Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘It was just a guy I know,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘He’s out drunk, I wish he’d stop calling. He’s a loser,’ he added quietly. He snapped the phone shut and tossed it aside into a pile of teddybears. ‘How are you?’ He pulled away and examined her face closely. Her head was boiling hot, but she shivered in his arms.

‘I’m fine.’ She gave him a wobbly smile.

‘No, you’re not fine, go back to bed and I’ll get you a face-cloth.’ He kissed her affectionately on the forehead. Her eyes closed and her body relaxed in his arms.

He almost broke their embrace to punch the air and holler with celebration, because for the first time in a long time he felt her give up the fight with him. For the past six months, when he held her she had been rigid and taut, as though she felt by doing that she was showing him she wasn’t accepting his ways, she was protesting and refusing to validate his behaviour. He revelled in the moment of feeling her relax against him; a silent but huge victory for their marriage.

Among the pile of teddies his phone vibrated again, bouncing around in Paddington Bear’s arms. His face flashed up again on screen and he had to look away, not able to stand the sight of himself. He could understand how Ruth felt now.

‘There’s your friend again,’ Ruth said, pulling away slightly, allowing him to reach for his phone.

‘No, leave him.’ He ignored it, bringing her closer to him again. ‘Ruth,’ he said gently, lifting her chin so she could look at him. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ruth looked up at him in shock, and then examined him curiously for the catch. There had to be a catch. Lou Suffern had said he was sorry. Sorry was not a word in his vocabulary.

From the corner of Lou’s eye, the phone vibrated, hopping around and falling out of Paddington Bear’s paws and onto Winnie the Pooh’s head, being passed around teddy to teddy like a hot potato. Each time the phone stopped, it quickly started again, his face lighting up on screen, smiling at him, laughing at him, telling him he was weak for uttering those words. He fought that side of him, that drunken, foolish, childish, irrational side of him, and refused to answer the phone, refused to let go of his wife. He swallowed hard.

‘I love you, you know.’

It was as though it was the first time she’d ever heard it. It was as though they were back to the very first Christmas they’d spent together, sitting by the Christmas tree in her parents’ house in Galway, the cat curled in a ball on its favourite cushion by the fire, the crazy dog a few years too many in this world outside in the back garden, barking at everything that moved and didn’t move. Lou had told her then, by the fake white Christmas tree that had been fought over by Ruth’s parents only hours before – Mr O’Donnell wanting a real pine tree, Mrs O’Donnell not wanting to have to continuously vacuum the pine needles. The gaudy tree was slowly lit up by tiny green, red and blue bulbs, and then the lights would slowly fade again. This happened over and over, and, despite its ugliness, it was relaxing, like a chest heaving slowly up and down. It was the first moment they’d had together all day, the only moments they’d have before he’d have to sleep on the couch and Ruth would disappear to her room. He wasn’t planning on saying it, in fact he was planning on never saying it, but it had popped out, as naturally as a newborn. He’d struggled with it for a while, twisting the words around in his mouth, pushing, then withdrawing, not brave enough to say them. But then the words were out and his world had immediately changed. Twenty years later in their daughter’s bedroom, it felt like the same moment all over again, with that same look of pleasure, and surprise, on Ruth’s face.

‘Oh Lou,’ she said softly, closing her eyes and savouring the moment. Then suddenly her eyes flicked open, a flash of alarm in them that scared Lou to death about what she would say. What did she know? His past behaviour came gushing at him as he panicked, like a school of ghostly piranhas, coming back to haunt him and nipping him in the backside. He thought of the other part of him, out and drunk, possibly destroying this new relationship with his wife, destroying the repairs it had taken them both so much to achieve. He had a vision of the two Lous: one building a brick wall, the other moving behind him with a hammer and knocking down everything as soon as it was built. In reality that’s what Lou had been doing all along. Building his family up with one hand, while in the other his behaviour was shattering everything he’d strived so hard to create.

Ruth quickly let go of him, rushed away from him and into the bathroom, where he heard the toilet seat go up and the contents of her insides empty into the bowl. Hating anyone being with her during moments like this, Ruth, a multi-tasker as always, mid-vomit, managed to lift her leg to kick the bathroom door closed.

Lou sighed and collapsed to the floor in the pile of teddies. He picked up the phone that had begun to vibrate for the fifth time.

‘What now?’ he said in a dull voice, expecting to hear his own drunken voice on the other end. But he didn’t.

20. The Turkey Boy 4

‘Bullshit,’ the Turkey Boy said as Raphie paused for breath.

Raphie didn’t say anything, instead he chose to wait for something more constructive to come out of the Turkey Boy’s mouth.

‘Total bullshit,’ he said again.

‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Raphie said, standing up from the table and gathering the mug, Styrofoam cup and sweet-wrappers of the chocolates that he’d managed to munch through while he told his story. ‘I’ll leave you alone in peace now to wait for your mother.’

‘No, wait!’ Turkey Boy spoke up.

Raphie continued walking to the door.

‘You can’t just end the story there,’ he said incredulously. ‘You can’t leave me hanging.’

‘Ah, well, that’s what you get for being unappreciative,’ Raphie shrugged, ‘and for throwing turkeys through windows.’ He left the interrogation room.

Jessica was in the station’s tiny kitchen, having another coffee. Her eyes were red raw and the bags under them had blackened.

‘Coffee break already?’ He pretended not to notice her withering appearance.

‘You’ve been in there for ages.’ She blew and sipped, not moving the mug from her lips as she spoke, eyes on the notice-board in front of her.

‘Your face okay?’

She gave a single nod, the closest she’d ever get to commenting on the cuts and scrapes across her face. She changed the subject. ‘How far did you get in the story?’

‘Lou Suffern’s first doubling up.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I do believe “Bullshit” was the expression he used, which was then closely followed by “Total bullshit”.’

Jessica smiled lightly, blowing on her coffee and sipping again. ‘You got further than I thought. You should show him the tapes of that night.’

‘We got video surveillance of the pub he was in already?’ Raphie asked, flicking the switch on the kettle again. ‘Who the hell was working there on Christmas Day? Santa?’

‘No, we haven’t got that yet. But the recorded audio-visual conference call shows a guy who looks exactly like Lou walking out of his office. Certain people at Patterson Developments don’t seem to know how to take a day off.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Christmas Day, honestly.’

‘It could be the Gabe guy in the conference call. They look alike.’

‘Could be.’

‘Where is he anyway? He was supposed to be here an hour ago.’

Jessica shrugged.

‘Well, he’d better get his ass in here soon, and bring his driver’s licence like I told him to,’ Raphie fumed, ‘or I’ll …’