Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

You do the same as me someday, little Saoirse, her eyes kept telling the small figure as they drove away. Promise me you’ll do the same. Fly away from there.

With eyes full with tears, Elizabeth watched as the bungalow got smaller and smaller in her mirror until finally it disappeared when she reached the

end of the mile-long road. At once her shoulders relaxed and she realized she had been holding her breath the entire time.

“Right, Ivan,” she said, looking in the mirror at the empty backseat, “I guess you’re coming to work with me so.” She sighed. Then she did a funny thing.

She giggled childishly.

Chapter Seven

The town was stirring as Elizabeth drove over the gray-stoned bridge that served as the entrance to the village. Two huge coaches full of tourists were currently trying to inch past each other on the narrow street. Inside, Elizabeth could see faces pressed up against the windows, oohing and aahing, smiling and pointing, cameras being held up to the glass to snap the storybook village on film. The coach driver facing Elizabeth licked his lips in concentration and she could see the sweat glistening on his brow as he slowly maneuvered the oversized vehicle along the narrow road originally designed for horses and carts. The sides of the coaches were so close they were almost touching. Beside him, the tour guide with microphone in hand did his best to entertain his one-hundred-strong audience so early in the morning.

Elizabeth lifted the hand brake and sighed loudly. This wasn’t a rare occurrence in the town and she knew it could take a while. She doubted the coaches would stop. They rarely did unless it was for a toilet break. Traffic always seemed to be moving through Baile na gCroíthe, but never stopping. She didn’t blame them; it was a great place to help you get to where you were going but not one for sticking around in. Traffic would slow down and take a good look all right, but then they would put the foot down and accelerate off out the other end.

It’s not that Baile na gCroíthe wasn’t beautiful; it was. Its proudest moment was winning the Tidy Town competition for the third year running

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and as you entered the village, over the bridge, a display of bright blooming flowers spelled out your welcome. The flower display continued through the town. Window boxes adorned the shop fronts, hanging baskets hung from patent black lampposts, trees grew tall in the main street. Each building was painted a different refreshing color and the main street, the only street, was a rainbow of mint greens, salmon pinks, lilacs, lemons, and blues. The pavements were litter free and gleaming and as soon as you averted your gaze above the gray slate roofs you found yourself surrounded by majestic green mountains. It was as though Baile na gCroíthe was cocooned, safely nestled in the bosom of Mother Nature.

Cozy or suffocating.

Elizabeth’s office was located beside a green post office and a yellow supermarket. Her building was a pale blue and sat above Mrs. Bracken’s curtain, fabric, and upholstery shop. The shop had previously been a hardware shop run by Mr. Bracken, but when he had died ten years ago, Gwen had decided to turn it into her own store. Gwen seemed to make decisions purely based on what her deceased husband would think. She opened the shop of her own, “Because it’s what Mr. Bracken would have wanted”; however, Gwen refused to go out at the weekends or involve herself in any social outings as, “It’s not what Mr. Bracken would have wanted.” As far as Elizabeth could see, what made Mr. Bracken happy or unhappy seemed to tie in nicely with Gwen’s philosophy on life.

The coaches slowly moved passed each other inch by inch and Elizabeth sighed loudly. Baile na gCroíthe at rush hour; the result of two oversized buses trying to share the narrow road. Finally, they were successful in their passing and Elizabeth looked on, unamused, as the tour guide jumped from his seat in excitement, microphone in hand, succeeding in turning what was essentially a boring halt into an eventful bus journey in Ireland’s country roads. Cue clapping and cheering on board the bus. A nation in celebration. The occupants of both buses waved good-bye to each other after sharing the morning’s excitement.

Elizabeth drove on, looked in her rearview mirror to see the celebrating coach excitement die down as the bus that had faced her confronted yet another on the small bridge that led out of the town. Arms slowly dropped as they settled down for another lengthy struggle to get out of the town.

The town had a tendency to trap people this way. It was almost as if it did it purposely. It welcomed you into its heart with open arms and showed you all it had to offer with its gleaming multicolored florally decorated shop fronts. It was like being a child in a sweet shop, shown the shelves and shelves of luminous sugar-coated mouth-watering delights. And then while you stood there looking around with wide eyes and a racing pulse, the lids were put back on the jars and sealed tightly. Once the beauty of Baile na gCroíthe was realized, so was the fact that it had nothing else to offer.

Entrance into the village was smooth compared to the exit. The bridge curved in an odd way that made the leaving so difficult. Getting in was easy. It disturbed Elizabeth. It was just like the road leading from Elizabeth’s childhood home; she found it impossible to leave either place in a hurry. But something about the town kept dragging her back and she had spent years trying to fight it. She had successfully moved to New York at one time. She had followed her boyfriend, and the opportunity to design a nightclub, over. She had loved it there. Loved that no one knew her name, her face, or her family history. She could buy a coffee, a thousand different types of coffee, and not receive a look of sympathy for whatever recent family drama had occurred. Nobody knew that her mother had left her when she was a child, that her sister was wildly out of control, and that her father barely spoke to her. She had loved being in love there. In New York, she could be whomever she wanted to be. In Baile na gCroíthe, she couldn’t hide from who she was.

She realized she had been humming to herself this entire time, that silly song that Luke was trying to convince her that “Ivan” had made up. Luke called it the humming song and it was annoyingly catchy, chirpy, and repetitive. She stopped herself singing and spun her car into the empty space along the road. She pushed back the driver’s seat and reached in to grab her briefcase from the backseat of the car. First things first, coffee. Baile na gCroíthe had yet to be educated in the wonders of Starbucks. In fact, it was only last month “Joe’s” had finally allowed Elizabeth to take away her coffee, but the owner was growing increasingly tired of having to ask for his mugs back.

Sometimes Elizabeth thought that the entire town needed an injection of caffeine; some winter days in particular the village seemed to be sleepwalking, it needed a good shake. But summer days like today were busy, with people passing through. She entered the purple painted “Joe’s,” which was empty all the same. The concept of eating breakfast outside their own homes had yet to be grasped by the townspeople.

“Ah, there she is, the very woman herself,” boomed the singsong voice of Joe. “No doubt spittin’ feathers for her coffee.”

“Morning, Joe.”

He made a show of checking his watch and tapping the clock face. “Bit behind time this morning, aren’t we?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Thought maybe you had a bout of the summer flu. Seems like everyone’s got it this week.” He tried to lower his voice but only succeeded in lowering his head and raising his voice. “Sure didn’t Sandy O’Flynn come down with it right after disappearing the other night from the pub with PJ Flanagan, who had it the other week. She’s been in bed all weekend.” He snorted. “Walking her home, me arse. I’ve never heard such nonsense before in my life.”