Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

She squeaks, insulted.

‘It needs sophistication , it needs to be researched , it needs furniture of the period, colours of the period, not a room that sounds like Al’s dinner menu.’

‘Hey!’ Al speaks up.

‘I think it needs,’ Justin takes a deep breath and says gently, ‘somebody else for the job. Maybe it’s just bigger than you thought it was going to be but I appreciate your help, really I do. Please tell me you understand.’

She nods slowly and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Suddenly the paint palettes go flying across the room as Doris lets rip, ‘You pretentious little bastaaaaard!’

‘Doris!’ Al leaps up out of his armchair, or at least, makes a great attempt to.

Justin immediately takes steps back as she walks aggressively towards him, pointing her sparkly animal-print nail at him, like a weapon.

‘Listen here, you silly little man. I have spent the last two weeks researching this dump of a basement in the kinds of libraries and places you wouldn’t even think exist . I’ve been to dark, dingy dungeons where people smell of old … things.’ Her nostrils flare and her voice deepens, threateningly. ‘I purchased every historic period paint brochure that I could get my hands on and applied the colours in accordance with the colour rules at the end of the nineteenth century. I’ve shaken hands with people you don’t even wanna know about, I’ve seen parts of London I didn’t even wanna know about. I’ve looked through books so old, the dust mites were big enough to hand them to me from the shelves. I have matched the Dulux colours as closely as I possibly could to your historic period paint and I’ve been to second-hand, third-hand, even antique stores and seen furniture in such disgusting derelict conditions, I almost set up the ISPC F . I’ve seen things crawling around dining-room tables and sat in such rickety chairs I could smell the black death that killed the last person who died sitting right in it. I have sanded down so much pine, I have splinters in places you don’t wanna see. So.’ She prods him in the chest with her dagger nail as she emphasises each word that finally backs him up against the wall. ‘Don’t. Tell. Me. That this is too big for me.’

She clears her throat and stands up straight. The anger in her voice is replaced with a vulnerable ‘poor me’ tremble. ‘But despite what you said, I will finish this project. I will go on undeterred. I will do it in spite of you and I will do it for your brother, who might be dead next month and you don’t even care.’

‘Dead?’ Justin’s eyes widen.

With that, she turns on her heel and storms off into her bedroom.

She sticks her head out of the doorway. ‘By the way, just so you know, I would have banged the door behind me VERY LOUDLY to show just how angry I am but it’s currently out in the backyard ready for sanding and priming, before I paint it …’ and this she spits out rebelliously, ‘Ivory Lace.’

Then she disappears again, without a bang.

I shift from foot to foot nervously outside the open door of Justin’s home. Should I press the bell now? Simply call his name into the room? Would he call the police and have me arrested for trespassing? Oh, this was such a bad decision. Frankie and Kate had persuaded me to come here, to present myself to him. They had pumped me up to such a point I had hopped in the first taxi that came my way to Trafalgar Square, to catch him at the National Gallery before he left. I’d been so close to him as he’d been on the phone, heard his calls to people as he asked them about the basket. I’d felt oddly comfortable just watching him, without his knowing, unable to take my eyes off him, revelling in the secret thrill of being able to see him for who he is instead of viewing his life from his own memories.

His anger at whoever was on the phone – most likely his ex-wife, the woman with the red hair and freckles – convinced me it was the wrong time to approach him and so I’d followed him. Followed , not stalked. I’d taken my time while trying to build up the courage to talk to him. Would I mention the transfusion or not? Would he think I was crazy or be open to listening or, even better, open to believing?

But once on the tube, the timing again wasn’t right. It was overcrowded, people were pushing and shoving, avoiding eye contact, never mind first-time introductions or conversations about studies into the possible intelligence of blood. And so after pacing up and down his road, feeling like both a schoolgirl with a crush and a stalker at the same time, I now find myself standing outside the door, with a plan. But my plan is once again being compromised as Justin and his brother Al begin to talk about something I know I shouldn’t be hearing, about a family secret I am more than familiar with already.

I move my finger away from the doorbell, keep hidden from all the windows and I bide my time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Justin looks to his brother in panic and searches quickly for something to sit on. He pulls over a giant paint tub and sits down, not noticing the wet white ring of paint around the top.

‘Al, what was she talking about? About you being dead next month.’

‘No, no, no,’ Al laughs. ‘She said, might be dead. That’s distinctly different. Hey, you got away lightly there, bro. Good for you. I think that valium is really helping her. Cheers.’ He holds up his bottle and downs the last of it.

‘Hold on, hold on. Al, what are you talking about? There’s something you haven’t told me? What did the doctor say?’

‘The doctor told me exactly what I’ve been telling you for the last two weeks. If any members of a person’s immediate family developed coronary heart disease at a young age, i.e., a male under fifty-five years old, well then, we have an increased risk of coronary heart disease.’

‘Have you high blood pressure?’

‘A little.’

‘Have you high cholesterol?’

‘A lot.’

‘So, all you do is make lifestyle changes, Al. It doesn’t mean you’re going to be struck down like … like …’

‘Dad?’

‘No.’ He frowns and shakes his head.

‘Coronary heart disease is the number-one killer of American males and females. Every thirty-three seconds an American will suffer some type of coronary event and almost every minute someone will die from it.’ He looks at their mother’s grandfather clock half-covered in a dust sheet. The minute hand moves. Al grabs his heart and starts groaning. His noises soon turn to laughter.

Justin rolls his eyes. ‘Who told you that nonsense?’

‘The pamphlets at the doc’s office said so.’

‘Al, you’re not going to have a heart attack.’

‘It’s my fortieth birthday next week.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Justin hits him playfully on the knee. ‘That’s the spirit, we’ll have a big party.’

‘That’s what age Dad was when he died.’ He lowers his eyes and peels the label from his beer.

‘That’s what this is about?’ Justin’s voice softens. ‘Damnit, Al, that’s what this is all about? Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

‘I just thought that I’d spend some time with you before, you know, just in case …’ His eyes tear up and he looks away.

Tell him the truth .

‘Al, listen, there’s something you should know.’ His voice trembles and he clears his throat, trying to control it. You’ve never told anyone . ‘Dad was under a huge amount of pressure at work. He had a lot of difficulties, financial and otherwise, that he didn’t tell anyone. Not even Mom.’

‘I know, Justin. I know.’

‘You know?’

‘Yeah, I get it. He didn’t just drop dead for no reason. He was stressed out of his mind. And I’m not, I know that. But ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this feeling hanging over me that it’s gonna happen to me too. It’s been playing on my mind for as long as I can remember and now that my birthday’s next week and I’m not in the greatest of shape … Things have been real busy at the business and I haven’t been looking after myself. Never could do it like you could, you know?’