Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

When I limp into the kitchen, chaos greets me. There are pots and pans everywhere, tea towels, egg shells and what looks like the contents of the cupboards covering the counters. Dad is wearing an apron with an image of a woman in red lingerie and suspenders, over his usual sweater, shirt and trousers. On his feet are Manchester United slippers, shaped as large footballs.

‘Morning, love.’ He sees me and steps up onto his left leg to give me a kiss on the forehead.

I realise it’s the first time in years somebody has made my breakfast for me, but it’s also the first time for many years that Dad has had somebody to cook breakfast for. Suddenly the singing, the mess, the clattering pots and pans all make sense. He’s excited.

‘I’m making waffles!’ he says with an American accent.

‘Ooh, very nice.’

‘That’s what the donkey says, isn’t it?’

‘What donkey?’

‘The one …’ he stops stirring whatever is in the frying pan and closes his eyes to think, ‘the story with the green man.’

‘The Incredible Hulk?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I don’t know any other green people.’

‘You do, you know the one …’

‘The Wicked Witch of the West?’

‘No! There’s no donkey in that! Think about stories with donkeys in them.’

‘Is it a biblical tale?’

‘Were there talking donkeys in the Bible, Gracie? Did Jesus eat waffles, do you think? Christ, we have it all wrong: it was waffles he was breaking at supper to share with the lads, and not bread after all!’

‘My name is Joyce.’

‘I don’t remember Jesus eating waffles but, sure, won’t I ask the crowd at the Monday Club? Maybe I’ve been reading the wrong Bible all my life.’ He laughs at his own joke.

I look over his shoulder. ‘Dad, you’re not even making waffles!’

He sighs with exasperation. ‘Am I a donkey? Do I look like a donkey to you? Donkeys make waffles, I make a good fry-up.’

I watch him poking the sausages around, trying to get all sides evenly cooked. ‘I’ll have sausages too.’

‘But you’re one of those vegetarianists.’

‘Vegetarian. And I’m not any more.’

‘Sure of course you’re not. You’ve only been one since you were fifteen years old after seeing that show about the seals. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and you’ll be tellin’ me you’re a man. Saw it on the telly once. This woman, about the same age as you, brought her husband live on the telly in front of an audience to tell him that she decided that she wanted to turn her—’

Feeling frustrated with him, I blurt out, ‘Mum’s photo isn’t on the hall table.’

Dad freezes, a reaction of guilt, and this makes me somewhat angry, as though before I had convinced myself that the mysterious midnight photograph-mover had broken in and done the dirty deed himself. I’d almost prefer that.

‘Why?’ is all I say.

He keeps himself busy, clattering with plates and cutlery now. ‘Why what? Why are you walking like that is what I want to know?’ Dad eyes my walk curiously.

‘I don’t know,’ I snap, and limp across the room to take a seat at the table. ‘Maybe it runs in the family.’

‘Hoo hoo hoo,’ Dad hoots and looks up at the ceiling, ‘we’ve got a live one here, boss! Set the table like a good girl.’

He brings me right back and I can’t help but smile. And so I set the table and Dad makes the breakfast and we both limp around the kitchen pretending everything is as it was and forever shall be. World without end.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘So, Dad, what are your plans for the day? Are you busy?’

A forkful of sausage, egg, bacon, pudding, mushroom and tomato stops on its way into my dad’s open mouth. Amused eyes peer out at me from under his wildly wiry eyebrows.

‘Plans, you say? Well, let’s see, Gracie, while I go through the ol’ schedule of events for the day. I was thinking of after I finish my fry in approximately fifteen minutes, I’d have another cuppa tea. Then while I’m drinking me tea I might sit down in this chair at this table, or maybe that chair where you are, the exact venue is TBD, as my schedule would say. Then I’ll go through yesterday’s answers of the crossword to see what we got correct and what was incorrect and then I’ll find out the answer to the ones I couldn’t figure out yesterday. Then I’ll do the Dusoku, then the word game. I see we’ve to try and find nautical words today. Seafaring, maritime, yachting , yes, I’ll be able to do that, sure I can see the word “boating” there on the first line already. Then I’m going to cut out my coupons and all that will fill my early morning right up, Gracie. Then I’d say I’ll have another cuppa after all of that and then my programmes start. If you’d like to make an appointment, talk to Maggie.’ He finally shovels the food into his mouth and egg drips down his chin. He doesn’t notice and leaves it there.

I laugh. ‘Who’s Maggie?’

He swallows and smiles, amused at himself. ‘I don’t know why I said it.’ He thinks hard and finally laughs. ‘There was a fella I used to know in Cavan, this is goin’ back sixty years now, Brendan Brady was his name. Whenever we’d be tryin’ to make arrangements he’d say,’ Dad deepens his voice, ‘“Talk to Maggie,” like he was someone awful important.’ She was either his wife or his secretary, I hadn’t a clue. “Talk to Maggie,”’ he repeats. ‘Maggie was probably his mother,’ he laughs, and continues eating.

‘So basically, according to your schedule, you’re doing exactly the same thing as yesterday.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not the same at all.’ He thumbs through his TV guide and stabs a greasy finger on today’s page. He looks at his watch and slides his finger down the page. He picks up his highlighter and marks another show. ‘Animal Hospital is on instead of the Antiques Roadshow . Not exactly the same day as yesterday at all, at all, how’s about that. It’ll be doggies and bunnies today instead of Betty’s fake teapots. We might see her trying to sell the family dog for a few shillings. You might get that bikini on you after all, Betty.’ He continues to draw a design around his shows on the TV page, his tongue licking the corners of his mouth in concentration as though he was decorating a manuscript.

‘The Book of Kells,’ I blurt out of nowhere, though that is nothing odd these days. My random ramblings are becoming something of the norm.

‘What are you talking about now?’ Dad stops his colouring and resumes eating.

‘Let’s go into town today. Do a tour of the city, go to Trinity College and look at the Book of Kells.’

Dad stares at me and munches. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. He’s probably thinking the same of me.

‘You want to go to Trinity College. The girl who never wanted to set foot near the place for either studies or excursions with me and your mother, suddenly out of the blue wants to go. Sure, aren’t “suddenly” and “out of the blue” one and the same? They shouldn’t go together in a sentence, Henry,’ he corrects himself.

‘Yes, I want to go.’ I suddenly, out of the blue, very much want to go to Trinity College.

‘If you don’t want to watch the Animal Hospital show just say so. You don’t have to go darting into the city. There’s such a thing as changing channels.’

‘You’re right, Dad, and I’ve been doing some of that recently.’

‘Is that so? I hadn’t noticed, what with your marriage breaking up, your not being a vegetarianist any more, your not mentioning a word about your job and your moving in with me, and all. There’s been so much action around here, how’s a man to tell if a channel’s been changed or if a new show has just begun?’