Cecelia Ahern - The Gift

“Not just yet,” Ruth explained, rubbing Lucy’s back as her daughter took a break.

“Okay, erm, where will I put them?”

“Beside her bed. And can you change her sheets? She had an accident.”

Lucy started to weep again, tiredly nuzzling into her mother’s chest. Ruth’s face was pale, her hair tied back hastily, and her eyes tired, red, and swollen. It seemed it had already been a hectic night.

“The sheets are in the closet, too. And the Dioralyte is in the medicine cabinet in the utility room.”

“The what?”

“Dioralyte. Medicine. Lucy likes the black-currant flavor. Oh God,” she said, jumping up, hand over her mouth, and running down the hall to their own bathroom again.

Lou was left in the bathroom alone with Lucy, whose eyes were closed as she leaned up against the bathtub. Then she looked at him sleepily. He backed out of the bathroom and started to remove the soiled sheets from her bed. As he was doing so, he heard Bud’s cries from the next room. He sighed, finally put down his briefcase, took off his coat and suit jacket, and threw them out of the way, into the Dora the Explorer tent in the corner of Lucy’s room. He opened the top button of his shirt, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves.

LOU STARED DEEP INTO HIS Jack Daniel’s and ice and ignored the barman, who was leaning over the counter and speaking aggressively into his ear.

“Do you hear me?” the barman growled.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Lou’s tongue stumbled over his words, already unable to remember what he’d done wrong.

“No, not whatever, buddy. Leave her alone, okay? She doesn’t want to hear your story; she is not interested in you. Okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Lou grumbled then, remembering the rude blonde at the bar who’d kept ignoring him. He’d happily not talk to her — he wasn’t getting much conversation out of her anyway — and the journalist he’d just shared a drink with earlier didn’t seem much interested in the amazing story that was his life. He kept his eyes down into his whiskey. A phenomenon had occurred tonight, and nobody was interested in hearing about it. Had the world gone mad? Had they all become so used to new inventions and scientific discoveries that the very thought of a man being cloned no longer had shock value? No, the young occupants of this trendy bar would rather sip away at their cocktails, the young women swanning about in the middle of December with their tanned legs, short skirts, and highlighted hair, designer handbags hooked over their arms like candelabras, each one looking as exotic and as at home as a coconut in the North Pole. They didn’t care about the greater events of the country. A man had been cloned. There were two Lou Sufferns in the city tonight. Bilocation was a reality. He alone knew the great depths of the universe. He laughed to himself and shook his head at the hilarity of it all.

He felt the barman’s stare still searing into him, and so he stopped his solo chortling and concentrated again on his ice. Around the lonesome Lou the noise continued, the sound of people being with other people: after-work flirting, after-work fighting. There were tables of girls huddled together with eyes locked in as they caught up with one another, circles of young men standing with eyes locked outward, their movements shifty.

Lou looked around to catch somebody’s eye. He was fussy at first about his chosen confidant, preferring somebody good-looking with whom to share his story for the second time, but then he decided to settle on anybody. Surely somebody would care about the miracle that had occurred to him tonight.

The only eye he succeeded in meeting was that of the barman again.

“Gimme me nuther one,” Lou slurred when the barman walked over. “A neat Jack on th’ rocks.”

“I just gave you another one,” the barman responded, a little amused this time, “and you haven’t even touched that.”

“So?” Lou closed one eye to focus on him.

“So, what good is there in having two at the same time?”

At that, Lou started laughing, a chesty, wheezy laugh with the presence of the bitter December breeze.

“I think I missed the joke.” The barman smiled.

“Ah, nobody here cares.” Lou got angry again, waving his hand dismissively at the crowd around him. “All they care about is Sex on the Beach, thirty-year mortgages and Saint-Tropez. I’ve been listenin’ and that’s all they’re sayin’.”

The barman laughed. “Just keep your voice down. What don’t they care about?”

Lou turned quiet now and fixed the barman with his best serious stare. “Cloning.”

The barman’s face changed, interest lighting up his eyes. Finally something different for him to hear about, rather than the usual patron woes. “Cloning? Right. You have an interest in that, do you?”

“An interest? I have more than an interest.” Lou laughed patronizingly and then winked at the barman. He took another sip of his whiskey and prepared to tell the story. “This may be hard for you to believe, but I” — he took a deep breath — “have been cloned. This guy gave me pills, and I took them,” he said, then hiccuped. “You probably don’t believe me, but it happened. Saw it with my own two eyes.” He pointed at his eye, misjudged his proximity, and poked himself. Moments later, after the sting was gone, he continued chatting. “There’s two of me,” he said, holding up three fingers, then one, then finally two.

“Is that so?” the barman asked, picking up a pint glass and beginning to pour a Guinness. “Where’s the other one of you? I bet he’s as sober as a judge.”

Lou laughed, wheezy again. “He’s at home with my wife.” He chuckled. “And with my kids. And I’m here, with her.” He directed his thumb to the left of him.

“Who?”

Lou looked to the side and almost toppled off his bar stool in the process. “Oh, she’s — where is she?” He turned around to the barman again. “Maybe she’s in the toilet. She’s gorgeous, we were having a good chat. She’s a journalist, she’s going to write about this. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m here having all the fun, and he’s” — he laughed again — “he’s at home with my wife and kids. And tomorrow, when I wake up, I’m going to take a pill — not drugs; they’re herbal, for my headache.” He pointed to his head seriously. “And I’m going to stay in bed and he can go to work. Ha! All the things that I get to do, like…” He thought hard but failed to come up with anything. “Like, oh, so, so many things. All the places I’m going to go. It’s a fucking mir’cle. D’ya know when I last had a day off?”

“When was that?”

Lou thought hard. “Last Christmas. No phone calls, no computer. Last Christmas.”

The barman was dubious. “You didn’t take a holiday this year?”

“Took a week. With the kids.” He wrinkled up his nose. “Fucking sand everywhere. On my laptop, in my phone. And this.” He reached into his pocket and took out his BlackBerry and slammed it on the bar counter.

“Careful.”

“This thing. Follows me everywhere; sand in it and it still works. The drug of the nation. This thing.” He poked it, mistakenly pressing some buttons, which lit up the screen. A picture of Ruth and the kids smiled back at him. Bud with his big silly toothless grin; Lucy’s big brown eyes peeping out from under her fringe; Ruth holding them both. Holding them all together. He studied it momentarily with a smile on his face. Then the light went out and the picture faded to black. “In the B’hamas,” he continued, “and beep-beep, they got me. Beep-beep, beep-beep, they get me.” He laughed again. “And the red light. I see it in my sleep, in the shower, every time I close my eyes, the red light and the beep-beep. I hate the fucking beep-beep.”