Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘This is far more fun.’

‘Lou,’ she laughed, ‘while I appreciate the fact that you are not constantly moving for the first time in ten years, you really have to go. I know you say you’ll be there tonight, but –’

‘I will be there tonight,’ he replied, insulted.

‘Okay, but please don’t be too late,’ she continued, racing around the room. ‘Most people going to your dad’s party are over the age of seventy, they might have fallen asleep or have gone home by the time you consider your night to be just beginning.’ She darted back into the wardrobe.

‘I’ll be there,’ he replied, more to himself.

He heard her rooting around in the drawers, pushing closed presses. She bumped into something, swore, dropped something else, and when she reappeared in the bedroom she was dressed in a black cocktail dress.

Usually he would automatically tell her she was beautiful, hardly even looking at her while saying it. He felt it was his duty, that it was what she wanted to hear, that it would get them out of the house faster, that it would make her stop fidgeting all the way on the car journey, but tonight he found himself unable to speak. She was beautiful. It was as though all his life he had been told the sky was blue and for the first time he had actually looked up and seen it for himself. Why didn’t he look at it every day? He lay on his stomach and leaned his head on his hand. Lucy imitated him. They both watched the wonder that was Ruth. Ten years of this display and he’d been pacing downstairs all this time while barking up at her.

‘And remember,’ she zipped up her dress at the back, while shuffling by them again, ‘you got your father a cruise for his birthday.’

‘I thought we were getting him golf membership.’

‘Lou, he hates golf.’

‘He does?’

‘Granddad hates golf,’ Lucy said.

‘He’s always wanted to go to St Lucia – remember the story about Douglas and Ann and how they won the trip on the back of a cereal pack, blah, blah, blah?’

‘No,’ Lou frowned.

‘The cereal box competition.’ She stopped in her flight back to the wardrobe to stare at him with surprise.

‘Yeah, what about it?’

‘He tells this story all the time, Lou. About how Douglas entered the competition on the back of the cereal box and they won a trip to St Lucia … Anything?’ She looked at him for a glimmer of recognition.

Lou shook his head.

‘Wow, how could you not know that?’ She continued on her mission to get to the wardrobe. ‘It’s his favourite story. He’ll be emotional.’

‘Dad won’t be emotional,’ he smiled. ‘He doesn’t get emotional.’

Ruth disappeared inside and reappeared with one shoe on her foot and the other under her arm. Up, down, down and up, she made her way across the room to her dressing table.

Lucy giggled.

Ruth put her jewellery on, her earrings, her bracelet, and only then did she remove the shoe from under her arm to put it on.

Lou smiled again and watched her totter into the bathroom.

‘Oh,’ she raised her voice once inside. ‘When you see Mary Walsh, don’t mention Patrick.’ She stuck her head outside the bathroom. Half of her hair was covered in rollers, the other half loose and curled. Her face was sad. ‘He left her.’

‘Okay,’ he nodded, trying to remain as solemn as possible.

When she’d ducked her head back in again, Lou turned to Lucy. ‘Patrick left Mary Walsh,’ he said. ‘Did you know that?’

Lucy shook her head wildly.

‘Did you tell him to do that?’

She shook her head, laughing.

‘Who knew that would happen?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Maybe Mary did.’

Lou laughed. ‘Maybe.’

‘Oh, and please don’t ask Laura if she’s lost weight. You always do that and she hates it.’

‘Isn’t that a nice thing to say?’ He frowned.

Ruth laughed. ‘Honey, she’s been putting on weight consistently for the past ten years. When you say it to her, it’s like you’re teasing.’

‘Laura’s a fatty,’ he whispered to Lucy, and she fell about on the bed laughing.

He took a deep breath as he noticed the time, and, strangely, dread filled his stomach. ‘Okay, I really have to go. See you tomorrow,’ he said to Lucy, kissing her on the head.

‘I like you much better now, Daddy,’ she said happily.

Lou froze, half on the bed, half off.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I like you much better now,’ she smiled, revealing a missing bottom tooth. ‘Me, Mummy and Pud are going ice-skating tomorrow, will you come?’

Still taken aback by her comment and how it had affected him, he simply said, ‘Yes. Sure.’

Ruth came back into the room again, bringing a wave of her perfume with her, her hair in loose waves down past her shoulders, her make-up flawless. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

‘Mummy, Mummy!’ Lucy jumped up onto the bed and started bouncing up and down. ‘Daddy’s coming ice-skating tomorrow.’

‘Lucy, get down, you’re not allowed to jump on the bed. Get down, sweetheart, thank you. Remember I told you that Daddy is a very busy man, he doesn’t have time to be –’

‘I’m coming,’ Lou interrupted firmly.

Ruth’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh.’

‘Is that okay?’

‘Yes, sure, I just … Yes. Absolutely. Great.’ She nodded, then headed in the other direction, clearly taken aback. The bathroom door closed softly behind her.

He gave her five minutes alone but then couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

‘Ruth,’ Lou rapped gently on the bathroom door, ‘you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She cleared her throat and sounded more perky than she intended. ‘I’m just … blowing my nose.’ There was a loud sound of her nose being blown.

‘Okay, I’ll see you later,’ he said, wanting to go inside and hug her goodbye, but knowing that the door would open if she wanted him to.

‘Okay,’ she said, a little less perky again. ‘See you at the party.’

The door remained closed, and so he left.

The offices of Patterson Developments were swarming with Lou Suffern’s colleagues in various states of disarray. It was only seven thirty p.m. and already some were set for the night. Unlike Lou, who’d gone home after work, most people had gone straight to the pub and returned to the party to continue. There were women he barely recognised in dresses revealing bodies he had never known existed beneath their suits; and there were some whose bodies were made only for their suits. The uniformity of the day had been broken down: there was an air of adolescence, of the desire to show off and prove to one another who they really were. It was a day for rule-breaking, for saying what they felt; it was a dangerous environment to be in. Mistletoe hung from almost every doorway – in fact, Lou had already received two kisses as soon as he’d stepped out of the elevator, from opportunists hanging out there.

Suit jackets were off; novelty musical ties, Santa hats and reindeer antlers were on. Christmas-tree decorations hung from women’s – and some men’s – ears. They all worked hard and they were all going to play hard.

‘Where’s Mr Patterson?’ Lou asked Alison, finding her sitting on the lap of the fifth Santa Claus he’d seen. Her eyes were glassy, the focus already gone. She was wearing a tight red dress that showed every single shape and curve of her body. He forced himself to look away.

‘And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?’ the voice beneath the costume bellowed.

‘Oh, hi James,’ Lou said politely.

‘He wants a promotion,’ somebody in the crowd yelled, which was followed by a few titters.

‘Not just a promotion, he wants Cliff’s job,’ somebody with reindeer antlers shouted, and the crowd laughed again.