Cecelia Ahern - The Year I Met You

She studies the houses, looking at the numbers, then turns in Dr Jameson’s house. Monday takes off down the driveway, getting a closer look. You follow. I tag along because what else am I going to do? We cross the road and decide to sit at your table where we can have a better view of Dr Jameson’s house and listen out for trouble inside. At least, that’s what you both decide after a quick discussion of whether to break in or not. You both plan a story of what you’ll say if you have to call in. An extraction plan, which you both get rather excited about.

‘Have you read that letter yet?’ I ask you, casually.

‘What letter?’

‘The one I gave you.’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘I was thinking. I want to read it to you after all. You know, if that’s what you’d like.’

You look at me thoughtfully, suspiciously. So does Monday.

‘It’s probably better that you’re not alone. Who knows how you’ll react. You’re doing so well, I don’t want you to go straight to the pub, that’s all. You should have somebody there, if it’s not me, then somebody.’ I know that you wouldn’t ask anybody else, but it makes you less suspicious, which is what happens and you seem genuinely grateful.

‘Thanks, Jasmine.’

‘Why don’t you give it to me now?’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah,’ I shrug casually. ‘Get it out of the way.’ I look at Monday to explain. ‘His wife left him. She left a note. He won’t read it. Which is correct,’ I look back at you. ‘ I should read it. You should give it to me.’

Monday hides a smile at me behind his fingers. He has long beautiful fingers. Pianist’s fingers.

‘Well, not now,’ you say, panicking a little that I’m pushing the moment.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m keeping an eye on Dr J.’

‘I’ll read it while you watch.’ No I won’t. I will burn it as soon as you hand it over to me. I’ll cleverly switch it with the real thing. I would rather save myself than worry about him reading her awful letter.

‘The kids. I don’t want them to hear.’

I’m about to say that the kids aren’t anywhere near to hear, but they spoil my plan. The two blondes appear from the garden of number six wearing frowns.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, going over to them.

‘What have you done?’ Monday asks me, amused expression on his face.

‘Nothing,’ I reply, blank-faced.

He laughs and shakes his head, tuts as though I’m a naughty girl. I like it and I can’t help but laugh back. He knows me and I like this. It’s been a while since someone has known me that way. Apart from you, of course, who kicked down my do not disturb sign when I wasn’t paying attention.

‘He wouldn’t buy any,’ Kris says.

‘He’s the only one on the street,’ Kylie says.

‘What didn’t he buy?’ I ask.

‘Our perfume. We made it from petals and water.’

‘And grass.’

‘And a dead spider.’

‘Nice,’ I say.

‘You bought two bottles,’ you say to me. ‘You owe me a fiver.’

It’s then that I realise they have set up a stall in the driveway, consisting of a fold-up table and chair covered by a red checked paper tablecloth. There are bottles of a brown substance with things floating in it and a sign advertises one bottle for fifty cent. Why I owe you a fiver is a mystery, but seeing as I have forged a letter to you from your wife who has left you, I let you off.

‘What did he say?’ you ask them, angrily.

‘Who?’ Monday mouths to me.

‘Number six. Corporate man. Renter,’ I reply, then turn back to the kids, fully engaged.

‘Nothing really. He was on the phone. Then he said no thanks and closed the door.’

‘The cheeky little shit,’ you say, and the kids giggle.

‘That man is starting to wind me up now,’ you vent, and I can see your hands close into tight fists.

‘Me too. I’ve waved at him every single morning since he’s moved in and he hasn’t even bothered to look at me,’ I say.

Monday laughs. ‘You two seriously need to get jobs. You’re letting everything mess with you too much.’

‘Then get her a job, Monday,’ you say, that mischievous glint in your eye.

‘That’s the idea, Matt,’ he replies, meeting your gaze.

‘Maybe you should bring her out for dinner. For the job,’ you say, and I know what you’re implying, as does Monday, but he remains cool.

‘If that will work,’ he says, but a little less confidently.

I don’t want you to make him leave by continuing with this. I turn to you to continue my case. ‘And all he had to do was fork out some money for the kids who’ve been working so hard on their perfume. Did he even ask to smell it?’

‘No,’ Kris huffs.

‘Well, that’s just mean,’ I say.

This incenses you even more, which I knew it would, because that was my intention.

‘I’m going over there,’ you say.

‘Good for you,’ I say.

‘What are you going to say?’ Monday asks, face full of a smile, as he crosses one leg over the other, ends of his jeans frayed, and a hole in one thigh revealing bare skin.

‘Just that he should consider being more neighbourly if he’s going to live in a neighbourhood. They’re only seven,’ you say.

‘I think you mind more than they do,’ Monday says.

‘And he won’t get back to Dr J about the Midsummer’s Day barbecue,’ I add. ‘And Dr J only ever means well.’

Monday smiles and frowns at me at the same time, trying to figure me out.

That’s enough to convince you to go over.

I’m thrilled. You’ve left your front door open. While you’re arguing with Corporate Man I can slip inside, find the letter I wrote and destroy it. It is a perfect plan.

‘You – come with me,’ you suddenly say.

‘Me?’

‘Yes. You.’

‘Yeah, Jasmine,’ Monday adds, leaning on the table, chin on his hand, looking at me lazily, mischievously, knowing that he is ruining whatever it is I am planning. He is playing with me, which I wouldn’t mind if it was in another way. I could think of many ways Monday could toy with me, but not like this.

‘You don’t need my help,’ I tell you, ignoring Monday. ‘They’re your kids. You can speak for them without me.’

‘Go on, Jasmine,’ Monday says.

I know that my chance to destroy the letter has slipped away. I throw Monday a look of sincere disgust that makes him laugh, and even though it’s annoying it makes me like him even more because he is prepared to contest me. He will not tiptoe around me, try to please me. He will test me, he will give as good as I give. Monday wants to play.

‘I’ll keep an eye on Dr J’s house.’ He winks at me.

‘What are you going to say?’ I ask nervously, standing at number six’s door.

‘We are going to say exactly what I said we’ll say. About neighbourly behaviour.’

‘Right.’ I swallow. Neither of us are exactly the perfect candidates to be preaching such things.

We can hear him talking on the phone inside. You press the doorbell again, long and hard. It’s not a work call. He’s laughing, sounds casual. It’s not even important. He mentions rugby. Some nicknames. Liggo and Spidey, and the guys. I want to vomit in my mouth. He talks about a match. You’re getting angrier by the minute and I’m not far behind you. I see him peek out the window at us, then continue talking.

‘It’s one of the neighbours again,’ he says, his words drifting out the open window.

You storm off, toward the open window and when it looks like you’re about to climb in, Corporate Man is saved when we hear Monday call out.

‘Hey!’

We look up and see Monday taking off down the road after the woman who has left Dr Jameson’s house.