Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘I need to do something new,’ I explain. ‘I have time for Frankie and Kate but everybody else … I’m just not ready right now. We need a change of schedule, Dad. I’ve got the big remote control of life in my hands and I’m ready to start pushing some buttons.’

He stares at me for a moment and puts a sausage in his mouth in response.

‘We’ll get a taxi into town and catch one of those tour buses, what do you think? MAGGIE!’ I shout out at the top of my voice and it makes Dad jump. ‘MAGGIE, DAD IS COMING INTO TOWN WITH ME TO HAVE A LOOK AROUND. IS THAT OK?’

I cock my ear and wait for a response. Happy I’ve received one, I nod and stand up. ‘Right, Dad, it’s been decided. Maggie says it’s fine if you go into town. I’ll have a shower and we’ll leave in an hour. Ha! That rhymes.’ I limp out of the kitchen, leaving my bewildered father behind with egg on his chin.

‘I doubt Maggie said yes to me walkin’ at this speed, Gracie,’ Dad says, trying to keep up with me as we dodge pedestrians on Grafton Street.

‘Sorry, Dad.’ I slow down and link his arm. Despite his corrective footwear he still sways and I sway with him. Even if he was operated on to equal the length of his legs, I’d imagine he’d still sway, it’s so much a part of who he is.

‘Dad, are you ever going to call me Joyce?’

‘What are you talkin’ about? Sure, isn’t that your name?’

I look at him with surprise. ‘Do you not notice you always call me Gracie?’

He seems taken aback but makes no comment and keeps walking. Up and down, down and up.

‘I’ll give you a fiver, every time you call me Joyce today,’ I smile.

‘That’s a deal, Joyce, Joyce, Joyce. Oh, how I love you, Joyce,’ he chuckles. ‘That’s twenty quid already!’ He nudges me and says seriously, ‘I didn’t notice I called you that, love. I’ll do my best.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You remind me so much of her, you know.’

‘Ah, Dad, really?’ I’m touched; I feel my eyes prick with tears. He never says that. ‘In what way?’

‘You both have little piggy noses.’

I roll my eyes.

‘I don’t know why we’re walking further away from Trinity College. Wasn’t it there that you wanted to go to?’

‘Yes, but the tour buses leave from Stephen’s Green. We’ll see it as we’re passing. I don’t really want to go in there now anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s lunchtime.’

‘And the Book of Kells goes off for an hour’s break, does it?’ Dad rolls his eyes. ‘A ham sambo and a flask of tea and then it props itself back up on display, right as rain for the afternoon. Is that what you think happens? Because, not going just because it’s lunchtime doesn’t make any sense to me.’

‘Well, it does to me.’ And I don’t know why it does but it just feels like the right direction to go in. Internal compass says so.

Justin darts through the front arch of Trinity College and bounds up the road to Grafton Street. Lunchtime with Sarah. He beats away the nagging voice within him telling him to cancel her. Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance . He needs to try, he needs to find his feet again, he needs to remember that not every meeting with a woman is going to be the same as the first time he laid eyes on Jennifer. The thump-thump, thump-thump feeling that made his entire body vibrate, the butterflies that did acrobatics in his stomach, the tingle when he brushed off her skin. He thought about how he’d felt on his date with Sarah. Nothing. Nothing but flattery that she was attracted to him and excitement that he was back out in the dating world again. Plenty of feelings about her and the situation but nothing for her. He had more of a reaction to the woman in the hair salon a few weeks ago and that was saying something. Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance .

Grafton Street is crowded at lunchtime, as though the gates to Dublin zoo have been opened and all the animals have flooded out, happy to escape confinement for an hour. He has finished work for the day, his seminar on his specialist subject, Copper as Canvas: 1575–1775, being a success with the third-year students who had elected to hear him speak.

Conscious that he’ll be late for Sarah, he attempts to break into a run, but the aches and pains in his over-exercised body almost cripple him. Hating that Al’s warnings were correct, instead he limps along, trailing behind what seem to be the two slowest people on Grafton Street. His plan to overtake them on either side is botched as people-traffic prevent him from leaving his lane. With impatience he slows, surrendering to the speed of the two before him, one of whom is singing happily to himself and swaying.

Drunk at this hour, honestly .

Dad takes his time, meandering up Grafton Street as though he has all the time in the world. I suppose he does, compared to everybody else, though a younger person would think differently. Sometimes he stops and points at things, joins circles of spectators to watch a street act and when we continue on, he steps out of line to really confuse the situation. Like a rock in a stream, he sends people flowing around him; he’s a small diversion yet he’s completely oblivious. He sings as we move up and down, down and up.

‘Grafton Street’s a wonderland,

There’s magic in the air,

There’s diamonds in the ladies’ eyes and gold-dust in their hair.

And if you don’t believe me,

Come and see me there,

In Dublin on a sunny summer morning.’

He looks at me and smiles and sings it all over again, forgetting some words and humming them instead.

During my busiest days at work, twenty-four hours just don’t seem enough. I almost want to hold my hands out in the air and try to grasp the seconds and minutes as if I could stop them from moving on, like a little girl trying to catch bubbles. You can’t hold on to time but somehow Dad appears to. I always wondered how on earth he filled his moments, as though my opening doors and talking about sunny angles, central heating and wardrobe space was worth so much more than his pottering. In truth, we’re all just pottering, filling the time that we have here, only we like to make ourselves feel bigger by compiling lists of importance.

So this is what you do when it all slows down and the minutes that tick by feel a little longer than before. You take your time. You breathe slowly. You open your eyes a little wider and look at everything. Take it all in. Rehash stories of old, remember people, times and occasions gone by. Allow everything you see to remind you of something. Talk about those things. Stop and take your time to notice things and make those things you notice matter. Find out the answers you didn’t know to yesterday’s crosswords. Slow down . Stop trying to do everything now, now, now. Hold up the people behind you for all you care, feel them kicking at your heels but maintain your pace. Don’t let anybody dictate your speed.

Though if the person behind me kicks my heels one more time …

The sun is so bright it’s difficult to look straight ahead. It’s as though it’s sitting on the top of Grafton Street, another bowling ball ready to knock us all down. Finally we near the top of the street and escape of the human current is in sight. Dad suddenly stops walking, enthralled by the sight of a mime artist nearby. As I’m linking his arm, I’m forced to a sudden stop too, causing the person behind to run straight into me. One grand final kick of my heels. That is it.

‘Hey!’ I spin around. ‘Watch it!’

He grunts at me in frustration and power-walks off. ‘Hey yourself,’ an American accent calls back.

I’m about to shout again but his voice silences me.