Cecelia Ahern - There’s No Place Like Here

Barbara Langley hadn’t much in the way of clothes suitable for community meetings, most likely because the doomed New York holiday, which resulted in the loss of her luggage more than twenty years ago, didn’t call for being put on trial by an entire community. But then again, you never know.

I chose to stay away from rehearsals at the Community Hall, knowing that my presence there later would be enough and that Helena had the play I really wasn’t interested in being involved in all under control. I passed the day by covering the shop for Bobby, who had quite understandably decided to stay in bed the entire day. I busied myself; I pleasured myself rooting around the long-legged people’s section, diving into bargain buckets with all the ferocity of a bear that had stumbled upon a picnic park. Excitedly I pulled out outfits I dreamed of having at home. Ecstasy-fueled purrs escaped my lips as I tried on shirts with sleeves that reached my wrists, T-shirts that covered my belly button, and trousers with hems that fell to the floor. A tingle rushed through my body each time the feel of fabric covered an area of skin so used to being bare and exposed. What a difference an inch of fabric made. Particularly on a cold morning standing at the bus stop stretching the sleeves of a favorite sweater just so it covered a racing, angry pulse. That small inch, insignificant to most, everything to me, was the difference between a good day and a bad, internal peace and outward loathing, denial and the realization of an overwhelming albeit temporary desire to be like everyone else. A few inches shorter, a few inches happier, richer, content, warmer.

Every once in a while, the bell over the door sounded, and just like the end of my playtime at school, the climax would come to an abrupt end. The majority of shoppers that day had come to the shop with one goal in mind: to have a look at me, the one they had heard about, the one who knew things. People from all nations would lock eyes with me, hoping for recognition, and, when there wasn’t any, would leave, disappointment weighing heavy on their shoulders. Each time the bell rang and another pair of eyes bored into mine, I became more nervous for the evening ahead, and no matter how hard I wanted to prevent the many clocks on the wall from ticking, the hands raged on and the night was suddenly upon me.

It seemed the entire village had decided to attend the council meeting at the Community Hall. Bobby and I pushed our way through throngs of people slowly filing toward the giant oak door. News of somebody with the capacity to know all about families at home had caused people of all nationalities, races, and creeds to flock by the hundreds to the building. The hot orange sun was disappearing behind the pine trees, giving the effect of strobe lighting as we walked briskly alongside them. Above us, hawks circled low in the sky, dangerously skimming the treetops. Around me, I felt eyes on me, watching, waiting to pounce.

The carvings of people shoulder to shoulder, upon the giant doors, parted and bodies began to file in. The theater had been transformed from the informal arrangement of rehearsal hours. I felt deceived, realizing it was more than it had originally appeared to be, capable of more than it had shown itself to be, and now here it was, elegantly dressed, standing upright and proud, royalty when I had thought it a servant. Hundreds of rows of seats led from the stage, the red velvet curtains pulled back by a chunky golden twist with tassels bowing, their overturned heads of hair skimming the ground. On stage rows of representatives sat on tiered seating, some wearing their countries’ traditional costumes, others choosing modern dress. There were three-piece suits next to embroidered dish-dasha, sequined jellabahs, silk kimonos, kippas , turbans and jilbab , bead, bone, gold and silver jewelry, women in elaborately patterned khanga , upon them Swahili proverbs offering pearls of wisdom I could not understand, and men in fine hanbok . There was everything from khussa shoes to Jimmy Choos, Thousand Mile sandals and flip-flops to polished leather lace-ups. I spotted Joseph in the second row wrapped in a purple gown with gold trimming. The vision was stunning, the mixture of fine cultured clothes side by side a treat. Despite my feelings on the evening ahead, I lifted the Polaroid camera and took a photo.

“Hey!” Bobby grabbed the camera from my hands. “Stop wasting the cartridges!”

“Wasting?” I gasped. “Look at that!” I pointed to the stage of representatives from all nations, sitting grandly overlooking the sea of villagers, who watched them expectantly, desperately awaiting news of the old world they had left behind. We sat in seats halfway up the auditorium to ensure I wasn’t in the first row for the firing line. We spotted Helena toward the front of the room, desperately scouring the crowds with an alarming look of concern or fear, I couldn’t tell which. Assuming it was us she was looking for, Bobby waved at her wildly. I couldn’t move. My body sat frozen in this new fear I was experiencing, in a theater that had very quickly become filled with the noise of hundreds of people becoming louder and louder in my ears. I glanced over my shoulder. Dozens more stood at the back of the hall, blocking the exits, unable to find seats. The banging shut and locking of the gigantic doors reverberated around the room and everybody instantly fell silent. The breathing of the man behind me was loud in my ears, the whispering of the couple in front of me like a loudspeaker. My heart began a drumbeat of its own. I looked at Bobby for reassurance I didn’t get. The harsh lights from above didn’t allow anybody or their reactions to hide. Everyone and everything was revealed.

Helena had been forced to take her seat when the door had shut and silence had ensued. I tried my best to keep thinking that this was a silly little place, a figment of my imagination. It was all a dream, unimportant, not real life. But no matter how much I pinched myself and tried to zone out, the atmosphere pulled me back in, leaving me with the foreboding sense that this was as real as the beating of my heart.

A woman walked up the outside aisle with a basket of earphones. They were taken by the person at the end seat and passed along the rows like a church collection. I looked to Bobby questioningly and he demonstrated, plugging the headphone set into a socket in the chair in front. He placed them over his ears as a man stood before the microphone on stage. He began speaking Japanese, not a word of which I could understand, but I was so transfixed by the scene before me I failed to remember to put my earphones on. Bobby elbowed me and I jumped, quickly placing them over my ears. A heavily accented English voice offered the translation. I had missed the beginning of his announcement.

“…this Sunday evening. It’s rare that so many of us all gather together. Thank you for the wonderful turnout. There are a few reasons why we are here tonight…”

Bobby elbowed me again and my headphones came off. “That’s Ichiro Takase,” he whispered. “He’s the rep president. It changes person every few months.”

I nodded and the headphones went back on again.

“Hans Liveen wishes to speak to you about the plans for the new mill scheme, but before we address that we will deal with the reason why so many of you have attended this meeting. Irish Representative Grace Burns will speak to you about this.”

A woman who appeared to be in her fifties stood from her seat and made her way to the microphone. She had long wavy red hair, her features were pointed as though chiseled from a rock, and she was dressed in a sharp black business suit.

I removed my headphones.

“Good evening, everybody.” Her accent placed her from the north of Ireland, Donegal. Many of the non-Irish English speakers put their headphones back on for the translation. “I’ll make this brief,” she said. “I was approached this week by many people from the Irish community with news that a newcomer from Ireland had information on various villagers’ families. Despite the rumors, this of course isn’t unusual, given Ireland’s size. I was also told that an item belonging to this person, I understand that it’s her watch, has gone missing,” she said in her matter-of-fact tones.