Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, come on, Marcia.’ Lou felt knocked for six. He had never been spoken to like that before and it had hit him, hurt him deeply. He swallowed hard. ‘I know that all those people shouldn’t have been stuck outside, but I fixed it. Where is all this coming from?’

Marcia laughed bitterly. ‘What you saw outside isn’t even the half of it,’ she sniffed. ‘Surprise,’ she said dully, as the elevators opened and as the sight of the room greeted him.

Looking out, Lou’s heart immediately sank, falling to his stomach where the acid began to burn it away. Around the room there were blackjack tables, roulette, scantily clad cocktail waitresses who paraded around with cocktails on trays. It was an impressive party, and one that Lou remembered being at when the building was opened, but he only realised now that it wasn’t for his seventy-year-old father. It wasn’t for his father, who hated celebrations for himself, who hated forcing friends and family to gather together just for him, whose idea of a good day out was alone fishing. A modest man, the very thought of a party embarrassed him, but the family had talked him into celebrating a birthday for the first time, a big occasion where his family and friends from all around the country would join in and celebrate with him. He hadn’t wanted it, but somewhere along the way he had warmed to it, and there he was, standing in the middle of a casino in his best suit, where the staff wore short skirts and red bow-ties, where the DJ played dance music and where a person needed €25 minimum to play on a casino table. In the centre of one table, a near-naked man was covered in cakes and fruit.

Standing together awkwardly at the side of the room were Lou’s family. His mother, with her hair freshly blow-dried, was wearing a new lilac trouser suit and a scarf tied neatly around her neck, her handbag draped over her shoulder, clasping it tight in both hands as she looked around uncertainly. His father stood with his remaining brother and sister – a nun and a priest – looking more lost in this environment than Lou had ever seen his father look. Each family member looked up at him and away again, freezing him out. The only person who smiled faintly at him was his father, who nodded and saluted him.

Lou looked around for Ruth. She stood on the far side of the room, making polite chat with the rest of the equally uncomfortable-looking partygoers. She caught his eye and her look was cold. There was an awkward tension in the room, and it was all Lou’s fault. He felt embarrassed, beyond ashamed. He wanted to make it up to them; he wanted to make it up to everybody.

‘Excuse me,’ Lou approached the man in the suit who was standing beside him looking over the crowd, ‘are you the person in charge?’

‘Yes, Jacob Morrison, manager.’ He held his hand out. ‘You’re Lou Suffern, we met at the opening night a few months ago. I recall it was a late one,’ he winked at him.

‘Yes, I remember,’ Lou replied, at the same time not remembering him at all. ‘I’m just wondering if you could help me with making some changes in here.’

‘Oh.’ Jacob looked taken aback. ‘I’m sure we’ll try to accommodate you in any way that we can. What were you thinking of?’

‘Chairs.’ Lou tried not to speak rudely. ‘This is my father’s seventieth, could we please get him and his guests some chairs?’

‘Oh,’ Jacob made a face, ‘I’m afraid this is a standing event only. We didn’t charge for –’

‘I’ll pay you for whatever, of course.’ Lou flashed his pearly whites. ‘As long as we can get those bums that aren’t already on wheelchairs on some seats.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jacob began to leave when Lou called him back.

‘And the music,’ Lou said, ‘is there anything more traditional than this?’

‘Traditional?’ Jacob smiled questioningly.

‘Yes, traditional Irish music. For my seventy-year-old father.’ Lou spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Instead of this acid jazz funky house music that my seventy-year-old father isn’t so much into.’

‘I’ll see what we can do.’

The atmosphere between them was darkening.

‘And what about food? Did Alison arrange food? Apart from the near-naked man covered in cream that my mother is currently standing beside.’

‘Yes, of course. We have shepherd’s pies, lasagne, that kind of thing.’

Lou quietly celebrated.

‘You know, we discussed all of our concerns with Alison before,’ Jacob explained.

‘You did?’

‘Yes, sir, we don’t usually hold seventieth parties.’ He smiled, then it quickly faded. ‘It’s just that we have a standard set-up here, particularly for the Christmas period, and this is it.’ He gestured to the room proudly. ‘The casino theme is very successful for corporate events, that kind of thing,’ he explained.

‘I see. Well, it would have been nice to know that,’ Lou said politely.

‘You did sign off on it,’ Jacob assured him. ‘We have the paperwork explaining all of the details of the night. We made sure Alison had you sign the forms.’

‘Right.’ Lou swallowed and looked around the room. His fault. Of course. ‘Of course, it just obviously slipped my mind. Thank you.’

* * *

As Lou approached his family, they stepped away and separated themselves from him as though he were a bad smell. His father, of course, didn’t move with them but greeted his middle child with a smile.

‘Dad, happy birthday,’ Lou said quietly, reaching his hand out to his father.

‘Thank you.’ His father smiled, taking his son’s hand. Despite all this, despite what Lou had done, his father still smiled.

‘Let me get you a Guinness,’ Lou said, turning around to look for the bar.

‘Oh, they don’t have any.’

‘What?’

‘Beer, champagne, and some funny-looking green cocktail,’ his father said, sipping on his glass. ‘I’m on the water. Your mother’s happy, though, she likes champagne, though far from it she was reared,’ he laughed, trying to make light of the situation.

On hearing herself being mentioned, Lou’s mother turned around and threw Lou a look that withered him.

‘Ah now,’ his father said softly, ‘I can’t drink tonight anyway. I’m sailing with Quentin tomorrow in Howth,’ he said proudly. ‘He’s racing in the Brass Monkeys and he’s down a man, so yours truly is filling in.’ He thumbed himself in the chest.

‘You are not racing, Fred.’ Lou’s mother rolled her eyes. ‘You can barely stand upright on a windy day, never mind on a boat. It’s December, those waters are choppy.’

‘I’m seventy years old, I can do what I like.’

‘You’re seventy years old, you have to stop doing what you like, or you won’t see seventy-one,’ she snapped, and the family laughed, including Lou.

‘You’ll have to find someone else, dear.’ She looked at Quentin, whose face was crestfallen.

‘I’ll do it for you,’ Alexandra said to her husband, wrapping her arms around him, and Lou found himself having to look away, jealousy stirring.

‘You’ve never raced before,’ Quentin smiled. ‘No way.’

‘What time is the race?’ Lou asked.

Nobody answered.

‘Of course I can do it,’ Alexandra smiled. ‘Isn’t it just like normal? I’ll bring my bikini and I’ll let the rest of the crew bring the strawberries and champagne.’

The family laughed again.

‘What time is the race?’ Lou asked again.

‘Well, if she races in her bikini, then I’ll definitely let her take part,’ Quentin teased.

They all laughed again.

As though suddenly hearing his brother’s question, though still not looking him in the eye, Quentin responded, ‘Race starts at eleven a.m. Maybe I’ll give Stephen a quick call.’ He took his mobile out of his pocket.