Cecelia Ahern: The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘You know him – a pretentious walk. The little suede tassels kick with every step, like a mini can-can, it’s like he throws them up there purposely. They’ve got soft soles but they’re heavy on the ground. Small wide feet, and he walks on the outsides of his feet. Soles are always worn away on the outside.’

Lou’s brow furrowed in concentration.

‘On Saturdays he wears shoes like he’s just stepped off a yacht.’

‘Alfred!’ Lou laughed, recognising the description. ‘That’s because he probably has just stepped off his ya—’ but he stopped himself. ‘He’s in already?’

‘About a half-hour ago. Plodded in, in a kind of a rush by the looks of it, accompanied by another pair of black slip-ons.’

‘Black slip-ons?’

‘Black shoes. Male shoes. A little shine but no design. Simple and to the point, they just did what shoes do. Can’t say much else about them apart from the fact they move slower than the other shoes.’

‘You’re very observant.’ Lou examined him, wondering who this man had been in his previous life, before landing on cold ground in a doorway, and at the same time his mind was on overdrive in its attempt to figure out who all these people were. Alfred showing up to work so early had him flummoxed. A colleague of theirs – Cliff – had suffered a nervous breakdown and this had left them excited, yes, excited, about the opening up of a new position. Providing Cliff didn’t get better, which Lou secretly hoped for, major shifts were about to take place in the company, and any unusual behaviour by Alfred was questionable. In fact, any of Alfred’s behaviour at any stage was questionable.

Gabe winked. ‘Don’t happen to need an observant person in there for anything, do you?’

Lou parted his gloved hands. ‘Sorry.’

‘No problem, you know where I am if you need me. I’m the fella in the Doc Martens.’ He laughed, lifting the blankets to reveal his high black boots.

‘I wonder why they’re in so early.’ Lou looked at Gabe as though he had special powers.

‘Can’t help you out there, I’m afraid, but they had lunch last week. Or at least, they left the building at what’s considered the average joe’s lunchtime, and came back together when that time was over. What they did in between is just a matter of clever guesswork,’ he chuckled. ‘No flies on me. Not today anyway,’ he added. ‘Far too cold for flies.’

‘What day was that lunch?’

Gabe closed his eyes again. ‘Friday, I’d say. He’s your rival, is he, brown loafers?’

‘No, he’s my friend. Kind of. More of an acquaintance really.’ On hearing this news Lou, for the first time, showed signs of being rattled. ‘He’s my colleague, but with Cliff having a breakdown it’s a great opportunity for either of us to, well, you know …’

‘Steal your sick friend’s job,’ Gabe finished for him with a smile. ‘Sweet. The slow-moving shoes? The black ones?’ Gabe continued. ‘They left the office the other night with a pair of Louboutins.’

‘Lou— Loub— what are they?’

‘Identifiable by their lacquered red sole. These particular ones had one-hundred-and-twenty-millimetre heels.’

‘Millimetres?’ Lou questioned, then, ‘Red sole, okay,’ he nodded, absorbing it all.

‘You could always just ask your friend-slash-acquaintance-slash-colleague who he was meeting,’ Gabe suggested with a glint in his eye.

Lou didn’t respond directly to that. ‘Right, I’d better run. Things to see, people to do, and both at the same time, would you believe,’ he winked. ‘Thanks for your help, Gabe.’ He slipped a ten-euro note into Gabe’s cup.

‘Cheers, man,’ Gabe beamed, immediately grabbing it from the cup and tucking it into his pocket. He tapped his finger. ‘Can’t let them know, remember?’

‘Right,’ Lou agreed.

But, at the exact same time, didn’t agree at all.

5. The Thirteenth Floor

‘Going up?’

There was a universal grunt and nodding of heads from inside the crammed elevator as the enquiring gentleman on the second floor looked at sleepy faces with hope. All but Lou responded, that was, for Lou was too preoccupied with studying the gentleman’s shoes, which stepped over the narrow gap that led to the cold black drop below, and into the confined space. Brown brogues shuffled around one hundred and eighty degrees, in order to face the front. Lou was looking for red soles and black shoes. Alfred had arrived early and had lunch with black shoes. Black shoes left the office with red soles. If he could find out who owned the red soles, then he’d know who she worked with, and then he’d know who Alfred was secretly meeting. This process made more sense to Lou than simply asking Alfred, which said a lot about the nature of Alfred’s honesty. This, he thought about at the exact same time as sharing the uncomfortable silence that only an elevator of strangers could bring.

‘What floor do you want?’ a muffled voice came from the corner of the elevator, where a man was well-hidden – possibly squashed – and, as the only person with access to the buttons, was forced to deal with the responsibility of commandeering the elevator stops.

‘Thirteen, please,’ the new arrival said.

There were a few sighs and one person tutted.

‘There is no thirteenth floor,’ the body-less man replied.

The elevator doors closed and it ascended quickly.

‘You’d better be quick,’ the body-less man urged.

‘Em …’ The man fumbled in his briefcase for his schedule.

‘You either want the twelfth floor or the fourteenth floor,’ the muffled voice offered. ‘There’s no thirteen.’

‘Surely he needs to get off on the fourteenth floor,’ somebody else offered. ‘The fourteenth floor is technically the thirteenth floor.’

‘Do you want me to press fourteen?’ the voice asked a little more tetchily.

‘Em …’ The man continued to fumble with papers.

Lou couldn’t concentrate on the unusual conversation in the usually quiet elevator, as he was preoccupied with studying the shoes around him. Lots of black shoes. Some with detail, some scuffed, some polished, some slip-ons, some untied. No obvious red soles. He noticed the feet around him beginning to twitch and shift from foot to foot. One pair moved away from him ever so slightly. His head shot up immediately as the elevator pinged.

‘Going up?’ the young woman asked.

There was a more helpful chorus of male yeses this time.

She stepped in front of Lou and he checked out her shoes while the men around him checked out other areas of her body in that heavy silence that only women feel in an elevator of men. The elevator moved up again. Six … seven … eight …

Finally, the man with the brown brogues emerged from his briefcase empty-handed, and with an air of defeat announced, ‘Patterson Developments.’

Lou pondered the confusion with irritation. It had been his suggestion that there be no number thirteen on the elevator panel, but of course there was a thirteenth floor. There wasn’t a gap with nothing before getting to the fourteenth floor; the fourteenth didn’t hover on some invisible bricks. The fourteenth was the thirteenth, and his offices were on the thirteenth. But it was known as the fourteenth. Why it confused everybody, he had no idea: it was as clear as day to him. He exited on the fourteenth and stepped out, his feet sinking into the spongy plush carpet.

‘Good morning, Mr Suffern.’ His secretary greeted him without looking up from her papers.

He stopped at her desk and looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Alison, call me Lou, like you always do, please.’

‘Of course, Mr Suffern,’ she said perkily, refusing to look him in the eye.