Cecelia Ahern - P.S. I Love You

“Oh yeah, the Christmas ball they always hold in the middle of November?” Holly laughed.

“Sorry, but I can't make it this year.”

“But you don't even know what date it's on yet!” Denise protested.

“Well, I assume it's being held on the same date as every other year, which means I can't make it.”

“No, no, it's on the thirtieth of November this year, so you can make it!” Denise said excitedly.

“Oh, the thirtieth . . .” Holly paused and pretended to flick through some pages on her desk very loudly. “No Denise, I can't, sorry. I'm busy on the thirtieth. I have a deadline . . . ,” she lied.

Well, she did have a deadline, but the magazine would be out in the shops on the first of December, which meant she really didn't need to be in work on the thirtieth at all.

“But we don't have to be there till at least eight o'clock,” Denise tried to convince her. “You could even come at nine if it was easier, you would just miss the drinks reception first. It's on a Friday night, Holly, they can't expect you to work late on a Friday . . .”

“Look Denise, I'm sorry,” Holly said firmly. “I'm just far too busy.”

“Well that makes a change,” she muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?” Holly asked, getting slightly angry.

“Nothing,” Denise said shortly.

“I heard you; you said that makes a change, didn't you? Well, it just so happens that I take my work seriously, Denise, and I have no plans to lose my job over a stupid ball.”

“Fine then,” Denise huffed. “Don't go.”

“I won't!”

“Fine!”

“Good, well I'm glad that's fine with you, Denise.” Holly couldn't help but smile at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“I'm glad you're glad,” Denise huffed.

“Oh, don't be so childish, Denise.” Holly rolled her eyes. “I have to work, simple as that.”

“Well, that's no surprise, that's all you ever do these days,” Denise blurted out angrily. “You never come out anymore; every time I ask you out you're busy doing something apparently much more important, like work. At my hen weekend you looked like you were having the worst time of your life, and then you didn't even bother coming out the second night. In fact, I don't know why you bothered to come at all. If you have a problem with me, Holly, I wish you would just say it to my face instead of being such a miserable bore!”

Holly sat in shock and stared at the phone. She couldn't believe Denise had said those things.

She couldn't believe Denise could be so stupid and selfish to think that this whole thing was about her and not Holly's own private worries. No wonder she felt like she was going insane, when one of her best friends couldn't even understand her.

“That is the most selfish thing I have ever heard anyone say.” Holly tried to control her voice but she knew her anger was spilling out into her words.

“I'm selfish?” Denise squealed. “You're the one who hid in the hotel room on my hen's weekend! My hen's weekend! You're supposed to be my maid of honor!”

“I was in the room with Sharon, you know that!” Holly defended herself.

“Oh bullshit! Sharon would have been fine on her own. She's pregnant, not bloody dying. You don't need to be by her side twenty-four-seven!”

Denise went quiet as she realized what she had said.

Holly's blood boiled, and as she spoke her voice shook with rage, “And you wonder why I don't go out with you. Because of stupid, insensitive remarks like that. Did you ever think for one moment that it might be hard for me? The fact that all you talk about are your bloody wedding arrangements and how happy you are and how excited you are and how you can't wait to spend the rest of your life with Tom in wedded bliss. In case you hadn't noticed, Denise, I didn't get that chance because my husband died. But I am very happy for you, really I am. I'm delighted you're happy and I'm not asking for any special treatment at all, I'm just asking for a bit of patience and for you to understand that I will not get over this in a few months! As for the ball, I have no intention of going to a place that Gerry and I had been going to together for the past ten years. You might not understand this, Denise, but funnily enough I would find it a bit difficult, to say the least. So don't book a ticket for me, I am perfectly happy staying at home,”

she yelled and slammed the phone down. She burst into tears and lay her head down on the desk as she sobbed. She felt lost. Her best friend couldn't even understand her. Maybe she was going mad. Maybe she should be over Gerry already. Maybe that's what normal people did when their loved ones died. Not for the first time she thought she should have bought the rule book for widows to see what the recommended time for grieving was so she wouldn't have to keep on inconveniencing her family and friends.

Her weeping eventually died down into little sobs and she listened to the silence around her.

She realized that everyone must have heard everything she'd said and she felt so embarrassed she was afraid to go to the bathroom for a tissue. Her head was hot and her eyes felt swollen from all her tears. She wiped her teary face on the end of her shirt.

“Shit!” she swore, swiping some papers off her desk as she realized she had smudged foundation, mascara and lipstick all along the sleeve of her 'spensive white shirt. She sat up to attention as she heard a light rapping sound on her door.

“Come in,” her voice shook.

Chris entered her office with two cups of tea in his hands.

“Tea?” he offered, raising his eyebrows at her, and she smiled weakly, remembering the joke they had shared on the day of her interview. He placed the mug down in front of her and relaxed in the chair opposite.

“Having a bad day?” he asked as gently as his gruff voice could.

She nodded as tears rolled down her face. “I'm sorry, Chris.” She waved a hand as she tried to compose herself. “It won't affect my work,” she said shakily.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Holly, I'm not worried about that, you're a great worker.”

She smiled, grateful for the compliment. At least she was doing something right.

“Would you like to go home early?”

“No thanks, work will keep my mind off things.”

He shook his head sadly. “That's not the way to go about it, Holly. I should know that, of all people. I've buried myself inside these walls and it doesn't help things. Not in the long run anyway.”

“But you seem happy,” her voice trembled.

“Seeming and being are not one and the same. I know you know that.”

She nodded sadly.

“You don't have to put on a brave face all the time, you know.” He handed her a tissue.

“Oh, I'm not brave at all.” She blew her nose.

“Ever hear the saying that you need to be scared to be brave?”

Holly thought about that. “But I don't feel brave, I just feel scared.”

“Oh, we all feel scared at times. There's nothing wrong with that and there will come a day when you will stop feeling scared. Look at all you've done!” He held his hands up displaying her office. “And look at all this!” He flicked through the pages of the magazine. “That's the work of a very brave person.”

Holly smiled, “I love the job.”

“And that's great news! But you need to learn to love more than your job.”

Holly frowned. She hoped this wasn't one of those get-over-one-man-by-sleeping-under-another type chats.

“I mean learn to love yourself, learn to love your new life. Don't just let your entire life revolve around your job. There's more to it than that.”

Holly raised her eyebrows at him. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

“I know I'm not the greatest example of that,” he nodded. “But I'm learning too . . .” He placed his hand on the table and started to brush away imaginary crumbs while he thought about what to say next. “I heard you don't want to go to this ball.”