Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘Well, I’m fine. You’ll have to help me, though, with all this stuff,’ he whispers. ‘I told the doctor I understand but I don’t really,’ he says, a little worried. ‘He’s a real snooty type.’ He ruffles up his nose.

‘Of course I will.’ I wipe my eyes and try to compose myself.

‘So, how did it go?’ he asks, perking up. ‘Tell me all the good news.’

‘He, em,’ I purse my lips, ‘he didn’t show up.’ My tears start again.

Dad is quiet; sad then angry, then sad again. He hugs me again, tighter this time.

‘Ah, love,’ he says gently. ‘He’s a bloody fool.’

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Justin finishes explaining the story of his disastrous weekend to Bea, who is sitting on the couch, her mouth open in shock.

‘I can’t believe I missed all this. I’m so bummed!’

‘Well, you wouldn’t have missed it if you’d been talking to me,’ Justin teases.

‘Thank you for apologising to Peter. I appreciate it. He appreciates it.’

‘I was acting like an idiot; just didn’t want to admit my little girl was all grown up.’

‘You better believe it,’ she smiles. ‘God,’ she thinks back to his story, ‘I still can’t imagine somebody sending you all that stuff. Who could it be? The poor person must have waited and waited for you at the opera.’

Justin covers his face and winces. ‘Please stop, it’s killing me.’

‘But you chose Joyce, anyway.’

He nods and smiles sadly.

‘You must have really liked her.’

‘She must have really not liked me because she didn’t show up. No, Bea, I’m over it now. It’s time to move on. I hurt too many people in the process of trying to find out. If you can’t remember anyone else you told, then we’ll never know.’

Bea thinks hard. ‘I only told Peter, the costume supervisor and her father. But what makes you think it wasn’t either of them?’

‘I met the costume supervisor that night. She didn’t act like she knew me, and she’s English – why would she have gone to Ireland for a blood transfusion? I called her and asked her about her father. Don’t ask.’ He sees off her glare. ‘Anyway, turns out her father’s Polish.’

‘Hold on, where are you getting that from? She wasn’t English, she was Irish,’ Bea frowns. ‘They both were.’

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

‘Justin,’ Laurence enters the room with cups of coffee for him and Bea, ‘I was wondering when you have a minute, if we could have a word.’

‘Not now, Laurence,’ Justin says, moving to the edge of his seat. ‘Bea, where’s your ballet programme? Her photograph’s in it.’

‘Honestly, Justin.’ Jennifer arrives at the door with her arms folded. ‘Could you please just be respectful for one moment. Laurence has something he wants to say and you owe it to him to listen.’

Bea runs to her room, pushing through the battling adults, and returns waving the programme in her hand, ignoring them. As does Justin.

He grabs it from her and flicks through it quickly. ‘There!’ he stabs his finger on the page.

‘Guys,’ Jennifer steps in between them, ‘we really have to settle this now.’

‘Not now, Mum. Please!’ Bea yells. ‘This is important!’

‘And this is not?’

‘That’s not her.’ Bea shakes her head furiously. ‘That’s not the woman I spoke to.’

‘Well, what did she look like?’ Justin is up on his feet now. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

‘Let me think, let me think.’ Bea panics. ‘I know! Mum!’

‘What?’ Jennifer looks from Justin to Bea with confusion.

‘Where are the photographs we took of the first night I stood in for Charlotte in the ballet?’

‘Oh, em—’

‘Quick.’

‘They’re in the corner kitchen cupboard,’ Laurence says, frowning.

‘Yes, Laurence!’ Justin punches the air. ‘They’re in the corner kitchen cupboard! Go get them, quick!’

Alarmed, Laurence runs into the kitchen, while Jennifer watches him with an open mouth. There is much shuffling of papers while Justin paces the floor at top speed and Jennifer and Bea watch him.

‘Here they are.’ He offers them forward and Bea snaps them out of his hand.

Jennifer tries to interject but Bea and Justin’s speech and movements are on fast forward.

Bea shuffles through the photos at top speed. ‘You weren’t in the room at the time, Dad. You had disappeared somewhere but we all got a group photo and, here it is!’ She rushes to her dad. ‘That’s them. The woman and her father, at the end.’ She points.

Silence.

‘Dad?’

Silence.

‘Dad, are you OK?’

‘Justin?’ Jennifer moves in closer. ‘He’s gone very pale, get him a glass of water, Laurence, quick.’

Laurence rushes back to the kitchen.

‘Dad.’ Bea clicks her fingers in front of his eyes. ‘Dad, are you with us?’

‘It’s her,’ he whispers.

‘Her who?’ Jennifer asks.

‘The woman whose life he saved.’ Bea jumps up and down excitedly.

‘ You saved a woman’s life?’ Jennifer asks, shocked. ‘ You? ’

‘It’s Joyce,’ he whispers.

Bea gasps. ‘The woman who phoned me?’

He nods.

Bea gasps again. ‘The woman you stood up?’

Justin closes his eyes, and silently curses himself.

‘You saved a woman’s life and then stood her up ?’ Jennifer laughs.

‘Bea, where’s your phone?’

‘Why?’

‘She called you, remember? Her number was in your phone.’

‘Oh, Dad, that was ages ago. My phone log only holds ten recent numbers. That was weeks ago!’

‘Damnit!’

‘I gave it to Doris, remember? She wrote it down. You called the number from your flat!’

You threw it in the skip, you jerk! The skip! It’s still there!

‘Here.’ Laurence runs in with the glass of water, panting.

‘Laurence.’ Justin reaches out, takes him by the cheeks and kisses his forehead. ‘I give you my blessing. Jennifer,’ he does the same and kisses her directly on the lips, ‘good luck.’

He runs out of the apartment as Bea cheers him on, Jennifer wipes her lips with disgust and Laurence wipes the spilled water from his clothes.

As Justin sprints from the tube station to his house, rain pours from the clouds like a cloth being squeezed. He doesn’t care, he just looks up to the sky and laughs, loving how it feels on his face, unable to believe that Joyce was the woman all along. He should have known. It all makes sense now, her asking him if he was sure he wanted to make new dinner plans, her friend being at his talk, all of it!

He turns the corner into his drive and sees the skip now filled to the brim with items. He jumps in and begins sorting through it.

From the window, Doris and Al stop packing their suitcases and watch him with concern.

‘Damnit, I really thought he was getting back to normal,’ Al says. ‘Should we stay?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replies worriedly. ‘What on earth is he doing? It’s ten o’clock at night – surely the neighbours will call the cops.’

His grey T-shirt is soaked through, his hair slicked back, water drips from his nose, his trousers are stuck to his skin. They watch him whooping and hollering as he throws the contents of the skip onto the ground beside it.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process my life. Dad is still in hospital undergoing tests and will be home tomorrow. With nobody around, it has forced me to think about my life and I have worked my way through despair, guilt, sadness, anger, loneliness, depression, cynicism and have finally found my way to hope. Like an addict going cold turkey, I have paced the floors of these rooms with every emotion bursting from my skin. I have spoken aloud to myself, screamed, shouted, wept and mourned.