Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

‘Open it,’ Sister Ignatius said sternly.

I ripped off the paper. It was a box. Inside the box was a rolled-up scroll. I looked to her for answers but she was kneeled beside me, her hands clasped and her head dipped as though in prayer.

I unrolled the scroll. It was a certificate of baptism.

This Certificate of Baptism is to certify that Tamara Kilsaney was born on the 24th day of July, 1991, in Kilsaney Castle, County Meath and was Presented to the World with Love by Her mother, Jennifer Byrne, and her father, Laurence Kilsaney On this day 1st January 1992

I stared at the page, reading it over and over, hoping my eyes had deceived me. I didn’t know where to begin.

‘Well, first things first. They got the date wrong.’ I tried to sound confident but I sounded pathetic and I knew it. This was something I couldn’t beat with sarcasm.

‘I’m sorry, Tamara,’ Sister Ignatius said again.

‘So that’s why you kept saying I was seventeen.’ I thought back over all our conversations. ‘But if this was right, then I’m eighteen today…Marcus.’ I looked up at her. ‘You were going to let him go to gaol?’

‘What?’ Mum looked from one to the other. ‘Who’s Marcus?’

‘None of your business,’ I snapped. ‘I might tell you in twenty years.’

‘Tamara, please,’ she pleaded.

‘He could have gone to gaol,’ I said angrily to Sister Ignatius.

Sister Ignatius shook her head wildly. ‘No. I asked Rosaleen over and over to tell you. If not tell you, to tell the garda? She kept insisting he’d be fine. But I stepped forward. I told the garda, Tamara. I went to Dublin to Garda Fitzgibbon and gave him this certificate myself. There was a breaking-and-entering charge too, but bearing in mind the circumstances, it’s all been dropped.’

‘What’s been dropped? What happened?’ my Mum asked, looking at Sister Ignatius with concern.

‘God, Tamara, if you don’t know that by now, then you’ve far more problems than I thought. Listen, I wish you good luck with everything but…don’t call me again.’

That had been our last conversation. He’d known then why the charges had been dropped. How messed up was I that I didn’t even know my own age? I had been so relieved for Marcus that my anger subsided momentarily. Then that faded and I was fuming again. My head pounding, I held my hand to my wound. They had been feeding me lies, dropping a trail of breadcrumbs in their path which I had been forced to follow in order to learn the truth for myself.

‘So let me get this straight. Rosaleen wasn’t lying. Laurie is my father. The freak…with the photographs?’ I shouted then. ‘Why didn’t anybody tell me? Why did everybody lie? Why did you all let me think I lost my dad?’

‘Oh, Tamara, George was your father. He loved you more than anything in the world. He raised you as his own. He-’

‘IS DEAD,’ I shouted. ‘And everybody let me think I’d lost my dad. He lied to me. You lied to me. I can’t believe this.’ I was up then, my head spinning.

‘Your mother thought Laurie had died, Tamara. You were only one year old. She had a chance to start a new life. George loved her, he loved you. She wanted to start again. She didn’t think you needed this hurt.’

‘And that makes it okay?’ I addressed Mum, even though Sister Ignatius had defended her.

‘No, no, I didn’t agree with it. But she deserved to be happy. She was so broken when Laurie died.’

‘But he’s not dead,’ I shouted then. ‘He’s living in the bungalow, eating sandwiches and apple pie every bloody day. Rosaleen knew he was alive.’

Mum broke down at that and Sister Ignatius held her tightly in her arms, her face revealing her heartbreak. I stopped then, realising that it wasn’t just me that was lied to. Mum had just found out the man she loved hadn’t died after all. What kind of a sick joke had they all been playing?

‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ I said softly.

‘Oh, darling,’ she sniffed, ‘maybe I deserve it. For doing this to you.’

‘No. No, you don’t deserve this. But he doesn’t deserve you either. What kind of sicko must he be to pretend to be dead?’

‘He was trying to protect her, I suppose,’ Sister Ignatius said. ‘He was trying to give the both of you a better life, one that he couldn’t give you.’

‘Arthur said he was badly disfigured?’ Mum looked at me then. ‘What…what does he look like? Was he kind to you?’

‘Arthur?’ I snapped to attention again. ‘Arthur Kilsaney? He’s Laurie’s brother?’

Mum nodded and another tear fell.

‘It’s just one thing after another with you all,’ I said, but not as angrily this time. I hadn’t the energy.

‘He didn’t want to go along with it,’ she said, drained now too. ‘Now it makes sense to me why he was so against it. He said he wanted to always be your uncle. We never said he was my brother. Not until you just assumed it and then…’ she waved her hand, sensing the ridiculousness of it all.

Weseley arrived in the room then. ‘Okay the garda?are on their way. Are you all right?’ He looked at me. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No, no, he didn’t.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘He saved me from Rosaleen.’

‘But I thought he…’

‘No.’ I shook my head.

‘I locked him in his bedroom,’ Weseley said guiltily, producing the room key from his pocket. ‘I thought he was trying to hurt you.’

‘Oh, no.’ My main anger passed then. I felt sorry for him. He had been defending me. He had been reaching out to me giving me gifts. He’d remembered my birthday. My eighteenth birthday. Of course he had. And how had I thanked him? I’d locked him away.

‘Where’s Arthur?’ Sister Ignatius asked.

‘He’s gone to the bungalow, to Rosaleen.’

And then I remembered. The diary. ‘No!’ I scrambled to get up again.

‘Honey you should relax,’ Mum said trying to coax me back down again, but I jumped up.

‘He needs to get away from there,’ I panicked. ‘What have I been doing here all this time? Weseley, call the fire brigade, quick.’

‘Why?’

‘Honey, just relax now,’ Mum said, worried. ‘Lie down and-’

‘No, listen to me. Weseley, it’s in the diary. I have to stop it. Call the fire brigade.’

‘Tamara, it’s just a book, it’s only-’

‘Been right every single day until now,’ I responded.

He nodded.

‘What’s that?’ Mum suddenly asked, walking to the window.

Over the tree tops in the distance, plumes of smoke were drifting up into the sky.

‘Rosaleen,’ Sister said then with such venom, that it chilled me. ‘Call the fire brigade,’ she said to Weseley.

‘Give me the key,’ I said, grabbing it from Weseley and running from the room. ‘I have to get him. I’m not losing him again.’

I heard them all calling to me as I ran, but I didn’t stop, I didn’t listen. I ran through the trees and followed the smell, ran straight towards the bungalow. I had just lost the father who’d raised me. I wasn’t about to lose another.

When I reached the bungalow there was a squad car parked outside. I could see Rosaleen standing on the grass alongside her mother. Talking to her was a rather impatient garda, who kept asking her over and over if anybody was inside. Rosaleen was wailing, hands covering her face, and looking back at the house as though she couldn’t decide. Beside the garda was Arthur, who was barking at Rosaleen, shaking her by the shoulders and trying to get her to answer.

‘He’s in the workshed!’ she finally shrieked.

‘He’s not, I looked!’ Arthur yelled.