Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

‘I don’t know. Maybe. All the things you say sound very complicated and I don’t think in that way.’

‘Want to know my theory?’

‘Go on.’ I rested my chin on my hand.

‘A couple of years ago when Blake …’ he stalled, ‘was dumped by you.’

I smiled.

‘You started lying to other people, and because you lied to them you made it a lot easier to lie to yourself.’

‘That’s an interesting theory but I have no idea if it’s true or not.’

‘Well, we’ll put it to the test. Soon you’ll have to stop lying to others – which will be harder than you think, by the way – and then you’ll start learning the truth about yourself, which will also be harder than you think.’

I rubbed my aching head, wishing I hadn’t got myself into this mess. ‘So how does it happen?’

‘You let me spend time with you.’

‘Sure, weekly appointments?’

‘No, I mean, I come to work with you, meet your friends, that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t just bring you to the dinner table at my parents’ house or out with friends. They’ll think I’m a freak.’

‘You’re afraid they’ll know things about you.’

‘If my life – you – sits down at the table they’ll pretty much know everything.’

‘Why is that so terrifying?’

‘Because it’s private. You’re private. No one brings along their life to a dinner party.’

‘I think you’ll find that most people that you love do exactly that. But it’s not the point, the point is we need to start doing more things together.’

‘That’s fine with me, just let’s not you and me do things with friends and family. Let’s keep it separate.’

‘But you’re doing that already. None of them know anything about you.’

‘It’s not going to happen,’ I said.

He was silent.

‘You’re going to turn up anyway, aren’t you?’ I asked.

He nodded.

I sighed. ‘I don’t lie to everyone, you know.’

‘I know. The wrong number.’

‘See? Another weird thing.’

‘Not really. Sometimes wrong numbers are the right numbers,’ he smiled.

CHAPTER TWELVE

He wanted to begin our journey together by seeing where I lived. I think he felt seeing it would unlock all the great mysteries about me to him. I didn’t agree, I felt it would merely unlock a door to an unkempt studio flat and send putrid fish smell blasting in his face. Metaphor understanding was merely the beginning of our differences. We were debating it when Claire returned from the hospital and looked anxiously at the stranger and me sitting on the floor outside her apartment. I stood immediately.

‘I didn’t let him in,’ I said.

Her face softened, and she looked at him. ‘You must think I’m rude.’

‘No, you’re perfectly right,’ Life said. ‘Though I’m surprised you let her in.’

She smiled. ‘I appreciate Lucy’s help.’

‘How’s your mother?’ he asked.

I knew he was still testing my alibi and I’d passed the test, because her face said it all. Nobody could pretend to be so distraught.

‘She’s stable … for now,’ she said. ‘How’s Conor?’

‘Em. He’s asleep.’

‘Did he drink his bottle?’

‘Yes.’ I’d poured it down the sink.

She seemed happy and fumbled in her bag for her purse and produced some cash. ‘This is for your time, thank you so much,’ she said, thrusting it at me. I really wanted to take it. Really. Sebastian needed so much repair work, the carpet still needed to be cleaned, my hair could do with a professional blowdry, I could do with buying something other than microwave dinners but no, Life was watching me so I did the right thing.

‘I couldn’t possibly take that.’ I pushed the words out, though they were dying to stay inside. ‘It was my pleasure, really.’

Then came the moment. I put the key in the lock and turned it. I held out my hand for him to enter before me. He looked excited. I felt anything but. I followed him and closed the door, painfully aware of the smell and hoping he would be polite enough not to mention it. Mr Pan stirred and stretched, and then came slinking forward to meet our new guest, his hips slowly and lazily going from side to side in a hypnotic state like the campest cat in the world. He looked at my life and then ran himself along his legs, tail high in the air.

‘You have a cat,’ he said and went to his knees and stroked him. Mr Pan bathed in the glory of his attention.

‘This is Mr Pan, Mr Pan this is … what do I call you?’

‘Life.’

‘I can’t introduce you to people as that, we’ll have to think of a name.’

He shrugged, ‘I don’t care.’

‘Okay Engelbert.’

‘I don’t want to be called Engelbert.’ He looked around the room at my numerous Gene Kelly photographs in frames, and at the poster for Singin’ in the Rain on the bathroom door. ‘Call me Gene.’

‘No, you can’t be called that.’ There were only so many Genes I could have in my life. One, and a Don Lockwood whom I’d told never to call me again.

‘Who’s the other guy?’ he asked.

‘Donald O’Connor, he plays Cosmo Brown.’

He put on an American fifties accent. ‘Well then, call me Cosmo Brown.’

‘I’m not introducing you to people as Cosmo.’

‘It’s Cosmo or Life, doll.’

‘Okay, fine. Let me show you around.’ I stood at the front door like an air steward and held out my arms as if going through the emergency procedures. ‘To my left is the bathroom. If you want to use it you must put on the kitchen extractor fan light as the bulb is gone in there. To my right is the kitchen. Further to my left is the bedroom and further to the right is the living room. Tour over.’ I bowed. He could see everything from where he stood, all he had to do was move his eyes.

He surveyed the space.

‘So what do you think?’

‘It stinks of fish. And what is that on the carpet?’

I sighed. He couldn’t even do a minute of politeness, the very foundations which my life was built on. ‘It’s prawn cocktail, Mr Pan spilled it and walked it into the floor. Okay?’

‘Okay, but I meant that.’ He pointed at the writing on the carpet.

‘Oh, that’s the name of a carpet-cleaning company.’

‘Of course it is.’ He looked at me and his eyes were smiling. ‘I’m not going to ask why it’s written on the floor. Call them,’ he said and went straight to my corner cupboard and rummaged through my treats. Mr Pan followed at his heel, the traitor. Life sat up on the counter and munched on some cookies, which annoyed me, I was planning on eating them for dinner. ‘The carpet is disgusting; you have to call them.’

‘I don’t have time to stay home from work to let them in. Things like that are always a bother.’

‘Ask them to come at the weekend and if they can’t, there’s always the strong possibility that you’ll be fired tomorrow.’

‘I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.’

‘I thought you wanted to get fired.’

‘I did. But I wanted a redundancy package, not to get fired just because I don’t speak Spanish.’

‘It’s hardly a small detail, you are supposed to be their languages expert.’

‘I speak five other languages,’ I snapped.

‘Ooh, but you don’t speaketh the truth,’ he laughed before putting an entire cookie in his mouth.

I looked him up and down, disgusted. ‘You have moobs.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Check it in your little computer, why don’t you.’