Cecelia Ahern - There’s No Place Like Here

“What makes you think that she’s missing?”

“I’m listening to my heart on this one.”

Dr. Burton smiled grimly at having his words thrown back in his face.

“And in case my heart isn’t proof enough for you, there’s also this.” Jack reached into his pocket and gently placed Sandy’s silver watch on the table.

It had been three years since I’d seen Mr. Burton. From a distance I could tell that time had aged him well. From a distance it appeared that time hadn’t aged either of us. From a distance everything was perfect and nothing was altered.

I had changed my clothes six times before leaving the bedsit. Feeling mildly pleased with my appearance, I had made my way to Leeson Street for the fourth time that month. I had danced in the halls when I had received his business card. I had skipped down the stairs like a fourteen-year-old on a Monday morning, knowing what and who lay ahead of me that day. I had run from Harold’s Cross to Leeson Street, I had taken the steps up to the grand Georgian door in twos, and I had then frozen as my finger hovered above the intercom button and had quickly retreated to the other side of the road. Close up, it was a completely different picture.

I was no longer the schoolgirl coming to him for help. Now I didn’t know who I was, running from help. I sat across the road on two more occasions, unable to cross over, instead watching as he arrived in the mornings, left in the evenings, and everything else in between.

I sat on the concrete steps on the fourth visit, elbows on my knees, fists under my chin, staring at all the feet and legs rushing by on the sidewalk. A pair of tan shoes beneath a pair of blue jeans crossed the road. They walked toward me. I expected them to pass me by and enter through the door behind me, but they didn’t. One step, two steps, three steps up they stopped and sat down beside me.

“Hi,” the voice said softly.

I was afraid to look up but I did. I came face to face with him, blue eyes as bright as the day I first laid mine on him.

“Mr. Burton.” I smiled.

He shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

I was about to call him Gregory when he said, “It’s Doctor Burton now.”

“Congratulations, Doctor Burton,” I smiled. I examined his face, taking all of him in.

“Do you think this week you could move away from these steps and make it inside the building? I was getting tired of watching you from a distance.”

“Funny, I was just thinking that sometimes it’s easier to see things from a distance.”

“Yes, but it’s impossible to hear.”

I laughed.

“I like the name of the building.” I looked over at the brass plate with the SCATHACH HOUSE engraving.

“I came across it advertised for rental in the paper. I thought it was perfect. A good-luck sign, perhaps.”

“Perhaps. I don’t suppose you’re any closer to that bridge we discussed.”

He smiled and searched my face, took all of me in, and shivers ran through me.

“If you let me take you out for lunch, we could see where we are. That’s if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”

“Boyfriend?” I asked, confused.

“The follically unchallenged young male who answered the door to your place a few weeks back.”

“Oh, him.” I shook my head. “That was just…” I paused, unable to remember his name, “Thomas,” I lied. “We’re not together.”

Mr. Burton laughed, stood up, and held out his hand to help me up. “My dear Sandy, I think you’ll find his name was Steve, but not to worry, the more men’s names you forget, the better it is for me.” He placed his hand lightly on the small of my back and I felt a jolt of electricity race through my body. He guided me across the road. “Can we go into my office for just a moment? There’s something I want to give you first.”

He introduced me proudly to his receptionist, Carol, and brought me into his office. It smelled of him, it looked like him, everything about it was Mr. Burton, Mr. Burton, oh, Mr. Burton. I felt like I was wrapped in a gigantic hug, embraced in his arms as soon as I stepped in and sat on his couch.

“It’s a bit better than the one we used to have, isn’t it?” He smiled, retrieving something from a desk drawer and bringing it over.

“It’s beautiful.” I looked around and breathed in his scent.

Suddenly he was nervous. He sat opposite me. “I was supposed to give this to you last month when I called round, for your birthday. I hope you like it.” He slid the box across the veneer cherry table. The box was long, red, and velvet. I took it in my hands as though it were the most fragile thing I’d ever held, and I rubbed my fingers along the soft furry velvet. I looked at him; he was nervously eyeing the box. I opened it slowly and held my breath. A silver watch glistened inside.

“Oh, Mr. Bur-” I started to say, and he grabbed my hand, stopping me.

“Please, Sandy. It’s Gregory now, OK?”

It’s Gregory now. It’s Gregory now. It’s Gregory now. A choir of cherubs sang in my ear.

I nodded, smiling. I took the watch from the box and wrapped it around my left wrist, fiddling with the clasp, still stunned by the unexpected gift.

“If you look at the back, you’ll see your name is engraved.” With shaking hands, he helped me turn it over. There it was, SANDY SHORTT. “May it never go missing.”

We smiled.

“Don’t force it,” he warned, watching me trying to close it. “Here, let me help you,” he said just as the clasp made a snapping sound between my fingers.

I froze. “Did I break it?”

He moved to the couch beside me, all fingers and thumbs as he tried to fix it, his skin brushing against mine and everything, everything, melting inside of me.

“It’s not broken but the clasp is loosened. I’ll have to take it back and get it fixed.” He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice but failed miserably.

“No!” I stopped him from taking it off me. “I love it, I want to keep it on.”

“It’s too loose, Sandy. It may open and fall off.”

“No, I’ll keep my eye on it. I won’t lose it.”

He looked unsure.

“Just for today at least, let me wear it.”

“OK.” He stopped fiddling with it and we both finally stayed still and looked at one another.

“I’m really giving you this to help you with your timekeeping. Three years without contact are not allowed to pass again.”

I looked down and twisted the watch around my wrist, admiring the links of the wristband, the mother-of-pearl face. “Thank you, Gregory.” I smiled, loving how the word felt in my mouth, on my tongue as I said it. “Gregory, Gregory,” I repeated a few more times as he laughed, loving every moment of it.

I let him take me out for lunch and we saw where we were.

Lunch was as close to a disaster as it could possibly have been. We consumed enough food for thought to last us our lifetimes. If either of us had any ridiculous notions that this could be the beginning of something special-and we most certainly did-we were brought to earth by the realization that we were right back where we finished off. Or very possibly right back to Gregory having to walk over razor-sharp grass blades. I was Scathach and my heart was on Scathach’s island in all her and its fierce extremities. I had worsened by the years.

Yet I didn’t ever, not for one day, take my watch off. There were times when it fell, but we all do that. It was put back where it belonged, where I felt and knew it to belong. That watch symbolized an awful lot. The positive side to our learning lunch was that it confirmed that we felt inextricably linked to each other, as if there was an invisible umbilical cord joining us both, allowing us to feed off one another, helping us to grow and give one another life.