Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

I take another mental photograph of Dad sitting beside me, singing with his eyes closed, two horns propped on top of his head.

Justin watches with growing impatience as Sarah slowly picks at her salad. Her fork playfully pokes at a piece of chicken; the chicken hangs on, falls off, grabs on again and manages to hang on while she waves it around, using it as a sledgehammer to knock pieces of lettuce over to see what’s beneath. Finally she stabs a piece of tomato and as she lifts the fork to her mouth, the same piece of chicken falls off again. That was the third time she’d done that.

‘Are you sure you’re not hungry, Justin? You seem to be really studying this plate,’ she smiles, waving another forkful of food around, sending red onion and cheddar cheese tumbling back to the plate. It was like one step forward, two steps back every time.

‘Yeah, sure, I wouldn’t mind having some.’ He’d already ordered and finished a bowl of soup in the time it had taken her to have five mouthfuls.

‘You want me to feed it to you?’ she flirts, moving it in circular motions towards his mouth.

‘Well, I want more on it than that, for a start.’

She spears a few other pieces of food.

‘More,’ he says, keeping an eye on his watch. The more food he can squeeze in his mouth, the quicker this frustrating experience will be over. He knows that his woman, Veronica , is probably long gone by now, but sitting here, watching Sarah burn more calories playing with her food than ingesting them, isn’t going to confirm that for him.

‘OK, here comes the aeroplane,’ she sings.

‘More.’ At least half of it has fallen again during its ‘takeoff’.

‘More? How can you possibly fit more on the fork, never mind in your mouth?’

‘Here, I’ll show you.’ Justin takes the fork from her and begins stabbing at as much as he can. Chicken, corn, lettuce, beetroot, onion, tomato, cheese; he manages it all. ‘Now, if the lady pilot would like to bring her plane in to land …’

She giggles. ‘This is not going to fit in your mouth.’

‘I have a pretty big mouth.’

She shovels it in, laughing all the while, barely fitting it all into Justin’s mouth. When he’s finally swallowed it all, he looks at his watch and then again at her plate.

‘OK, now you do it.’ You’re such a shit, Justin .

‘No way,’ she laughs.

‘Come on.’ He gathers as much food as possible, including the same piece of chicken she’s deserted four times and ‘flies’ it into her open mouth.

She laughs while trying to fit it all in. Barely able to breathe, chew, swallow or smile, she still tries to look pretty. For almost a full minute she’s unable to speak in her attempts to chew as ladylike as possible. Juices, dressing and food dribble down her chin and when she finally swallows, her lipstick-smudged mouth smiles at him to reveal a great big piece of lettuce stuck between her teeth.

‘That was fun,’ she smiles.

Helen. Like Helen of Troy, so beautiful she could start a war .

‘Are you finished? Can I take the plate?’ the waitress asks.

Sarah begins to answer, ‘N—’ but Justin jumps in.

‘Yes, we are, thank you.’ He avoids Sarah’s stare.

‘Actually I’m not quite finished, thank you,’ Sarah says sternly. The plate is replaced.

Justin’s leg bounces beneath the table, his impatience growing. Salma. Sexy Salma . An awkward silence falls between them.

‘I’m sorry, Salma, I don’t mean to be rude—’

‘Sarah.’

‘What?’

‘My name is Sarah.’

‘I know that. It’s just that—’

‘You called me Salma.’

‘Oh. What? Who’s Salma? God. Sorry. I don’t even know a Salma, honestly.’

She speeds up her eating, obviously dying to get away from him now.

He says more softly, ‘It’s just that I have to get back to the college—’

‘Earlier than planned. You said.’ She smiles quickly and her face falls immediately as she looks back down at her plate. She pierces the food with purpose now. Playtime over. Time to eat. Food fills her mouth instead of words.

Justin cringes inside, knowing his behaviour is uncharacteristically rude. Now say it like you mean it, you jerk . He stares at her: beautiful face, great body, intelligent woman. Dressed smartly in a trouser suit, long legs, big lips. Long elegant fingers, neat French-manicured nails, a smart bag to match her shoes by her feet. Professional, confident, intelligent. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this woman at all. It is Justin’s own distraction that is the problem, the feeling that a part of him is somewhere else. A part of him, in fact, that feels so nearby, he is almost compelled to run out and catch it. Right now running seems like a good idea but the problem is he doesn’t know what he is trying to catch, or who. In a city of one million people, he can’t expect to walk outside this door and find the same woman standing on the pavement. And is it worth leaving the beautiful woman sitting with him in this restaurant, in order just to chase a good idea?

He stops bouncing his leg up and down and settles back into his chair, no longer at the edge of his seat or ready to dive for the door the second she puts down her knife and fork.

‘Sarah,’ he sighs, and means it this time when he says, ‘I’m very sorry.’

She stops forking food into her mouth and looks up at him, chews quickly, dabs at her lips with a napkin and swallows. Her face softens. ‘OK.’

She wipes away the crumbs around her plate, shrugging. ‘I’m not looking for a marriage here, Justin.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Lunch is all this is.’

‘I know that.’

‘Or shall we say just coffee, in case mentioning the former sends you running out the fire exit yelling “Fire”?’ She acknowledges his empty cup and flicks at imaginary crumbs now.

He reaches out to grab her hand and stop her fidgeting. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘OK,’ she repeats.

The air clears, the tension evaporates, her plate is cleared away.

‘I suppose we should get the check—’

‘Have you always wanted to be a doctor?’

‘Whoa.’ She pauses midway opening her wallet. ‘It’s just intense either way with you, isn’t it?’ But she’s smiling.

‘I’m sorry.’ Justin shakes his head. ‘Let’s have a coffee before we leave. Hopefully I’ll have time to stop this from being the worst date you’ve ever been on.’

‘It’s not.’ She shakes her head, smiling. ‘But it’s a close second. It was almost the worst but you pulled it right back there with the doctor question.’

Justin smiles. ‘So. Have you?’

She nods. ‘Ever since James Goldin operated on me when I was in Junior Infants. What do you call it, kindergarten? Anyway, I was five years old and he saved my life.’

‘Wow. That’s young for a serious operation. It must have had a huge effect.’

‘Profound. I was in the yard at lunch break, I fell during a game of hopscotch and hurt my knee. The rest of my friends were discussing amputation but James Goldin came running over and straight away gave me mouth-to-mouth. Just like that, the pain went away. And that’s when I knew.’

‘That you wanted to be a doctor?’

‘That I wanted to marry James Goldin.’

Justin smiles. ‘And did you?’

‘Nah. Became a doctor instead.’

‘You’re good at it.’

‘Yes, because you can tell that from a needle insertion at a blood donation,’ she smiles. ‘Everything OK in that department?’

‘My arm’s a little itchy but it’s fine.’

‘Itchy? It shouldn’t be itchy, let me see.’

He goes to roll up his sleeve and stops. ‘Could I ask you something?’ He squirms a little in his chair. ‘Is there any way that I can find out where my blood went?’