The Love of My Afterlife(77)

38





On the way back from the library, I call Mr. Yoon’s GP, Dr. Garden, who tells me that it’s completely inappropriate to ask him to socialise with patients. Then I dip into the dry cleaner’s, where the couple who run the place look at me like I’m an idiot when I invite them to a last-minute party for a stranger. While their rejection prickles a little bit, it’s cushioned by an eager acceptance from the sequin-vested barman from The Orchestra Pit who—when I call the bar—tells me his name is Flashy Tom.

I head to the pharmacy, where Leanne and Jan are immediately well up for the idea of a party. They’ve never met Mr. Yoon, but according to Leanne, although I rarely talk at work, when I do, it’s Mr. Yoon this and Mr. Yoon that. “Mr. Yoon needs some decent-quality bananas, so I’ll take an extra five minutes on lunch to get them from the farmers’ market. Mr. Yoon has a vinyl record of Kylie Minogue, and I keep wondering how it got there because when I put it on, he put his hands over his ears.” So they’re excited to meet him because—as Jan puts it—he feels like a local celebrity to them.

As I return her costume from the gala, Leanne asks about the dress code. I tell her that it’s smart casual, to which she gives a disappointed grunt. “You don’t want a theme?” she asks. “Another costume party? Maybe…Disney? You could have a Disney theme?”

I picture Mr. Yoon’s face seeing a roomful of strangers dressed up as cartoon characters. The face is disdainful.

“We’re keeping it low-key,” I say before asking if they can recommend any other people who might be interested in attending a party for someone who they don’t know but if they met, would surely like. Jan mentions Deli Dan at Baba’s Deli down the road. She goes to the deli every lunchtime to get our sandwiches, and it’s clear she has a little crush on him. I, however, have never met him. I feel the usual nerves at the thought of going to talk to someone completely new, but I haven’t got any option except to get on with it—the more locals I can get to come, the more potential people Mr. Yoon can rely on in my absence. Plus I’ve been through way scarier things this past week.

On the way to Baba’s Deli at the end of the road, I decide to nip into the other shops on the row in the hopes that some of those people might be interested in the party. First up is the mini-mart. The surly teenage girl with her nose ring and thick black eyeliner is the model of my perfect shop assistant because she never ever tries to make conversation with me. She audibly gasps when I march up to the counter and invite her to a party. She stutters and looks around.

“Are you talking to me?” she says, looking behind her in confusion.

“I am,” I say. “Do you know Mr. Yoon?”

She shakes her head no. I suppose she wouldn’t. She must have been a baby when Mr. Yoon was still out and about around these parts.

“Well, he’s a lovely old man who could do with a few friends. He’s been a little unwell and I thought it might cheer him up to have a few local people round to the library to, you know, celebrate him. I know it’s a weird ask.”

The girl narrows her eyes. “Yeah. That is a bit weird. Will there be free booze there?”

“Well, yes,” I say, adding buy booze to my mental to-do list. “Of course! That’s customary for a party, right? Definitely.”

“Nice. I’ll be there then!” she says, eyes suddenly alight. “Can my sister come?”

“Wait…How old are you?”

She pauses for a moment. “Eighteen.”

And your sister?

“Like…eighteen also?”

She’s definitely lying. “Maybe you could bring your dad as well,” I say.

“Maybeeee…”

“Great! I’ll see you at three tomorrow. Tyburnia Library music room. I’m Delphie, by the way.”

“I’m Shelley.”

“Nice to meet you, Shelley.”

As I walk down to Baba’s, it occurs to me that I’ve probably been served by Shelley five hundred times and never known her name until now. How did that not seem weird to me all this time?

In Baba’s Deli, there’s a crowd of women all shouting over each other to get the attention of a handsome grey-haired man with bright ice-grey eyes that could rival Paul Hollywood or a goat. His name tag says Dan Baba. That’s Deli Dan, and he clearly loves the attention, occasionally winking at the customers as he serves them. I wait patiently in the queue while the women ahead of me flirt and buy pork pies and cheese. When I get to the front, Deli Dan fixes me with his eyes, and I can see why Jan has a crush on him, as does, it seems, every other woman of a certain age in the neighbourhood.

“Hi, Deli Dan,” I say. “My name’s Delphie, and I’ve come to invite you to a party tomorrow. It’s a bit last-minute, I know, but I only decided to hold it last night.”

Unlike Shelley, Deli Dan acts like party invitations fly at him every day and that a strange woman wandering in to ask him to one is entirely expected.

The queue continues to grow behind me as Deli Dan shrugs and says, “No can do, love. Very busy. What can I get ya?” His accent is pure Cockney.

“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sinking a little. “Jan said you’d definitely say yes.”