Cecelia Ahern: P.S. I Love You

Tears once again rolled down Holly's face and she realized she had been daydreaming again. She sat frozen on the couch with the phone still off the hook beside her. The time just seemed to pass her by these days without her knowing what time or even what day it was. She seemed to be living outside of her body, numb to everything but the pain in her heart, in her bones, in her head. She was just so tired . . . Her stomach grumbled and she realized she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Had it been yesterday?

She shuffled into the kitchen wearing Gerry's dressing gown and her favorite pink “Disco Diva”

slippers, which Gerry had bought her the previous Christmas. She was his Disco Diva, he used to say. Always the first on the dance floor, always the last out of the club. Huh, where was that girl now? She opened the fridge and stared in at the empty shelves. Just vegetables and yogurt long past its sell-by date leaving a horrible stench in the fridge. There was nothing to eat. She smiled weakly as she shook the milk carton. Empty. Third on his list . . .

Christmas two years ago Holly had gone shopping with Sharon for a dress for the annual ball they attended at the Burlington Hotel. Shopping with Sharon was always a dangerous outing, and John and Gerry had joked about how they would once again suffer through Christmas without any presents as a result of the girls' shopping sprees. But they weren't far wrong. Poor neglected husbands, the girls always called them.

That Christmas Holly had spent a disgraceful amount of money in Brown Thomas on the most beautiful white dress she had ever seen. “Shit, Sharon, this will burn a huge hole in my pocket,”

Holly guiltily said, biting her lip and running her fingers over the soft material.

“Aah, don't worry, Gerry can stitch it up for you,” Sharon replied, followed by her infamous cackle. “And stop calling me 'shit Sharon,' by the way. Every time we go shopping you address me as that. If you're not careful I might start taking offense. Buy the damn thing, Holly. It's Christmas after all, the season of giving and all that.”

“God, you are so evil, Sharon. I'm never shopping with you again. This is like, half my month's wages. What am I going to do for the rest of the month?”

“Holly, would you rather eat or look fab?” Was it even worth thinking about?

“I'll take it,” Holly said excitedly to the sales assistant.

The dress was cut low, which showed off Holly's neat little chest perfectly, and it was split to the thigh, displaying her slim legs. Gerry hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. It wasn't because she looked so beautiful, however. He just couldn't understand how on earth that little slip of material had cost so much. Once at the ball, Ms. Disco Diva overindulged in the alcoholic beverages and succeeded in destroying her dress by spilling red wine down her front.

Holly tried but failed to hold back her tears while the men at the table drunkenly informed their partners that number fifty-four on the list prevented you from drinking red wine while wearing an expensive white dress. It was then decided that milk was the preferred beverage, as it wouldn't be visible if spilled on expensive white dresses.

Later, when Gerry knocked his pint over, causing it to dribble off the edge of the table onto Holly's lap, she tearily yet seriously announced to the table (and some of the surrounding tables),

“Rule fitty-fife ov the list: neffer effer buy a 'spensive white dress.” And so it was agreed, and Sharon awoke from her coma from somewhere underneath the table to applaud and offer moral support. A toast was made (after the startled waiter had delivered the tray full of glasses of milk) to Holly and to her profound addition to the list. “I'm sorry 'bout your 'spensive white dress, Holly,” John had hiccuped before falling out of the taxi and dragging Sharon alongside him to their house.

Was it possible that Gerry had kept his word and written a list for her before he died? She had spent every minute of every day with him up until his death, and he had never mentioned it, nor had she noticed any signs of him writing one. No, Holly, pull yourself together and don't be stupid. She so desperately wanted him back that she was imagining all kinds of crazy things. He wouldn't have. Would he?

Three

HOLLY WAS WALKING THROUGH AN entire field of pretty tiger lilies; the wind was blowing gently, causing the silky petals to tickle the tips of her fingers as she pushed through the long strands of bright green grass. The ground felt soft and bouncy beneath her bare feet, and her body felt so light she almost seemed to be floating just above the surface of the spongy earth. All around her birds whistled their happy tune as they went about their business. The sun was so bright in the cloudless sky she had to shield her eyes, and with each brush of wind that passed her face, the sweet scent of the tiger lilies filled her nostrils. She felt so . . . happy, so free. A feeling that was alien to her these days.

Suddenly the sky darkened as her Caribbean sun disappeared behind a looming gray cloud. The wind picked up and the air chilled. Around her all the petals of her tiger lilies were racing through the air wildly, blurring her vision. The once spongy ground was replaced with sharp-pebbled stones that cut and scraped her feet with every step. The birds had stopped singing and instead perched on their branches and stared. Something was wrong and she felt afraid. Ahead of her in the distance a gray stone was visible amid the tall grass. She wanted to run back to her pretty flowers, but she needed to find out what was ahead.

As she crept closer she heard Bang! Bang! Bang! She quickened her pace and raced over the sharp stones and jagged-edged grass that tore at her arms and legs. She collapsed to her knees in front of the gray slab and let out a scream of pain as she realized what it was. Gerry's grave.

Bang! Bang! Bang! He was trying to get out! He was calling her name; she could hear him!

Holly jumped from her sleep to a loud banging on the door. “Holly! Holly! I know you're there!

Please let me in!” Bang! Bang! Bang! Confused and half asleep, Holly made her way to the door to find a frantic-looking Sharon.

“Christ! What were you doing? I've been banging on the door for ages!” Holly looked around outside, still not fully alert. It was bright and slightly chilly, must be morning.

“Well, aren't you going to let me in?”

“Yeah, Sharon, sorry, I was just dozing on the couch.”

“God, you look terrible, Hol.” Sharon studied her face before giving her a big hug.

“Wow, thanks.” Holly rolled her eyes and turned to shut the door. Sharon was never one to beat around the bush, but that's why she loved her so much, for her honesty. That's also why Holly hadn't been around to see Sharon for the past month. She didn't want to hear the truth. She didn't want to hear that she had to get on with her life; she just wanted . . . oh, she didn't know what she wanted. She was happy being miserable. It somehow felt right.

“God, it's so stuffy in here, when's the last time you opened a window?” Sharon marched around the house opening windows and picking up empty cups and plates. She brought them into the kitchen, where she placed them in the dishwasher and then proceeded to tidy up.

“Oh, you don't have to do it, Sharon,” Holly protested weakly. “I'll do it . . .”

“When? Next year? I don't want you slumming it while the rest of us pretend not to notice. Why don't you go upstairs and shower and we'll have a cup of tea when you come down.”

A shower. When was the last time she had even washed? Sharon was right, she must have looked disgusting with her greasy hair and dark roots and dirty robe. Gerry's robe. But that was something she never intended to wash. She wanted it exactly as Gerry had left it. Unfortunately, his smell was beginning to fade, replaced by the unmistakable stink of her own skin.