Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘He probably stole it from the Brits,’ Henry jokes, and is the only one to laugh. Joyce elbows her father, Frankie snorts, and on the floor before the television in a dentist’s waiting room in London, Justin throws his head back and laughs loudly.

‘Well, the reason I ask is because this is a fabulous item you have. It’s a rare nineteenth-century English Victorian era upright jardinière planter—’

‘I love gardening, Michael,’ Henry interrupts the expert, ‘do you?’

Michael smiles at him politely and the expert continues, ‘It has wonderful hand-carved Black Forest-style plaques set in the Victorian ebonised wood framing on all four sides.’

‘Country English or French décor, what do you think?’ Frankie’s work colleague asks her.

She ignores him, concentrating on Joyce.

‘Inside it has what looks like an original tole-painted tin liner. Superb condition, ornate patterns carved into the solid wood panels. We can see here that two of the sides have a floral motif and the other two sides are figural, one with the centre lion’s head and the other with griffin figures. Very striking indeed and an absolutely wonderful piece to have by your front door too.’

‘Worth a few quid, is it?’ Henry asks, dropping the posh accent.

‘We’ll get to that part,’ the expert says. ‘While it is in good condition, it appears there would have been feet, quite likely wooden. There are no splits or warping in the sides, there is an original tole-painted tin removable liner and the finger ring handles on the sides are intact. So bearing all that in mind, how much do you think it’s worth?’

‘Frankie!’ Frankie hears her boss calling her from across the room. ‘What’s this I hear about you messing with the monitors?’

Frankie stands up, turns her back and while blocking the television with her body, attempts to turn the channel back.

‘Ah,’ her colleague tuts. ‘They were just about to announce the value. That’s the best bit.’

‘Step aside,’ her boss frowns.

Frankie moves to display the stock market figures racing across the screen. She smiles brightly, showing all her teeth, and then sprints back to her desk.

In the dental surgery’s waiting room, Justin is glued to the television, glued to Joyce’s face.

‘Is she a friend, love?’ Ethel asks.

Justin studies Joyce’s face and smiles, ‘Yes she is. Her name is Joyce.’

Margaret and Ethel ooh and aah.

On screen, Joyce’s father or at least who Justin assumes him to be, turns to Joyce and shrugs.

‘What would you say, love? How much lolly for Dolly?’

Joyce smiles tightly. ‘I really wouldn’t have the slightest idea how much it’s worth.’

‘How does between one thousand five hundred to one thousand seven hundred pounds sound to you?’ the expert asks.

‘Sterling pounds?’ the old man asks, flabbergasted.

Justin laughs.

The camera zooms in on Joyce and her father’s face. They are both astonished, so gobsmacked, in fact, that neither of them can say anything.

‘Now there’s an impressive reaction,’ Michael laughs. ‘Good news from this table, let’s go over to our porcelain table to see if any of our other collectors here in London, have been as lucky.’

‘Justin Hitchcock,’ the receptionist announces.

The room is quiet. They all look around at one another.

‘Justin,’ she repeats, raising her voice.

‘That must be him on the floor,’ Ethel says. ‘Yoohoo!’ she sings and gives him a kick with her comfortable shoe. ‘Are you Justin?’

‘Somebody’s in love, ooohey-ooohey,’ Margaret sings while Ethel makes kissing noises.

‘Louise,’ Ethel says to the receptionist, ‘why don’t I go in now while this young man runs down to Banqueting House to see his lady? I’m tired of waiting.’ She stretches her left leg out and makes pained expressions.

Justin stands and wipes the carpet hairs from his trousers. ‘I don’t know why you’re both waiting here anyway, at your age. You should just leave your teeth here and then come back later when the dentist’s finished with them.’

He exits the room as a year-old copy of Homes and Gardens flies at his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea.’ Justin stops following the receptionist down the hallway to the surgery, as adrenalin once again surges through his body. ‘That’s exactly what I’ll do.’

‘You’re going to leave your teeth here?’ she says drily, in a strong Liverpool accent.

‘No, I’m going to Banqueting House,’ he says, hopping about with excitement.

‘Great, Dick. Can Anne come too? Let’s be sure to ask Aunt Fanny first.’ She glares at him, killing his excitement. ‘I don’t care what’s going on with you, you’re not escaping again. Come now. Dr Montgomery won’t be happy if you don’t show for your appointment again,’ she urges him along.

‘OK, OK, hold on. My tooth is fine now.’ He holds out his hands and shrugs like it’s all no big deal. ‘All gone. No pain at all. In fact, chomp, chomp, chomp,’ he says as he snaps his teeth together. ‘Look, completely gone. What am I even doing here? Can’t feel a thing.’

‘Your eyes are watering.’

‘I’m emotional.’

‘You’re delusional. Come on.’ She continues to lead him down the corridor.

Dr Montgomery greets him with a drill in his hand, ‘Hello, Clarisse,’ he says, and breaks his heart laughing. ‘Just joking. Trying to run off on me again, Justin?’

‘No. Well, yes. Well, no, not run off exactly but I realised that there’s somewhere else I should be and …’

All throughout his explanation, the firm-handed Dr Montgomery and his equally strong assistant manage to usher him into the chair, and by the time he’s finished his excuse he realises he’s wearing a protective gown and reclining.

‘Blah blah blah, was all I heard, I’m afraid, Justin,’ Dr Montgomery says cheerily.

He sighs.

‘You’re not going to fight me today?’ Dr Montgomery snaps two surgical gloves onto his hands.

‘As long as you don’t ask me to cough.’

Dr Montgomery laughs as Justin reluctantly opens his mouth.

The red light on the camera goes off and I grab Dad’s arm.

‘Dad, we have to go now,’ I say with urgency.

‘Not now,’ Dad responds in a David Attenborough-style loud whisper. ‘Michael Aspel is right over there. I can see him, standing behind the porcelain table, tall, charming, more handsome than I thought. He’s looking around for someone to talk to.’

‘Michael Aspel is very busy in his natural habitat, presenting a live television show.’ I dig my fingernails into Dad’s arm. ‘I don’t think talking to you is very high on his priority list right now.’

Dad looks slightly wounded, and not from my fingernails. He lifts his chin high in the air, which I know from down the years has an invisible string attached to his pride. He prepares to approach Michael Aspel, who is standing alone by the porcelain table with his finger in his ear.

‘Must get waxy build-up, like me,’ Dad whispers. ‘He should use that stuff you got for me. Pop! Comes right out.’

‘It’s an earpiece, Dad. He’s listening to the people in the control room.’

‘No, I think it’s a hearing aid. Let’s go over to him and remember to speak up and mouth your words clearly. I have experience with this.’

I block his path and leer over him in the most intimidating way possible. Dad steps onto his left leg and immediately rises near enough to my eyelevel.

‘Dad, if we do not leave this place right now, we will find ourselves locked in a cell. Again.’

Dad laughs, ‘Ah, don’t exaggerate, Gracie.’