Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

He stared at that keypad. Stared at it hard. Then he followed the thin white wire that was connected to the mouse. He thought about Cliff, about finding him underneath this very desk, clutching this very keyboard, swinging that very mouse at him with wide, terrified, haunted eyes.

In honour of Cliff – something that Lou realised he hadn’t managed to do in the entire time that the man had been out of work – he kicked off his shoes, unhooked the keyboard from the computer monitor, and he pushed back the leather chair. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled underneath the desk, clutching the keyboard close to him. He looked at the windows that were floor to ceiling and watched the city racing by. He sat there for another hour, just pondering.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Gone was the usual hustle and bustle of the office block. No phones ringing, no photocopiers going, no hum of the computers, no voices, no footsteps passing by. Before looking at the clock, he hadn’t heard the seconds at all, but now the ticking seemed to get louder and louder as soon as he’d registered it. Lou looked at the keypad, and then he looked at the mouse. He had a jolt, felt it smack him in the head for the second time that year, but for the first time, Cliff’s message finally reached him. Whatever Cliff had been so afraid of coming to get him, Lou sure as hell didn’t want it chasing him either.

He clambered out from under the desk, shoved his feet into his polished black leather shoes and walked out of the office.

27. Christmas Eve

Grafton Street, the busy pedestrian street in Dublin city, was awash with people doing their last-minute shopping. Hands were fighting to grab the last remaining items on shelves, budgets and all thought had gone out of the window as rash decisions were made according to availability and time, and not necessarily with the recipient in mind. Presents first; for who, later.

For once not keeping up the pace of the panicked around him, Lou and Ruth held hands and slowly wandered the streets of Dublin, allowing others to rush and push by them. Lou had all the time in the world. Ruth had been more than taken aback when he’d arranged to meet her after his earlier brusque no, but, as usual, hadn’t asked any questions. She’d welcomed his new change with a silent delight but with equal amounts of cynicism that she’d refuse to ever speak aloud. Lou Suffern had much to prove to her.

They walked down Henry Street, which was filled with market stalls as hawkers cleared the last of their stock: toys and wrapping paper, leftover tinsel and baubles, remote-control cars that ran up and down the street, everything on show for the last few hours of manic Christmas shopping. On the ever-changing Moore Street, alongside traditional market stalls, displays included a lively ethnic mix of Asian and African stores. Lou bought Brussels sprouts from the sharp-tongued stall-sellers whose stream-of-consciousness outpourings were enough entertainment for anyone. They attended early Christmas Eve Mass and ate lunch together in the Westin Hotel in College Green, the historic nineteenth-century building, formerly a bank, that had been transformed to a five-star hotel. They ate in the Banking Hall, where Pud spent the entire time lopsided with his head tilted to the ceiling, watching in awe the intricately hand-carved ornate ceiling and the four chandeliers that glistened with the eight thousand pieces of Egyptian crystal, shouting over and over again just to hear the echo of his voice in the high ceiling.

Lou Suffern saw the world differently that day. Instead of viewing it from thirteen floors up, behind tinted, reinforced glass in an oversized leather chair, he had chosen to join in. Gabe had been right about the mouse; he’d been right about Cliff teaching him something – in fact it had happened six months ago as soon as the plastic mouse had hit him across the face, causing Lou’s fears and his conscience to resurface after long being buried. In fact, when Lou thought about it, Gabe had been right about a lot of things. The voice that had grated so much on his ear had in fact been speaking the words he hadn’t wanted to hear. He owed Gabe a lot. As the evening was closing in, and the children had to return home before Santa took to the skies, Lou kissed Ruth and the kids goodbye, saw them safely into her car and then headed back to the office. He had one more thing to do.

In the office lobby, while waiting at the elevators, the doors opened, and as Lou was about to step in Mr Patterson stepped out.

‘Lou,’ he said in surprise, ‘I can’t believe you’re working today, you really are a piece of work.’ He eyed the box in Lou’s hand.

‘Oh no, I’m not working. Not on a holiday,’ Lou smiled, trying to make a point, subtly attempting to set the ground rules for his new position. ‘I just have to, em,’ he didn’t want to get Gabe into trouble by revealing his whereabouts, ‘I just left something behind in the office.’

‘Good, good. Well, Lou,’ Mr Patterson rubbed his eyes tiredly, ‘I’m afraid I have to tell you something. I deliberated over whether to or not, but I think it’s best that I do. I didn’t come in this evening to work either,’ he admitted, ‘Alfred called me in. Said it was urgent. After what happened to Cliff we’re all on tenterhooks, I’m afraid, and so I made my way in quickly.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Lou said, the panic building inside him. The elevator doors closed again. Escape route gone.

‘He wanted to have a few words about … well, about you.’

‘Yes,’ Lou said slowly.

‘He brought me these.’ Mr Patterson reached into his pocket and retrieved the container of pills that Gabe had given Lou. There was only one pill inside. Alfred, the rat, had obviously scuttered to the skip to collect the evidence to destroy him.

Lou looked at the container in shock and tried to decide whether to deny them or not. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he thought quickly for a story. They were his father’s. No. His mother’s. For her hip. No. He had back pain. He realised Mr Patterson was talking and so tuned in.

‘He said something about finding them under the skip. I don’t know,’ Mr Patterson frowned, ‘but that he knew them to be yours …’ He studied Lou again, searching for recognition.

Lou’s heart beat loudly in his ears.

‘I know that you and Alfred are friends,’ Mr Patterson said, a little confused, his face showing his sixty-five years. ‘But his concern for you seemed a little misguided. It seemed to me that the purpose of this was to get you into trouble.’

‘Em,’ Lou swallowed, eyeing up the brown container, ‘that’s not, em, they’re not, em …’ he stuttered while trying to formulate a sentence.

‘I’m not one to pry into people’s personal lives, Lou – what my colleagues do in their own time is their own business, so long as it’s not going to affect the company in any way. So I didn’t take too kindly to Alfred giving me these,’ he frowned. When Lou didn’t answer but continued to sweat profusely, Mr Patterson added, ‘But maybe that’s what you wanted him to do?’ he asked, trying to make sense of it all.

‘What?’ Lou wiped his brow. ‘Why would I want Alfred to bring these to you?’

Mr Patterson stared at him, his lips twitching slightly. ‘I don’t know, Lou, you’re a clever man.’

‘What?’ Lou responded, totally confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assumed,’ his twitching lips eventually grew to a smile, ‘that you deliberately tried to mislead Alfred with these pills. That you somehow made him believe they were more than they were. Am I right?’

Lou’s mouth fell open and he looked at his boss in surprise.