Cecelia Ahern - P.S. I Love You

The following day Holly sat nervously before Chris and watched him read the article. His face remained grumpy as he turned the page. Alice hadn't just made a few changes to the article, she had completely rewritten it, and Holly thought it was incredible. It was funny yet informative and she explained the night exactly as it had been, which Holly was unable to do. Alice was an extremely talented writer and Holly couldn't understand why she was working at reception in a magazine office instead of writing for them.

Finally, Chris finished reading and he slowly took off his reading glasses and looked up at Holly.

Holly's hands fidgeted on her lap and she felt like she had just cheated on a school exam.

“Holly, I don't know what you're doing in ad sales,” Chris finally said. “You are a fantastic writer, I love it! It's cheeky and funny yet it gets the point across. It's fabulous.”

Holly smiled weakly. “Eh . . . thanks.”

“You have such a wonderful talent; I can't believe you tried to hide it from me.”

Holly's smile stayed glued onto her face.

“How would you feel about writing every now and again?”

Holly's face froze. “Well, Chris, I'm really much more interested in the advertising side of things.”

“Oh, of course, and I will pay you more for this too. But if we are ever stuck again, at least I know I have another talented writer on the team. Well done, Holly.” He grinned at her and held out his hand.

“Eh . . . thanks,” Holly repeated, shaking his hand weakly. “I better get back to work now.” She stood up from her chair and walked stiffly out of the office.

“Well, did he like it?” Alice asked loudly, walking down the hall.

“Eh . . . yeah, he loved it. He wants me to write more.” Holly bit her lip, feeling guilty for taking all the credit.

“Oh.” Alice looked away. “Well, aren't you the lucky one?” She continued walking to her desk.

Forty-three

DENISE BANGED THE TILL CLOSED with her hip and handed the receipt over the counter to the customer. “Thanks,” she smiled, and her smile quickly faded as soon as the customer turned away from the counter. She sighed loudly, staring at the long queue forming in front of the cash register. She would have to stand here at the till all day and she was just dying for a cigarette break. But there was no way she could slip away, so she grumpily grabbed the item of clothing from the next customer, de-tagged it, scanned it, and wrapped it.

“Excuse me, are you Denise Hennessey?” she heard a deep voice ask and she looked up to see where the sexy voice had come from. She frowned as she saw a police officer before her.

She hesitated while trying to think if she had done anything illegal in the past few days, and when she was satisfied that she was crime-free she smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“I'm Officer Ryan and I was wondering if you would accompany me to the station, please.”

It was more of a statement than a question, and Denise's mouth dropped open in shock. He was no longer the sexy officer, he was the evil- lock- her- up- forever- in- a- tiny- cell- with- a-luminous- orange- jumpsuit- and- noisy- flip- flops- and- no- hot- water- or- makeup- type officer. Denise gulped and had an image of herself being beaten up by a gang of tough angry women that didn't care about mascara, in the exercise yard at the prison while the prison guards looked on and made bets over who would win. She gulped, “What for?”

“If you just comply with what I've said, everything will be explained to you down at the station.” He started to walk around the counter and Denise backed away slowly and looked at the long line of customers helplessly. Everybody just stared back at her, amused by the scene that was unfolding before them.

“Check his ID, love,” one of the customers shouted to her from the end of the queue.

Her voice shook as she demanded to see his ID, which was a completely useless operation, as she had never seen a police ID before nor did she know what a real one would look like. Her hand trembled as she held the ID and studied it closely, but she didn't read a thing. She was too self-conscious of the crowd of customers and staff that had gathered to stare at her with looks of disgust on their faces. They were all thinking the same thing: She was a criminal.

Denise hardened, refusing to go without a fight. “I refuse to go with you until you tell me what this is about.”

He walked toward her again. “Ms. Hennessey, if you just work with me here, then there will be no need to use these.” He took out a pair of handcuffs from his trousers. “There's no need to make a scene.”

“But I didn't do anything!” she protested, starting to panic.

“Well, we can discuss that down at the station, can't we?” He began to get irate.

Denise backed away, she was determined to let her customers and staff know that she hadn't done anything wrong. She would not go with this man to the station until he explained what she had supposedly done wrong. She stopped backing away and crossed her arms across her chest to show how tough she was.

“I said I will not go with you until you tell me what this is about.”

“OK then,” he shrugged, walking toward her. “If you insist.” He opened his mouth to speak and she yelled as she felt the cold silver handcuffs being slapped around her wrists. It wasn't exactly the first time she had ever worn a pair of handcuffs, so she wasn't surprised at how they felt, but she was in so much shock she couldn't speak; she just watched everyone's surprised expressions as the officer led her by the arm out of the shop.

“Good luck, love,” the customer shouted again as she was led by the queue. “If they send you to Mount Joy tell my Orla I said hi and that I'll be there to visit her at Christmas.”

Denise's eyes widened and images of her pacing a cell that she shared with a psycho murderer jumped into her mind. Maybe she would find a little bird with a broken wing and nurse it and teach it to fly to pass the years inside . . .

Her face reddened as they stepped out onto Grafton Street, and the crowds immediately scattered as soon as they saw the garda and a hardened criminal. Denise kept her eyes down to the ground, hoping nobody she knew would spot her being arrested. Her heart beat wildly and she briefly thought of escape. She looked around quickly and tried to figure out an escape route, but she was too slow; she was already being led toward a beat-up-looking minibus, the well-known color blue of the police with blackened-out windows. Denise sat in the front row of seats behind the driver, and although she could sense people behind her, she sat rigidly in her seat, too terrified to turn around and meet her future fellow inmates. She leaned her head against the window and said good-bye to freedom.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they drove past the police station. The female police officer driving the car and Officer Ryan ignored her and stared ahead of them.

“Hey!” she shouted. “I thought you said you were taking me to the station!” They continued to stare straight ahead.

“Hey! Where are we going?!”

No answer.

“I haven't done anything wrong!”

Still no answer.

“I'm innocent goddammit! Innocent, I tell you!”

Denise started kicking the chair in front of her, trying to get their attention. Her blood started to boil when the female officer pushed a cassette into the player and turned the music up. Denise's eyes widened at the choice of song.

Officer Ryan turned around in his chair with a big grin on his face. “Denise, you have been a very naughty girl.” He stood up and made his way in front of her. She gulped as he started to gyrate his hips to the song “Hot Stuff.”