Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

I had a feeling someone was there. Someone was watching me.

‘Were you here yesterday?’

‘Em…’ he thought hard.

‘You shouldn’t have to think about it,’ I snapped.

‘I don’t know. No. Yes. No, I don’t know if I was. I found the pen tonight, if that’s what you mean.’

‘You weren’t here yesterday when I was here?’

‘I’m here most days with Arthur.’ He still didn’t answer the question.

‘You are?’

‘Well, I have to be, don’t I?’

‘You do?’

‘I work with the man.’

‘Oh.’

‘I thought you said Arthur told you.’

‘Oh…yeah. So does Rosaleen know you work with Arthur?’

He nodded. ‘I don’t think she likes me being around, but since Arthur put his back out he needs a hand around here.’

‘How long have you worked with him?’

He thought hard and stared into the distance, ‘Ooh let’s see. Me and Arthur go back about…three weeks now.’

I started laughing.

‘We only moved here last month,’ he explained.

‘Really?’ I felt my heart lift. He was one of my kind. ‘From where?’

‘ Dublin.’

‘Me too!’ My excitement was way too Famous Five . ‘Sorry,’ I felt my face flush. ‘Just a little overexcited to meet a member of the same species. So how did you rise to be leader so quickly? Did you cast a spell? Show them how to make fire?’

‘I find that politeness goes a long way. Spying, party crashing and insults is a bit of a no-no when you’re trying to fit in.’

‘I don’t want to fit in,’ I said sulkily. ‘I want to get out of here.’

We were silent then.

‘Do you know anything about what happened here? In this castle?’ I asked.

‘You mean with the Normans and everything?’

‘No, not that. What happened to the family who lived here, more recently.’

‘There was a fire or something, then they moved out.’

‘Wow, you should write history books.’

‘We’ve just moved here,’ he smiled. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m just wondering.’

He studied me for a while. ‘We could ask them if you want.’ He meant the group next door.

There was an eruption of laughter from the next room. I think they were playing Spin the Bottle.

‘No, it’s okay.’

‘Sister Ignatius would know. You know her, don’t you?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I told you, I work around here. I’m not blind.’

‘But I’ve never seen you.’

He shrugged.

‘She told me to ask Rosaleen and Arthur,’ I explained.

‘You should. You know Rosaleen lived in the bungalow across the road from the entrance all her life? If anyone knows, she would. She could probably tell you everything that’s happened around here for the past two hundred years.’

I couldn’t tell him that the diary stated I should not ask her anything. ‘I don’t know…I don’t think they want to talk about it. She’s so secretive. They must have known the people and if somebody died, well then, I don’t just want to blurt it out. I mean, they probably still know them. Arthur can’t be working for free. Actually,’ I clicked my fingers, ‘who pays you?’

‘Arthur does. Cash.’

‘Oh.’

‘So how come you’re here?’

‘I told you, I heard you from my bedroom.’

‘No, I mean, here in Kilsaney.’

‘Oh.’

Silence. I thought fast. Anything but the truth. I didn’t want his sympathy.

‘I thought you said Arthur told you about me.’

‘I’d deserve an award if I got anything more out of him. He just said that you and your mam are staying with them.’

‘We just, you know, we just had to move. Just for a little while. Probably only for the summer. We sold our house. And we’re waiting to buy a new one.’

‘Your dad’s not around?’

‘No, no, he, em…he left Mum, for someone else.’

‘Oh, man, sorry to hear it.’

‘Yeah, well…she’s a twenty-year-old model. She’s famous. She’s always in magazines. She brings me out clubbing with her.’

He frowned at me and I felt like an idiot. ‘Do you still see him?’

‘No. Not any more.’

I was following the rules of my diary. I wish I hadn’t told Weseley about Dad. But I didn’t feel better for it. I was lying to Marcus as it was, and that was kind of justifiable because everything with Marcus was one big fat lie, but I didn’t feel like lying to Weseley. Besides, he’d only find out from Arthur, in about ten years.

‘Weseley, sorry, that’s a lie.’ I rubbed my face. ‘My dad…he died.’

He sat up. ‘What? How?’

I should have said something else, like he died in war or-I don’t know-just something else like a more common kind of death.

‘Eh. Cancer.’ I wanted us to stop talking about it now. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to stop asking me. ‘In his testicles.’

‘Oh.’

That did it.

I’d left after that. I thanked him and climbed back out the window. Halfway towards the house I stopped walking and turned round and ran back.

‘Weseley,’ I whispered, slightly out of breath, standing at the window. He was tidying away all the cans and butts from the window room.

‘Did you forget something?’

‘Eh, yeah…’ I whispered.

‘Why are we whispering?’ he whispered, smiling, and came towards the window and leaned on his elbows.

‘Because em…I don’t really like saying this out loud.’

‘Okay…’ His smile faded.

‘You’ll think I’m weird-’

‘I already think you’re weird.’

‘Oh. Okay. Em. My dad didn’t die of cancer.’

‘No?’

‘No. I just said that because it was easier. Though the testicle part wasn’t very easy. That was just weird.’

He smiled gently. ‘How did he die?’

‘He killed himself. He swallowed a bottle of pills and whisky at the same time. On purpose. And I found him.’ I swallowed.

There it was. The face change that I wrote about. The pure look of sympathy. The nice look you’d give any horrible person. He was silent.

‘I just didn’t want to lie,’ I started to move away.

‘All right. Thanks for telling me.’

‘I’ve never told anyone.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Okay thanks. I’m really going now.’

Cringe.

‘Good night.’

He leaned further out the window and raised his voice. ‘I’ll see you around, Tamara.’

‘Yep. Sure.’

I just wanted to get out of there.

The gang in the entrance hall all whistled and laughed and I disappeared back to the darkness.

I learned something important that night. You shouldn’t try to stop everything from happening. Sometimes you’re supposed to feel awkward. Sometimes you’re supposed to be vulnerable in front of people. Sometimes it’s necessary because it’s all part of you getting to the next part of yourself, the next day. The diary wasn’t always right.

The diary told me I had until one o’clock that day.

It was quite unusual really, the morning playing out exactly as I’d read the night before. Rosaleen waking me, telling me to stay home, and it seemed so obvious then-the second time round-that she just didn’t want me visible to the rest of her little world. Imagine the horror and shame of having to tell people that Mum and I existed; that a man had taken his life, the worst sin of all. I’d felt angry about that and had to fight my desire to demand I go to mass too but I stayed under the covers, and as I listened to their car drive away in the sepia-coloured day, here’s where my day differed to the diary. It was unusual, having things happening that I felt had technically already happened, but I was sort of getting used to it.