Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

‘I will.’ He took out his iPhone. ‘Now call them, the carpet is disgusting. It hasn’t been properly cleaned since you moved in and I suspect even longer so it’s got yours and some stranger’s skin and hair and toenails, and cat hairs and whatever bugs and bacteria are living on him engrained in it and every time you breathe in, you are inhaling it into your lungs.’

Disgusted, I immediately grabbed his phone from his hand but he held on tight. ‘That’s my phone, use your own. I’m Googling “moobs”.’

I blocked my nose and dialled directory enquiries to connect me. A second before it was answered I hoped Don would answer again. But he didn’t. It was an older man named Roger and in two minutes I’d arranged for him to call by on Sunday. I ended the call feeling quite proud of myself. I had done something. But Life wasn’t about to congratulate me, he was glaring at me angrily.

‘What?’

‘Man boobs.’

I laughed. ‘Well, you’ve let yourself go a little, haven’t you?’

‘Through no fault of my own.’

‘I work out five days a week,’ I defended myself.

‘Which is probably the only reason why we’re both still standing,’ he said, hopping off the counter, climbing over the back of the couch and sitting down.

‘I can’t help commenting on your appearance. You look so … dirty. You need a make-over. Do you have anything else in your wardrobe?’ I paused. ‘Do you have a wardrobe?’

‘This isn’t Clueless , Lucy, I’m not a project. You don’t get to spend a day polishing my nails and perming my hair and everything is okay again.’

‘What about a back, sack and crack?’

‘You’re disgusting and I’m ashamed to be your life.’ He bit into another cookie and nodded in the direction of my bed. ‘Any visitors over there?’

‘I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about that.’

‘Because I’m a man?’

‘Because … I don’t think it’s important. And yes. Because you’re a man. But I’m not prudish.’ I raised my chin, and then climbed over the back of the couch to join him. ‘The answer is no, nobody has ever been in here but that’s not to say there hasn’t been any activity.’

‘That’s disgusting.’ He rolled up his nose.

‘I don’t mean in that bed.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I mean in my life.’

‘Hold on.’ He smiled and reached into his rucksack and took out an iPad. ‘That’d be Alex Buckley,’ he read. ‘Stockbroker, you met him in a bar, you liked his tie, he liked your tits but he didn’t say that out loud. Not to you anyway, he did say it to his colleague Tony who replied, “Why the fuck not.” Charming. But he did say to you and I quote, “There must be something wrong with my eyes, I can’t seem to take them off you.” Unquote.’ He howled laughing. ‘ That works for you?’

‘No.’ I picked at a feather in the cushion, pulled it out. Mr Pan watched me, moved closer to play with the feather. ‘But the drinks he bought for me did. Anyway, he was nice.’

‘You went back to his place,’ he read, then he looked disgusted. ‘I don’t think I need to read all of this. Bla bla bla, then you left before breakfast. That was ten months ago.’

‘That wasn’t ten months ago, that was …’ I counted back in my head. ‘Well, it wasn’t ten months ago anyway.’

‘Last time you saw any action,’ he said, mock-disapprovingly. ‘Outside of this apartment anyway.’

‘Shut up about that. So I’m fussy when it comes to men. I can’t just sleep with any guy.’

‘Yes, because Alex Buckley the stockbroker who liked your tits was so special.’

I laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘Fussy is an understatement.’ He became serious. ‘You’re just not remotely ready for men. You’re not over Blake.’

‘I’m so over Blake, it’s ridiculous,’ I exaggerated, sounding like a petulant teen.

‘You’re not. If you were over him, every man you’ve met since would not have involved a large intake of alcohol. If you were over him, you’d be able to move on and meet someone new.’

‘May I remind you that feeling complete is not about meeting a man. It’s about being content within yourself.’ I tried not to laugh when I said it.

‘To thine own self be true,’ he said and nodded. ‘I believe that. But if you’re unable to meet somebody else because you’re stuck in the past then that’s a problem.’

‘Who says it’s my problem? I’m always open to meeting someone new.’ I grabbed the cookies from him.

‘What about the guy in the café, the Sunday we met? I practically threw him at you and you didn’t give him half a look. Quote, “I have to go see my boyfriend,”’ he mimicked me. ‘Unquote.’

I gasped. ‘You set me up?’

‘I had to see how bad you were.’

‘I knew it. I knew he was too attractive to be a normal person, he was an actor.’

‘He wasn’t an actor. You’re not getting this. I synchronised your lives. Made your paths cross in order for something to happen.’

‘But nothing happened so you failed,’ I snapped.

‘Something did happen. You turned him down and he went back to his girlfriend whom he was missing dearly and was regretting breaking up with. Your response to him made him realise.’

‘How dare you use me like that.’

‘How am I using you? How else do you think life happens? A series of coincidences and occurrences have to happen somehow. Our lives all crash and collide and you think there’s no reason or rhyme to it? If there wasn’t any reason for it all, what would be the point? Why do you think anything happens at all? There is an outcome, repercussions and occurrences to everybody you meet and everything you say. Honestly, Lucy.’ He shook his head and bit into another cookie.

‘But that’s the point, I didn’t think there was one.’

‘Was a what?’

‘A point!’

He frowned, confused. Then he got it. ‘Lucy, there’s always a point.’

I wasn’t sure I believed that. ‘Who else have you synchronised my life with?’

‘Lately? Not many that would stand out to you. Just that nice American lady at reception. I can tell by your face you’re shocked by that one, and by the way, you can thank her I’m here today because it was her that made me want to give you another chance after our last meeting.’

‘Like you weren’t desperate to meet me again anyway.’

‘Believe me, I wasn’t. But when you left her the chocolate bar I had a Willy Wonka moment.’

‘Is that secret code for something private?’

‘No. You know the part where Slugworth tells Charlie to steal the everlasting gobstopper and he’ll take care of his family forever but Charlie doesn’t and leaves the gobstopper on Wonka’s office desk at the end of the film which shows Wonka Charlie’s true worth as a person?’

‘You’ve just given the whole thing away.’

‘Shut up, you’ve seen it twenty-six times. You left the bar of chocolate for Mrs Morgan and that was a very thoughtful thing to do.’

‘Yeah, well, she said she liked them.’

‘It reminded me that you do have a heart, you do care about people, that’s never been the problem. I just have to try to make you care about me.’

That just simply broke my heart. Nobody had ever uttered words like that to me before and there he was, this young exhausted desperate-looking man with bad breath and a crumpled suit just wanting to be liked.

‘So that was the point to you hiring her? So that I could get another chance with you?’

He looked surprised. ‘I never thought about it like that.’ Then suddenly he yawned. ‘Where am I sleeping?’

‘Wherever you usually sleep.’