Cecelia Ahern - The Gift

The look she gave him was enough to stop his smile and make him swallow hard.

“I know you think I’m dramatic and controlling and annoying, and whatever else you think about me that I’m sure I don’t want to know about, but I’m not being dramatic now. I’m hurt. Not for me, but for Mummy and Daddy.” Her eyes filled again, and her voice, which was always so gentle and understanding, became hard. “Of all the selfish things you’ve done, this is right up there as the most fucking selfish of them all. I have sat back and bitten my tongue while you’ve taken Mummy and Daddy for granted, while you’ve screwed around on your wife, while you’ve jeered at your brother, flirted with his wife, ignored your kids, and taunted me on every possible occasion. I have been — we all have been — as patient as pie with you, Lou, but not anymore. You don’t deserve any of us.”

“Marcia,” Lou simply said. He had never been spoken to like that before, and it hurt him deeply.

Marcia laughed bitterly. “What you saw outside isn’t even the half of it. Surprise,” she said dully as the elevators opened and the sight of the room greeted him.

As he looked out, Lou’s heart immediately sank to his stomach, where the acid there began to burn it away. Around the room there were blackjack tables and roulette, and scantily clad cocktail waitresses who paraded around with cocktails on trays. It was an impressive party, and one that Lou remembered attending when the building first opened, but it wasn’t a party for his seventy-year-old father. It wasn’t for his father, who hated celebrations for himself, who hated forcing friends and family to gather together just for him, whose idea of a good day was being alone out fishing. A modest man, he was embarrassed by the very thought of a party, but the family had talked him into celebrating this milestone birthday, a big occasion where his family and friends from all around the country would join in and celebrate with him. Somewhere along the way he had warmed to the idea, and there he was, in his best suit, standing in the middle of the scene: short skirts and red bow ties, a DJ playing dance music, and a twenty-five-euro minimum at the casino tables. Lying in the center of one table, a near-naked man was covered in little cakes and fruit.

Standing together awkwardly at one side of the room was Lou’s family. His mother, with her hair freshly blown dry, was wearing a new lilac trouser suit and a scarf tied neatly around her neck. Her handbag was draped over her shoulder, and she clasped it tightly in both hands as she looked around uncertainly. His father stood with his brother and sister — a nun and a priest — looking more lost in this environment than Lou had ever seen him look. Each family member looked up at him and then away again, freezing him out. The only person who smiled faintly at him was his father, who nodded and saluted him.

Lou looked around for Ruth and found her standing on the far side of the room, making small talk with the rest of the equally uncomfortable-looking partygoers. She caught his eye, and her look was cold. There was an awkward tension in the room, and it was all Lou’s fault. He felt embarrassed, beyond ashamed. In that instant he wanted to make it up to them; he wanted to make it up to everybody.

“Excuse me.” Lou approached a man in a suit looking over the crowd. “Are you the person in charge?”

“Yes, Jacob Morrison, manager.” He held his hand out. “You’re Lou Suffern; we met at the opening night a few months ago. I recall it was a late one.” He winked at him.

“Yes, I remember,” Lou replied, at the same time not remembering him at all. “I’m just wondering if you could help me with making some changes in here.”

“Oh.” Jacob looked taken aback. “Of course we’ll try to accommodate you in any way that we can. What were you thinking of?”

“Chairs.” Lou tried not to speak rudely. “This is my father’s seventieth. Could we please get him and his guests some chairs?”

“Oh.” Jacob made a face. “I’m afraid this is a standing-only event. We didn’t charge for — ”

“I’ll pay you for whatever, of course.” Lou flashed his pearly whites through a tight smile.

“Yes, of course.” Jacob began to leave when Lou called him back.

“And the music,” Lou said, “is there anything more traditional than this?”

“Traditional?” Jacob smiled questioningly.

“Yes, traditional Irish music. For my seventy-year-old father.” Lou spoke through gritted teeth. “Instead of this acid jazz funky house music that my seventy-year-old father isn’t so much into.”

“I’ll see what we can do.”

The atmosphere between the two men was darkening.

“And what about food? Did Alison arrange food? Apart from the naked man covered in cream that my mother is currently standing beside.”

“Yes, of course. We have shepherd’s pies, lasagna, that kind of thing.”

Lou quietly celebrated.

“You know, we discussed all of our concerns with Alison before,” Jacob explained. “We don’t usually hold seventieth parties.” His fake smile quickly faded. “It’s just that we have a standard setup here, particularly for the Christmas period, and this is it.” He gestured to the room proudly. “The casino theme is very successful for corporate events, launches, that kind of thing,” he explained.

“I see. Well, it would have been nice to know that,” Lou said politely.

“You did sign off on it,” Jacob assured him.

“Right.” Lou swallowed and looked around the room. His fault. Of course.

AS LOU APPROACHED HIS FAMILY, they stepped away and separated themselves from him as though he were a bad smell. His father, though, greeted his middle child as he always did: with a smile.

“Dad, happy birthday,” Lou said quietly, reaching his hand out to his father.

“Thank you.” His father took his son’s hand warmly. Despite all this, despite what Lou had done, his father still loved him.

“So are you happy to be going to Saint Lucia?” Lou asked.

“Saint Lucia?” His father looked shocked; his mouth dropped open. “Oh my Lord.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lou.” Lou’s brother, Quentin, overheard the conversation and went racing over to Marcia, who was over by the DJ area getting a microphone stand ready. She listened to Quentin whisper in her ear and then Lou saw her face fall.

“Let me get you a Guinness,” Lou said, turning around to look for the bar, trying to change the subject.

“Oh,” his father said, finally snapping out of his shock. “They don’t have any.”

“What? But that’s all you drink.”

“They have champagne, and some funny-looking green cocktail,” his father said, sipping on his glass. “I’m just drinking water. Your mother’s happy, though. She likes champagne, though far from it she was reared.” He laughed, trying to make light of the situation.

On hearing herself being mentioned, Lou’s mother turned around and threw Lou a withering look.

“Ah, now,” his father said softly, “I can’t drink tonight anyway. I’m sailing with Quentin tomorrow in Howth,” he said proudly. “He’s racing in the Brass Monkeys and he’s down a man, so yours truly is filling in.” He thumbed himself in the chest.

“You are not racing, Fred.” Lou’s mother rolled her eyes. “You can barely stand upright on a windy day, never mind on a boat. It’s December. Those waters are choppy.”

“I’m seventy years old. I can do what I like.”

“You’re seventy years old, you have to stop doing what you like, or you won’t see seventy-one,” she snapped, and the family laughed, including Lou.

“You’ll just have to find someone else, dear.” She looked at Quentin, who had rejoined them.