Cecelia Ahern - There’s No Place Like Here

He leaned forward again. “So you saw Jenny-May a few hours before Mrs. Butler came over to your house?”

I nodded.

“What time was this at?”

I shrugged.

“Is there anything that could remind you of what time it was? Think back, what were you doing? Was there anybody else around?”

“I had just opened the door to my grandma and granddad. They came over for lunch and I was giving Grandma a hug when I saw her cycling by. That’s when I made the wish.” I winced.

“So, this was lunchtime. Was she with anyone?” He was on the edge of his seat now, ignoring my concern over my wishing her away. He asked question after question about what Jenny-May was doing, who she was with, how did she look, what was she wearing, where did it look like she was going, lots of questions over and over again until my head hurt and I could barely think what the answers were anymore. It turned out that I was such a good help to them because I was the last person to see her that I was allowed to go home early that day. Another benefit to Jenny-May’s disappearance.

A few nights before the Gardaí came to the school I had begun to feel guilty about Jenny-May disappearing. I watched a documentary with my dad about how one hundred fifty thousand people in Washington, D.C., all arranged to think positive thoughts at the same time and the crime rate went down, which proved that positive and negative thinking had a real effect. But then Garda Rogers told me that it wasn’t my fault Jenny-May Butler was gone, that wishing for something to happen didn’t actually make it happen, and so I became a lot more realistic after that.

And there I was, standing outside the office of Grace Burns twenty-four years later, about to knock on the door and feeling exactly the same as when I was ten. I had that same feeling of being responsible for something beyond my control but I also held the belief in some childish way that ever since I was ten years old, I had been secretly, silently, and subconsciously wishing I’d discover a place like this.

Jack, is everything OK?” Alan asked, as soon as Jack had taken his seat opposite him at the low bar table. Concern was written all over his face and doubt crept in on Jack again.

“I’m fine,” Jack replied, putting down his drink, settling on the stool, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, feeling confused.

“You look like shit.” His eyes dropped to Jack’s leg, which was bouncing away steadily.

“Everything’s OK.”

“You’re sure?” Alan narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah.” He took a slug of Guinness, his mind going back to the memory that had hit him with his last taste. Alan’s lie.

“So, what’s up?” Alan said, back to his usual nature. “You sounded on the phone like there was a fire. Something important to tell me?”

“No, no fire.” Jack looked around, avoiding eye contact, doing everything he could do to stop himself from throwing a punch. He needed to approach this properly, and tried to relax. His leg stopped bouncing, he leaned in to the table, and stared into his pint. “It’s just this past week I’ve been looking for Donal, and it’s brought everything back, y’know?”

Alan sighed and stared into his pint too. “Yeah, I know. I think about it every day.”

“About what?”

Alan looked up quickly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what kind of things do you think about every day?” Jack tried to take the interrogative tone out of his voice.

“I don’t know what you mean. I think about the whole thing.” Alan frowned.

“Well, I think about how I wish I’d been there that night, how I wish I’d known Donal better because if I had then maybe…” Jack said, holding his hands up. “Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I’d know where to look, maybe I’d know the places or people he went to for safety or for privacy. Anything like that, you know? Maybe there were some people he was running from, people he got involved with. We didn’t talk much about private things and every day I think about the fact that if I’d been a better brother maybe I’d have found him. Maybe he’d be sitting right here beside us having a pint.”

They both naturally looked to the empty stool beside them.

“Don’t think stuff like that, Jack. You were a good bro-”

“Don’t,” Jack interrupted, raising his voice.

Alan stopped in surprise. “Don’t what?”

Jack looked him directly in the eyes. “Don’t lie.”

Fear and uncertainty entered Alan’s face and Jack knew his intuition was correct. Alan looked around the room anxiously but Jack stopped him. “You don’t need to tell me I was a good brother because I know I wasn’t. Don’t lie to make me feel better.”

Alan seemed relieved by this answer. “OK, you were a shit brother.” He smiled and they both laughed.

“As much as I’ve been giving myself a hard time for not being there that night, deep down I know that even if I’d been there, the same thing probably would have happened. Because I know you had his back; you’ve always had his back.”

Alan smiled sadly into his pint.

“Last time we talked, you blamed yourself for not leaving with Donal that night.” Jack picked up a soggy beer mat and slowly began peeling the outer label off. “I know what it’s like to blame yourself: it’s not good. I’ve been going to see some people, to help sort my head out.” He scratched his head awkwardly. “They told me all this stuff about blaming yourself was normal. I thought it’d be important to tell you that. Over a pint.”

“Thanks,” Alan said quietly. “I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, well…at least you got to have a conversation with him before he left, right?”

Alan’s face showed that he wasn’t sure where this was going, but Jack’s voice was still nonthreatening and he’d managed to calm himself completely now, to ignore what he guessed.

“You’re lucky. The rest of the lads didn’t notice him leave.”

“I didn’t either.” Alan began fidgeting.

“No, you did,” Jack said casually. “You said so last week.” He took another slug of Guinness and looked around casually. “Busy here, isn’t it? Didn’t think it would be, so early in the evening.” He looked at his watch: six P.M. It felt like days since he had met Sandy’s mother, not hours. “Last week you said you wished you’d left with him and you thought he’d be safe getting a taxi down that way.”

Alan looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t-”

“You did, man,” Jack interrupted and laughed. “I may be losing my mind but I do remember that. I was happy to hear it, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding happily, “because it meant that he didn’t just wander off, you know. He let someone know, and it also makes sense what he was doing walking in that direction. That must make you feel better. The other lads, they’re frustrated with themselves for not noticing. They blame themselves for not seeing him leave. At least you don’t have that on your head.”

Alan was fidgeting. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He took his bag of tobacco out of his shirt pocket. “I’m going outside for a smoke. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Hang on a minute,” Jack said casually. “I’ll finish off this pint and go out with you.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“I took it back up,” Jack said, though it was a lie. The last thing he wanted was for Alan to disappear. He would only get one chance to do this. “Why is it so busy this evening?” he said, looking around.

Alan relaxed. “I dunno.” He took out the skins and began to sprinkle the tobacco inside. “It’s a Saturday, I suppose.”

“Should we get a taxi down by Arthur’s Quay tonight?” Jack asked casually. “I left the car at home.”