Cecelia Ahern - The Gift

To honor Cliff — something that Lou realized he hadn’t managed to do in the entire time that the man had been out of work — he kicked off his shoes, unhooked the keyboard from the computer monitor, and pushed back the leather chair. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled underneath the desk, clutching the keyboard close to him. From there he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the city go racing by. He sat there for another hour, just pondering, watching people live while he was still and alone.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Gone was the usual hustle and bustle of the office floor. No phones ringing, no photocopiers going, no hum of the computers, no voices, no footsteps passing by. He’d never before heard the seconds on the clock, but now that he’d registered them, the ticking seemed to get louder and louder. Lou looked down at the keyboard in his hands, and then he looked at the mouse. What on Earth was he doing here, again, when everything he loved in the world was out there? It was then that he had a jolt, he felt it smack him in the head for the second time that year; for the first time, Cliff’s message finally reached him. Whatever Cliff had been so afraid was coming to get him, Lou sure as hell didn’t want it chasing him, either.

He clambered out from under the desk, shoved his feet into his polished black leather shoes, and walked out of the office to join the living.

GRAFTON STREET, THE BUSY PEDESTRIAN street in Dublin city, was awash with people doing their last-minute shopping. Hands were fighting to grab the last remaining items on shelves, budgets and all thought gone out the window as rash decisions were made according to availability and time, and not necessarily with the recipient in mind. Presents first; for whom, later.

For once not keeping up with the pace around him, Lou held Ruth’s hand and slowly wandered the streets of Dublin, allowing others to rush by them. Lou had all the time in the world. Ruth had been more than taken aback earlier when he’d arranged to meet up with them out in the city but, as usual, hadn’t asked any questions. She’d welcomed his new change with silent delight but with equal amounts of cynicism. Lou Suffern still had much to prove to her.

They walked down Henry Street, where hawkers cleared the last of their stock in their market stalls: toys and wrapping paper, tinsel and baubles, remote-control cars that ran up and down the street, everything on show for the last few hours of manic Christmas shopping. On the ever-changing Moore Street, displays included a lively ethnic mix of Asian and African stores. They attended early Christmas Eve mass and ate lunch together in the Westin Hotel in College Green, the historic nineteenth-century building, that had been transformed from a bank to a five-star hotel. They ate in the Banking Hall, where Bud spent the entire time with his head tilted to the ceiling, looking in awe at the intricately hand-carved ornate ceiling and the four chandeliers that glistened with eight thousand pieces of Egyptian crystal, and shouting over and over again just to hear the echo of his voice in the high ceiling.

Lou Suffern saw the world differently that day. Instead of viewing it from thirteen floors up, behind tinted reinforced glass in an oversized leather chair, he had chosen to join in. Gabe had been right about the mouse; he’d been right about Cliff teaching him something all along — in fact, it had started six months ago, as soon as the plastic mouse had hit him across the face, causing Lou’s fears and his conscience to slowly resurface after long being buried. In fact, when Lou thought about it, Gabe had been right about a lot of things. The voice that had been grating so much in his ear over the past week had actually been speaking the words he hadn’t wanted to hear. He owed Gabe a lot, he realized. As the evening was closing in, the children having to return home before Santa took to the skies, Lou kissed Ruth and the kids good-bye, saw them safely into the car, and then headed back to the office. He had one more thing to do.

Lou waited in the building lobby for the elevators, and when the doors opened, Lou about to step in, Mr. Patterson stepped out.

“Lou,” he said in surprise, “I can’t believe you’re working today. You really are a piece of work.” He eyed the box in Lou’s hand.

“Oh no, I’m not working. Not on a holiday,” Lou smiled, trying to make a point, subtly attempting to set the ground rules for his new position. “I just have to…” He didn’t want to get Gabe into trouble by revealing his whereabouts. “I just left something behind in the office.”

“Good, good. Well, Lou,” Mr. Patterson said tiredly. “I’m afraid I have to tell you something. I deliberated over whether to or not to, but I think it’s best that I do.” He paused. “I didn’t come in this evening to work, either,” he admitted. “Alfred called me in. Said it was urgent. After what happened to Cliff we’re all on tenterhooks, I’m afraid, and so I came in quickly.”

“I’m all ears,” Lou said, worried. The elevator doors closed again. Escape route gone.

“He wanted to have a few words about…well, about you.”

“Yes,” Lou said slowly.

“He brought me these.” Mr. Patterson reached into his pocket and retrieved the container of pills that Gabe had given Lou. There was only one pill inside. Alfred, the rat, had obviously scuttled to the trash bin to collect the one piece of evidence to destroy him.

Lou looked at the container in shock and tried to decide whether to deny the pills or not. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he thought quickly for a story. They were his father’s. No. His mother’s. For her hip. No. He had back pain. Then he realized Mr. Patterson was talking.

“He said something about finding them under the trash.” Mr. Patterson frowned. “And that he knew them to be yours…” He studied Lou, searching for recognition.

Lou’s heart beat loudly in his ears.

“I know that you and Alfred are friends,” Mr. Patterson said, his face suddenly showing his sixty-five years. “But his concern for you seemed a little misguided. It seemed to me that the purpose of this was to get you into trouble.”

“Eh,” Lou swallowed, eyeing up the brown container, “that’s not, em, they’re not, em…” He stuttered while trying to formulate a sentence.

“I’m not one to pry into people’s personal lives, Lou — what my colleagues do in their own time is their own business, so long as it’s not going to affect the company in any way. So I didn’t take too kindly to Alfred giving me these,” he said. When Lou didn’t answer, Mr. Patterson added, “But maybe that’s what you wanted him to do?”

“What?” Lou wiped his brow. “Why would I want Alfred to bring these to you?”

Mr. Patterson stared at him, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “I don’t know, Lou, you’re a clever man.”

“What?” Lou responded, totally confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assumed,” Mr. Patterson said, his twitching lips eventually growing into a smile, “that you deliberately tried to mislead Alfred with these pills. That you somehow made him believe they were more than they are. Am I right?”

Lou’s mouth fell open, and he looked at his boss in surprise.

“I knew it.” Mr. Patterson chuckled and shook his head. “You are good. But not that good. I recognized the blue mark on the pill.”

“What do you mean? What blue mark?”

“You didn’t manage to scratch the entire symbol off this last one,” he explained, opening the container and emptying it into his palm. “See the blue mark? If you look close enough you can also see the trace of the D where it used to be. I should know. Working here, I swear by these fellas.”