Cecelia Ahern - P.S. I Love You

“Oh, I'm intrigued now,” Sharon said, “tell us.”

“Holly, spill the beans, what is it?” John was on the downstairs phone.

“OK . . . Gerry wants me . . . to . . . singatakaraoke,” she rushed out.

“Huh? Holly, we didn't understand a word you said,” Sharon gave out.

“No, I did,” interrupted John. “I think I heard something about a karaoke. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Holly replied like a bold little girl.

“And do you have to sing?” inquired Sharon.

“Ye-eess,” she replied slowly. Maybe if she didn't say it, it wouldn't have to happen.

The other two burst out laughing so loud, Holly had to quickly remove the phone from her ear.

“Phone me back when the two of you shut up,” she said angrily, hanging up.

A few minutes later they called back.

“Yes?”

She heard Sharon snort down the phone, relapse into a fit of the giggles and then the line went dead.

Ten minutes later she phoned back.

“Yes?”

“OK.” Sharon had an overly serious “let's get down to business” tone in her voice. “I'm sorry about that, I'm fine now. Don't look at me, John,” Sharon said away from the phone. “I'm sorry, Holly, but I just kept thinking about the last time you–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she interrupted, “you don't need to bring it back up. It was the most embarrassing day of my life, so I just happen to remember it. That's why I'm not doing it.”

“Oh, Holly, you can't let a stupid thing like that put you off!”

“Well, if that wouldn't put a person off, then they're clinically insane!”

“Holly, it was only a little fall . . .”

“Yes, thank you! I remember it just fine! Anyway I can't even sing, Sharon; I think I established that fact marvelously the last time!”

Sharon was very quiet.

“Sharon?”

Still silence.

“Sharon, you still there?”

There was no answer.

“Sharon, are you laughing?” Holly gave out.

She heard a little squeak and the line went dead.

“What wonderfully supportive friends I have,” she muttered under her breath.

“Oh Gerry!” Holly yelled. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me, not turning me into a nervous wreck!”

She got very little sleep that night.

Ten

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HOLLY! OR SHOULD I say happy belated birthday?” Richard laughed nervously. Holly's mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of her older brother standing on her doorstep. This was a rare occurrence; in fact, it may have been a first. She opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, completely unsure of what to say. “I brought you a potted mini Phalaenopsis orchid,” he said, handing her a potted plant. “They have been shipped fresh, budding, and are ready to bloom.” He sounded like an advertisement. Holly was even more stunned as she fingered the tiny pink buds. “Gosh, Richard, orchids are my favorite!”

“Well, you have a nice big garden here anyway, nice and”–he cleared his throat–“green. Bit overgrown, though . . .” He trailed off and began that annoying rocking thing he did with his feet.

“Would you like to come in or are you just passing through?” Please say no, please say no.

Despite the thoughtful gift, Holly was in no mood for Richard's company.

“Well yes, I'll come in for a little while so.” He wiped his feet for a good two minutes at the door before stepping into the house. He reminded Holly of her old math teacher at school, dressed in a brown knitted cardigan with brown trousers that stopped just at the top of his neat little brown loafers. He hadn't a hair on his head out of place and his fingernails were clean and perfectly manicured. Holly could imagine him measuring them with a little ruler every night to see that they didn't outgrow the required European standard length for fingernails, if such a thing existed.

Richard never seemed comfortable in his own skin. He looked like he was being choked to death by his tightly knotted (brown) tie, and he always walked as if he had a barge pole shoved up his backside. On the rare occasions that he smiled, the smile never managed to reach his eyes.

He was the drill sergeant of his own body, screaming at and punishing himself every time he lapsed into human mode. But he did it to himself, and the sad thing was that he thought he was better off than everyone else for it. Holly led him into the living room and placed the ceramic pot on top of the TV for the time being.

“No, no, Holly,” he said, wagging a finger at her as though she were a naughty child. “You shouldn't put it there, it needs to be in a cool, draft-free location away from harsh sunlight and heat vents.”

“Oh, of course.” Holly picked the pot back up and searched around the room in panic for a suitable place. What had he said? A draft-free, warm location? How did he always manage to make her feel like an incompetent little girl?

“How about that little table in the center, it should be safe there.”

Holly did as she was told and placed the pot on the table, half expecting him to say “good girl.”

Thankfully he didn't.

Richard took his favorite position at the fireplace and surveyed the room. “Your house is very clean,” he commented.

“Thank you, I just, eh . . . cleaned it.”

He nodded as if he already knew.

“Can I get you a tea or coffee?” she asked, expecting him to say no.

“Yes, great,” he said, clapping his hands together, “tea would be splendid. Just milk, no sugar.”

Holly returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and placed them down on the coffee table. She hoped the steam rising from the mugs wouldn't murder the poor plant.

“You just need to water it regularly and feed it during the months of spring.” He was still talking about the plant. Holly nodded, knowing full well she would not do either of those things.

“I didn't know you had green fingers, Richard,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Only when I'm painting with the children. At least that's what Meredith says,” he laughed, cracking a rare joke.

“Do you do much work in your garden?” Holly was anxious to keep the conversation flowing; as the house was so quiet, every silence was amplified.

“Oh yes, I love to work in the garden.” His eyes lit up. “Saturdays are my garden days,” he said, smiling into his mug of tea.

Holly felt as though a complete stranger were sitting beside her. She realized she knew very little about Richard and he equally knew very little about her. But that was the way Richard had always liked to keep things, he had always distanced himself from the family even when they were younger. He never shared exciting news with them or even told them how his day went.

He was just full of facts, facts and more facts. The first time the family had even heard of Meredith was the day they both came over for dinner to announce their engagement.

Unfortunately at that stage it was too late to convince him not to marry the flame-haired green-eyed dragon. Not that he would have listened anyway.

“So,” she announced, far too loudly for the echoing room, “anything strange or startling?” Like why are you here?

“No, no, nothing strange, everything is ticking over as normal.” He took a sip of tea then a while later added, “Nothing startling either, for that matter. I just thought I would pop in and say hello while I was in the area.”

“Ah, right. It's unusual for you to be over this side of the city.” Holly laughed. “What brings you to the dark and dangerous world of the north side?”

“Oh, you know, just a little business,” he mumbled to himself. “But my car's parked on the other side of the River Liffey of course!”