Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘Where? As in, which hospital?’

‘Well, yeah, or even better, do you know who it went to?’

She shakes her head. ‘The beauty of this is that it’s completely anonymous.’

‘But someone, somewhere would know, wouldn’t they? In hospital records or even your office records?’

‘Of course. Products in a blood bank are always individually traceable. It’s documented throughout the entire process of donation, testing, separation into components, storage and administration to the recipient but—’

‘There’s a word I hate.’

‘Unfortunately for you, you can’t know who received your donation.’

‘But you just said that it’s documented.’

‘That information can’t be released. But all our details are kept in a secure computerised database where all your donor details are kept. Under the Data Protection Act you have the right to access your donor records.’

‘Will those records tell me who received my blood?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, I don’t want to see them.’

‘Justin, the blood you donated was not transfused directly into somebody’s body exactly as it came from your vein. It was broken up and separated into red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets—’

‘I know, I know, I know all of that.’

‘I’m sorry that there’s nothing I can do. Why are you so keen to know?’

He thinks about it for a while, drops a brown sugar cube into his coffee and stirs it around. ‘I’m just interested to know who I helped, if I helped them at all and if I did, how they are. I feel like … no, it sounds stupid, you’ll think I’m insane. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Hey, don’t be silly,’ she says soothingly. ‘I already think you’re insane.’

‘I hope that’s not your medical opinion.’

‘Tell me.’ Her piercing blue eyes watch him over the brim of her coffee cup as she sips.

‘This is the first time I’ve said this aloud, so forgive me for speaking while I think. At first, it was a ridiculous macho ego trip. I wanted to know whose life I saved. Which lucky person I’d sacrificed my precious blood for.’

Sarah smiles.

‘But then over the last few days I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I feel differently. Genuinely different. Like I’ve given something away. Something precious.’

‘It is precious, Justin. We need more donors all the time.’

‘I know, but not – not like that. I just feel like there’s someone out there walking around with something inside them that I gave them and now I’m missing something—’

‘The body replaces the liquid part of your donation within twenty-four hours.’

‘No, I mean, I feel like I’ve given something away, a part of me, and that somebody else has been completed because of that part of me and … my God, this sounds crazy. I just want to know who that person is. I just feel like there’s a part of me missing and I need to get out there and grab it.’

‘You can’t get your blood back, you know,’ Sarah jokes weakly, and they both fall into deep thought; Sarah looking sadly into her coffee, Justin trying to make sense of his jumbled words.

‘I should never try to discuss something so illogical with a doctor, I suppose,’ he says.

‘You sound like a lot of people I know, Justin. You’re just the first person I’ve heard blame it on a blood donation.’

Silence.

‘Well,’ Sarah reaches behind her chair to get her coat, ‘you’re in a rush so we should really move now.’

They make their way down Grafton Street in a comfortable silence that’s occasionally dotted with small talk. They automatically stop walking at the Molly Malone statue, across the road from Trinity College.

‘You’re late for your class.’

‘No, I’ve got a little while before I—’ He looks at his watch and then remembers his earlier excuse. He feels his face redden. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ she repeats.

‘I feel like this whole lunch date has been me saying sorry and you saying that it’s OK.’

‘It really is OK,’ she laughs.

‘And I really am—’

‘Stop!’ She holds her hand to his mouth to hush him. ‘Enough.’

‘I really had a lovely time,’ he says awkwardly. ‘Should we … you know, I’m feeling really uncomfortable right now with her watching us.’

They look to their right and Molly stares down at them with her bronze eyes.

Sarah laughs. ‘You know maybe we could make arrangements to—’

‘Roooooaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!!’

Justin almost leaps out of his skin with fright, startled by the intense screaming coming from the bus stopped at the traffic lights beside him. Sarah yelps with fright and her hand flies to her chest. Beside them more than a dozen men, women and children, all wearing Viking helmets, are waving their fists in the air and laughing and roaring at passers-by. Sarah and the dozens of others crowded around them on the pavement start laughing, some roar back, most ignore them.

Justin, whose breath has caught in his throat, is silent, for he can’t take his eyes off the woman laughing uproariously with an old man; a helmet on her head, long blonde plaits flowing each side.

‘We certainly got them, Joyce,’ the old man laughs, roaring lightly in her face and waving his fist.

She looks surprised at first, then hands him a five-euro note, much to his delight, and they both continue laughing.

Look at me , Justin wills her. Her eyes stay on the old man’s as he holds the note up to the light to check its authenticity. Justin looks to the traffic lights, which are still red. He has time yet for her to see him. Turn around! Look at me just once! The pedestrian lights flash to amber. He doesn’t have much time.

Her head remains turned, completely lost in conversation.

The lights turn green and the bus slowly moves off up Nassau Street. He starts to walk alongside it, willing her with everything he has to look at him.

‘Justin!’ Sarah calls. ‘What are you doing?’

He keeps on walking alongside the bus, quickening his pace and finally breaking out into a jog. He can hear Sarah calling after him but he can’t stop.

‘Hey!’ he calls.

Not loud enough; she doesn’t hear him. The bus picks up speed and Justin’s jog breaks out into a run, the adrenalin surging through his body. The bus is beating him, speeding up. He’s losing her.

‘Joyce!’ he blurts out. The surprising sound of his own yell is enough to stop him in his tracks. What on earth is he doing? He doubles over to rest his hands on his knees, tries to catch his breath, tries to centre himself in the whirlwind he feels caught up in. He looks back at the bus one last time. A Viking helmet appears from the window, blonde plaits moving from side to side like a pendulum. He can’t make out the face but with just one head, just one person looking out from that bus and back at him, he knows it has to be her.

The whirlwind stops momentarily while he holds up a hand in salute.

A hand appears out the window and the bus rounds the corner onto Kildare Street, leaving Justin to, once again, watch her disappear from sight with his heart beating so wildly, he’s sure the pavement is pounding beneath him. He may not have the slightest clue what is going on but there is one thing he knows now for sure.

Joyce. Her name is Joyce .

He looks down the empty street.

But who are you, Joyce?

‘Why are you hanging your head out of the window?’ Dad pulls me in, wild with worry. ‘You might not have much to live for but, for Christsake, you owe it to yourself to live it.’

‘Did you hear somebody calling my name?’ I whisper to Dad, my mind a whirl.

‘Oh, she’s hearing voices now,’ he grumbles. ‘ I said your bloody name and you gave me a fiver for it, don’t you remember?’ He snaps it before her face and turns his attention back to Olaf.