Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

‘You can’t read it but here’s proof that I haven’t lost it. I’ll pay or do whatever…I just can’t give it back.’

He realised I was serious.

‘No, that’s fine. One book isn’t going to make a difference. Can I read it? Is there anything in there about me?’

I laughed and lifted it out of his reach. But he was too good for me, much taller, and he grabbed it. I panicked. He opened the first page and I waited for him to read the embarrasing admittance that Dad had killed himself.

‘I shouldn’t have told Weseley about dad,’ he read. ‘Who’s Weseley?’ he asked, looking at me.

‘I have no idea.’ I tried to grab it from him, no longer laughing. ‘Give it back, Marcus.’

He handed it back. ‘Sorry I shouldn’t have read it but you got the date wrong. The fifth is tomorrow.’

I just shook my head. At least it wasn’t just me imagining it. This diary thing was really happening.

‘I’m sorry for reading it.’

‘No, it’s really okay. I didn’t write this.’

‘Maybe it was one of the Kilsaneys.’

I shuddered and closed the book. I wanted so much to read it again.

‘Oh, by the way, I found Sister Ignatius!’

‘Alive, I hope.’

‘She lives on the other side of the grounds. I’ll direct you.’

‘No, Goodwin, I don’t trust you. The last residence you led me to was a dilapidated castle.’

‘I’ll bring you to her myself. Come on, Bookman, to the Bookmobile!’ I ran down the path and hopped on the bus.

He laughed and followed me.

We pulled up outside the sisters’ house and I pressed down on the horn.

‘Tamara, you can’t do that. It’s a convent.’

‘Honestly, this isn’t a regular convent.’ I sounded the horn again.

A woman dressed in a black skirt, black jumper, white shirt with a gold cross and a black and white veil opened the door, looking very cross. She was older than Sister Ignatius. I jumped out of the car.

‘What’s all this racket?’

‘We’re looking for Sister Ignatius. She wanted to borrow a book.’

‘It’s prayer time, she can’t be disrupted.’

‘Oh. Well, hold on a minute.’ I rummaged around in the back of the bus. ‘Could you please give her this and tell her it’s from Tamara. It’s a special delivery. She ordered it last week.’

‘I will indeed.’ The nun took the book and closed the door immediately.

‘Tamara,’ Marcus said sternly. ‘What book did you give her.’

‘Bedded by the Turkish Billionaire. One of Mills and Boon’s greats.’

‘Tamara! You’ll get me fired.’

‘Like you care! Drive, Bookman! Take me away from here!’

We drove to the town and pulled over for the public. But really we went to Morocco. He even kissed me by the Giza Pyramids.

‘So what have you been doing the last few days?’ Rosaleen asked happily, spooning three thousand calories onto my plate. The diary had been correct, shepherd’s pie.

She’d grabbed me almost as soon as I’d got home. I’d had just enough time to hide the diary upstairs and come back down. I didn’t want to mention I’d spent the day with Marcus in case she tried to stop me. But she couldn’t complain about my hanging around with a nun, now could she?

‘I’ve been spending most of my time with Sister Ignatius.’

She dropped the serving spoons into the bowl and then with awkward fidgeting fingers, she scooped them out.

‘Sister Ignatius?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘But…when did you meet her?’

‘A few days ago. So how was your mum today? Is she coming over for dinner sometime?’

‘You never mentioned meeting Sister Ignatius a few days ago.’

I just looked at her. Her reaction was identical to the one I’d written about in the diary. Was I supposed to say sorry? Was I supposed to have tried to prevent this? I didn’t know what to do, how to manage the information I was being given. What was the point of it?

Instead I said, ‘I never mentioned I got my period on Tuesday either but I did.’

Arthur sighed. Rosaleen’s face hardened.

‘A few days ago you met her, you say? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Maybe you just met her today.’

‘No.’

‘And does she know where you live?’

‘Yes of course. She knows I’m here.’

‘I see,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But…but she was here this morning. She never said anything about you.’

‘Really? And what did you say to her about me?’

Sometimes your tone can change things, I know that. Sometimes in text messages, people don’t pick up tones, or they pick up tones that aren’t there and completely misinterpret innocent messages. I’ve had countless arguments with Zoey over what she thought I meant by a five-word text. But this statement I made, it came with a tone, a deliberate one. And Rosaleen picked up on that. And being clever, she then knew that I must have heard their conversation. She knew that while she’d been talking to Sister Ignatius, she’d heard the shower running, and she’d known I’d earwigged on her conversation.

‘Is there a problem with my friendship with her? Do you think she’s a bad influence? Am I going to join some weird religious sect and dress in black everyday. Oh, no, hold on, maybe I will! She’s a nun!’ I laughed and looked at Arthur, who was glaring at Rosaleen.

‘What do you talk about?’

I detected panic.

‘Does it matter what we talk about?’

‘I mean, you’re a young girl. What would you have to talk about with a nun?’ She smiled, to hide her panic.

That was the point where I was going to talk about the castle, about the fire and the fact it had been lived in far more recently than I’d thought. I was going to ask Rosaleen the question about who died and where everybody was when I remembered the diary entry. I wish I hadn’t told her about what I’d learned about the castle. Was this what I shouldn’t have mentioned? Rosaleen was staring at me in the long time it took me to think of an answer. I took a forkful of minced meat, to give myself some more thinking time.

‘You know…we talked about a lot of different kinds of stuff…’

‘What kinds of things?’

‘Rosaleen,’ Arthur said quietly.

Her head snapped round to face him like a deer who’d heard a trigger pulled back in the distance.

‘Your dinner will get cold.’ He looked at her plate, which remained untouched.

‘Oh. Yes.’ She picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot, but didn’t lift it to her mouth. ‘Carry on, child. You were saying.’

‘Rosaleen,’ I sighed.

‘Let her eat her dinner,’ Arthur said quietly.

I looked to Arthur to thank him but he didn’t look up, just continued shovelling food in his mouth. There was an awkward silence as we ate, and the sounds of munching and cutlery scraping dishes took over the room.

‘Excuse me, please. I’m just going to the bathroom,’ I finally said, unable to bear it any more.

Only I stayed outside the door to listen.

‘What was that all about?’ Arthur barked.

‘Ssh, keep your voice down.’

‘I’ll not keep my voice down,’ he hissed back, but his voice was lowered.

‘Sister Ignatius called here this morning and said nothing of Tamara,’ she hissed back.

‘So?’

‘So she acted as if she knew nothing about her. If Tamara had met her, surely she’d have said. Sister Ignatius isn’t the kind to not say so. Why wouldn’t she?’

‘So what are you suggesting? That Tamara’s lying?’

My mouth dropped and I almost barged in there, except the next sentence from Rosaleen’s lips, spoken with such bitterness, stopped me.

‘Of course she’s lying. She’s just like her mother.’