Unless he had love.”

“She sounds smart.”

Cooper smiles sadly. “She was brilliant. You’d have liked her, I think.”

“How did she…?”

“A blood clot on her lung. She’d just flown back from LA, she’d been to a convention there. And apparently she’d gotten a DVT. The doctors said it was quick and painless. That’s good, I guess.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how you’d ever get over something like that.”

“You don’t. Or at least I haven’t. I never will. I was with Em from the moment of my birth and she was with me. Even when we weren’t together, we were, you know? I always sensed her. When she was excited, or sad or angry. She was the same way with me.”

“Did you…did you know when she had died? Like, did you feel it?”

He nods. “I’d been having a party. The Halloween party. At about six in the morning, I got this feeling. Like my heart sort of fluttered and a surge of sadness just swarmed through my entire body. It was so strong it woke me up. I tried ringing Em immediately but, of course, there was no answer. I knew it was crazy for me to think that something had happened to her, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. So I turned on my record player as loud as I could, trying to distract the terrifying thoughts. I think that’s when you knocked on the door? I can’t fully remember. But I knew. I knew something was missing.”

I put down my mug and take his hand into both of mine. “I bet wherever she is she’s doing alright.”

Cooper laughs sadly. “For about a year after Em died I would see her everywhere—in the street, in the background of a movie I was watching, in my dreams. And every time I realised it was just my mind playing tricks on me it was like the shock of it hit me all over again. Mum wanted us to get a psychic, can you believe it? People truly lose their minds when their hearts get broken.”

“So you definitely don’t believe in an afterlife then?”

“Ha! No. No I do not.”

“I never used to believe either,” I murmur.

He turns to me. “So what changed?”

I open my mouth to speak. He’ll think I’m crazy. It is objectively crazy. I clamp my lips together. “I, uh, I watched this incredible show called Ghost Whisperer?” I say, deadpan. “Convinced me.”