Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

He drops the opera glasses and stands up immediately, taking note of where exactly she is sitting. The door to the box opens and in walks Laurence.

‘Justin, I thought maybe we could have a word,’ he says politely, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair that separates them.

‘No, Laurence, not now, sorry.’ He tries to move past him.

‘I promise not to take up too much of your time. Just a few minutes while we’re alone. To clear the air, you know?’ He opens the button of his blazer, smooths down his tie and closes his button again.

‘Yeah, I appreciate that, buddy, I really do, but I’m in a really big hurry right now.’ He tries to inch by him but Laurence moves to block him.

‘A hurry?’ he says, raising his eyebrows. ‘But the interval is just about over and … ah,’ he stops, realising. ‘I see. Well, I just thought I’d give it a try. If you’re not ready to have the discussion yet, that’s understandable.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ Justin looks through his opera glasses and up at Joyce, feeling panicked. She’s still there. ‘It’s just that I really am in a hurry to get to somebody. I have to go, Laurence.’

Jennifer walks in just as he says that. Her face is stony.

‘Honestly, Justin. Laurence just wanted to be a gentleman and talk to you like an adult . Something, it seems, you have forgotten how to be. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised about that.’

‘No, no, look, Jennifer.’ I used to call you Jen. So formal now, a lifetime away from that memorable day in the park when they were all so happy, so in love . ‘I really don’t have time for this right now. You don’t understand, I have to go.’

‘You can’t go. The ballet is about to begin in a few minutes and your daughter will be onstage. Don’t tell me you’re walking out on her too, because of some ridiculous male pride.’

Doris and Al enter the box, Al’s size alone completely crowding the small space and blocking his path to the door. Al holds a pint of cola in his hand and an oversized bag of crisps.

‘Tell him, Justin.’ Doris folds her arms and taps her long fake pink nails against her thin arms.

Justin groans. ‘Tell him what?’

‘ Remind him of the heart disease in your family so that he may think twice before eating and drinking that crap.’

‘What heart disease?’ Justin holds his hands to his head while on the other side of him, Jennifer drones on and on in what sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher’s voice. ‘Wah, wah, wah’ is all he hears.

‘Your father , dying of a heart attack ,’ she says impatiently.

Justin freezes.

‘The doc didn’t say that it would necessarily happen to me,’ Al moans to his wife.

‘He said there was a good chance. If there’s a history in the family.’

Justin’s voice sounds to him as though it’s coming from somewhere else. ‘No, no, I really don’t think you have to worry about that, Al.’

‘See?’ He looks at Doris.

‘That’s not what the doctor said, sweetheart. We have to be more careful if it runs in the family.’

‘No, it doesn’t run in the—’ Justin stalls. ‘Look, I really have to go now.’ He tries to move in the crowded box.

‘No, you will not,’ Jennifer blocks him. ‘You are not going anywhere until you apologise to Laurence.’

‘It’s really all right, Jen,’ Laurence says awkwardly.

I call her Jen, not you!

‘No, it’s not, sweetheart.’

I’m her sweetheart, not you!

Voices come at him from all sides, wah wah wah, he is unable to make out the words. He feels hot and sweaty, dizziness grips him.

Suddenly the lights dim and the music begins and he has no choice but to take his seat again, beside a fuming Jennifer, an insulted Laurence, a silent Peter, a worried Doris and a hungry Al, who decides to munch loudly in his left ear, on the packet of potato chips.

He sighs and looks up at Joyce.

Help .

It seems the squabble in Mr Hitchcock’s box has ended, but as the lights are going down, they are all still standing. When the lights lift again, they are all seated with stony faces, apart from the large man at the back, who is eating a large bag of crisps. I have ignored Dad all throughout the last few moments, choosing instead to invest my time in a crashcourse in lipreading. If I have been successful, their conversation involved Carrot Top and barbecued bananas.

Deep inside, my heart drums like a djembe , its deep bass and slap reaching down into my chest. I feel it in the base of my throat, throbbing, and all because he saw me, he wanted to come to me. I feel relieved that following my instincts, however flighty, paid off. It takes me a few minutes to be able to focus on anything other than Justin, but when I calm my nerves slightly I turn my attention back to the stage where Bea takes my breath away and causes me to sniffle through her performance like a proud aunt. It occurs to me so strongly right now that the only people privy to those wonderful happy memories in the park are Bea, her mother, father … and me.

‘Dad, can I ask you something?’ I lean close to him and whisper.

‘He’s just after telling that girl that he loves her but she’s the wrong girl,’ he rolls his eyes. ‘Eejit. The swan girl was in white and that one is in black. They don’t look alike at all.’

‘She could have changed for the ball. No one wears the same thing everyday.’

He looks me up and down. ‘You only took your bathrobe off one day last week. Anyway, what’s up with you?’

‘Well, it’s that, I, em, something has happened and, well …’

‘Spit it out for Christsake, before I miss anything else.’

I give up whispering in his ear and turn to face him. ‘I’ve been given something, or more, something very special has been shared with me. It’s completely inexplicable and it doesn’t make any sense at all, in an Our Lady of Knock kind of way, you know?’ I laugh nervously and quickly stop, on seeing his face.

No, he doesn’t know. Dad looks angry I’ve used Mary’s apparition in County Mayo during the 1870s as an example of nonsense.

‘OK, perhaps that was a bad example. What I mean is, it breaks every rule I’ve ever known. I just don’t understand why .’

‘Gracie,’ Dad lifts his chin, ‘Knock, like the rest of Ireland, suffered great distress over the centuries from invasion, evictions and famines, and Our Lord sent His Mother, the Blessed Virgin, to visit with His oppressed children.’

‘No,’ I hold my hands over my face, ‘I don’t mean why did Mary appear, I mean why has this … this thing happened to me? This thing I’ve been given.’

‘Oh. Well, is it hurting anyone? Because if it’s not and if you’ve been given it, I’d as soon stop callin’ it a “thing” and start referring to it as a “gift”. Look at them dancing. He thinks she’s the swan girl. Surely he can see her face. Or is it like Superman when he takes the glasses off and suddenly he’s completely different, even though it’s as clear as day that it’s the same person?’

A gift. I’d never thought of it like that. I look over at Bea’s parents, beaming with pride, and I think of Bea before the interval, floating around with her flock of swans. I shake my head. No. No one is being hurt.

‘Well, then,’ Dad shrugs.

‘But I don’t understand why and how and—’

‘What is it with people these days?’ he hisses, and the man beside me turns round. I whisper my apologies.

‘In my day, something just was . None of this analysis a hundred times over. None of these college courses with people graduating with degrees in Whys and Hows and Becauses. Sometimes, love, you just need to forget all of those words and enrol in a little lesson called “Thank You”. Look at this story here,’ he points at the stage. ‘Do you hear anybody here giving out about the fact she , a woman , has been turned into a swan? Have you heard anything more ludicrous in your life?’