Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘Dad thinks I look like Peter Pan,’ I smile.

‘So maybe he remembers you from the hair salon,’ Frankie reasons.

‘It even felt weird at the salon. There was a … recog nition or a something .’

Frankie smiles. ‘Welcome to the world of singledom.’ She turns to Kate, whose face is scrunched up in disagreement. ‘When’s the last time Joyce allowed herself a little flirt with someone? She’s been married for so long.’

‘Please,’ Kate says patronisingly to Frankie. ‘If you think that’s what happens when you’re married then you’re sorely mistaken. No wonder you’re afraid to get married.’

‘I’m not afraid, I just don’t agree with it. You know, just today I was watching a make-up show—’

‘Oh, here we go.’

‘Shut up and listen. And the make-up expert said that because the skin is so sensitive around the eye, you must apply cream with your ring finger because it is the finger with the least power .’

‘Wow,’ Kate says drily. ‘You sure have revealed us married folk for the fools that we are.’

I rub my eyes wearily. ‘I know I sound insane, I’m tired and probably imagining things where there is nothing to be imagined. The man I’m supposed to have on the brain is Conor and he’s not. He’s really not at all. I don’t know if it’s a delayed reaction and next month I’m going to fall apart, start drinking and wear black everyday—’

‘Like Frankie,’ Kate butts in.

‘But right now, I feel nothing but relieved,’ I continue. ‘Isn’t that terrible?’

‘Is it OK for me to feel relieved too?’ Kate asks.

‘You hated him?’ I ask sadly.

‘No. He was fine. He was nice. I just hated you not being happy.’

‘I hated him,’ Frankie chirps up.

‘We spoke briefly yesterday. It was odd. He wanted to know if he could take the espresso machine.’

‘The bastard,’ Frankie spits.

‘I really don’t care about the espresso machine. He can have it.’

‘It’s mind games, Joyce. Be careful. First it’s the espresso machine and then it’s the house and then it’s your soul. And then it’s that emerald ring that belonged to his grandmother that he claims you stole but that you recall more than clearly that when you first went to his house for lunch he said, “help yourself” and there it was.’ She scowls.

I look to Kate for help.

‘Her break-up with Lee.’

‘Ah. Well, it’s not going to get like your break-up with Lee.’

Frankie grumbles.

‘Christian went for a pint with Conor last night,’ Kate says. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course I don’t. They’re friends. Is he OK?’

‘Yeah, he seemed fine. He’s upset about the, you know …’

‘Baby. You can say the word. I’m not going to fall apart.’

‘He’s upset about the baby and disappointed the marriage didn’t work but I think he thinks it’s the right thing to do. He’s going back to Japan in a few days. He also said you’re both putting the house on the market.’

‘I don’t like being there any more and we bought it together, so it’s the right thing to do.’

‘But are you sure? Where will you live? Is your dad not driving you insane?’

As a tragicee and future divorcee, you’ll also find that people will question you on the biggest decision you’ve ever made in your life as though you hadn’t thought about it at all before, as though, through their twenty questions and many dubious faces, they’re going to shine light on something that you missed the first time or hundredth time round during your darkest hours.

‘Funnily enough, no,’ I smile as I think about him. ‘He’s actually having the opposite effect. Though he’s only managed to call me Joyce once in a week. I’m going to stay with him until the house is sold and I find somewhere else to live.’

‘That story about the man … apart from him, how are you really ? We haven’t seen you since the hospital and we were so worried.’

‘I know. I’m sorry about that.’ I’d refused to see them when they came to visit, and I’d sent Dad out to the corridor to send them home, which of course he didn’t, and so they’d sat by my side for a few minutes while I stared at the pink wall, thinking about the fact I was staring at a pink wall, and then they left. ‘I really appreciated you coming, though.’

‘No you didn’t.’

‘OK, I didn’t then, but I do now.’

I think about that, about how I am now, really . Well, they asked.

‘I eat meat now. And I drink red wine. I hate anchovies and I listen to classical music. I particularly love the JK Ensemble with John Kelly on Lyric FM, who doesn’t play Kylie and I don’t mind. Last night I listened to Handel’s “ Mi restano le lagrime ” from Act Three Scene One of Alcina before going to sleep, and I actually knew the words but have no idea how. I know a lot about Irish architecture but not as much as I know about French and Italian. I’ve read Ulysses and can quote from it ad nauseam when I couldn’t even finish the audio book before. Only today I wrote a letter to the council telling them how their cramming yet another new ugly modern block into an area in which its buildings are mostly older, less fashionable constructs means that not only is the nation’s heritage seriously under threat but the sanity of its citizens too. I thought my father was the only person who wrote strongly worded letters. That’s not such a big deal in itself, the big deal is that two weeks ago I’d have been excited about the prospect of showing these properties. Today I’m particularly vexed about talk of bulldozing a hundred-year-old building in Old Town, Chicago, and so I plan to write another letter. I bet you’re wondering how I knew about that. Well, I read it in the recent edition of the Art and Architectural Review , the only truly international art and architectural publication. I’m a subscriber now.’ I take a breath. ‘Ask me anything, because I’ll probably know the answer and I’ve no idea how.’

Stunned, Kate and Frankie look at one another.

‘Maybe with the stress of constantly worrying about you and Conor over with, you’re able to concentrate on things more,’ Frankie suggests.

I consider that but not for long. ‘I dream almost every night about a little girl with white-blonde hair who every night gets bigger. And I hear music – a song I don’t know. When I’m not dreaming about her I have vivid dreams of places I’ve never been, eating foods I’ve never tasted and surrounded by strange people that I seem to know so well. A picnic in a park with a woman with red hair. A man with green feet. And sprinklers.’ I think hard. ‘Something about sprinklers.

‘When I wake up I have to remember all over again that my dreams are not real and that my reality is not a dream. I find that next to impossible, but not completely, because Dad is there with a smile on his face and sausages on the frying pan, chasing a cat called Fluffy around the garden and for some unknown reason hiding Mum’s photograph in the hall drawer. And after the first few moments of my waking day when everything is crap, all those other things become the only things on my mind. And a man I can’t get out of my head, but not Conor, as you’d assume, the love of my life that I’ve just separated from. No, I keep thinking about an American man that I don’t even know.’

The girls’ eyes are filled, their faces a mixture of sympathy, worry and confusion.

I don’t expect them to say anything – they probably think I’m crazy – and so I look out to the kids again on the gymnas ium floor and watch as Eric takes to the balance beam, a four-inch-wide beam covered in thin leather. The instructor calls out to him to do aeroplane arms. Eric’s face is a picture of nervous concentration. He stops walking as he slowly lifts his arms. The instructor offers words of encouragement and a small proud smile lifts onto Eric’s face. He raises his eyes briefly to see if his mother is watching and in that one moment, loses balance and falls straight down, the beam quite unfortunately landing between his legs. His face is one of horror.