Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

Uncles and aunts who visited to help had moved or passed on. Friendly schoolteachers could only care for a school year, school friends developed and tried to find themselves too. It was always the good people who left, the people who weren’t afraid to smile or to love.

Elizabeth hugged her knees and cried and cried, like a little girl who had fallen and cut her knee. She wished for her mother to come and pick her up, to carry her and rest her on the kitchen counter while she applied a plaster to her cut. And then, just as she always did, she would carry her around the room dancing and singing until the pain was forgotten and her tears had dried.

She wished for Mark, her only love, to take her in his arms, in arms so big she was dwarfed in his embrace. She wished to be surrounded by his love while he rocked her slowly and softly as he used to do, whispering hushes of reassurance in her ears and running his fingers through her hair. He made her believe that everything would be OK, and lying in his arms she knew that it would, felt that it would.

And the more she wished, the more she cried because she realized there was no one around who could make her feel this way again. Her father could barely look her in the eye for fear of remembering his wife, and her sister was so incapable of offering comfort that she had forgotten her own son. Meanwhile, her nephew needed comfort from her. He looked to her every day with big, hopeful blue eyes, just asking to be loved and cuddled. Emotions that she felt she was never given enough of to be able to share.

And as Elizabeth sat there crying and rocking, shivering in the breeze, she wondered why it was that she allowed one sentence that had passed the lips of a girl who had never received enough kisses of love, never felt warm embraces, and never herself allowed words of love to drift over her own lips to be the one whose thump and kick sent her falling to the ground. Just as she had done with the piece of black silk in Elizabeth’s office.

Damn Saoirse. Damn her and her hatred of life, damn her for her disregard for others and disrespect for her sister. Damn her for not trying when all Elizabeth did was try with her whole heart. What gave her the power to speak with such churlishness, how could she be so flippant with her insults? The voice inside Elizabeth’s head reminded her that it wasn’t the drink talking, it was never the drink talking. It was the hurt.

Elizabeth’s own hurt was screaming at her tonight. “Oh, help,” she cried softly, covering her face in her hands. “Help, help, help,” she whispered through her sobs.

A noise at the sliding door of the kitchen caused her head to jerk up from where it was cradled in her knees. At the door stood a man, lit like an angel by the kitchen light behind him.

“Oh.” Elizabeth swallowed hard, her heart pounding at being caught. She wiped her eyes roughly and smoothed down her wild hair. She rose to her feet. “You must be Sam’s dad.” Her voice still shook from the emotion bubbling inside her. “I’m Elizabeth.”

There was a silence. He was probably wondering what on earth he was thinking, letting his six-year-old son be minded by this woman, a woman who let her six-year-old nephew open the front door by himself at ten o’clock at night.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.” She pulled her cardigan tighter around her waist and crossed her arms. She didn’t want to step into the light. She didn’t want him to see that she had been crying. “I’m sure Luke has told Sam you’re here but . . .” But what, Elizabeth? “But I’ll just give him a quick call anyway,” she mumbled. She walked across the grass toward the house with her head down, rubbing her forehead with her hand to hide her eyes.

When she reached the kitchen door, she squinted against the bright light, but kept her head lowered, not wanting to make eye contact with the man. All she could see of him were a pair of blue Converse runners at the end of a pair of faded blue jeans.

Chapter Fourteen

“Sam, your dad is here to collect you!” Elizabeth called weakly upstairs. There was no answer, just the sound of a pair of little feet running around the landing. She sighed and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman she saw. Her face was swollen and puffy, her hair messed from being blown in the breeze, and damp from rubbing her teary hands through it.

Luke appeared at the top of the stairs, sleepy-eyed and dressed in his Spider-Man pajamas, which he refused to allow her to wash, instead hiding them behind his favorite teddy, George, for protection. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his fists and looked down at her in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Luke, it’s pardon, not huh,” Elizabeth corrected him, then wondered in her current mood why the hell it mattered. “Sam’s father is still waiting so could you please tell him to hurry down.”

Luke scratched his head in a daze. “But . . .” He stopped and rubbed his face tiredly.

“But what?”

“Sam’s dad collected him when you were in the gar—” He stopped as his gaze was diverted to over Elizabeth’s shoulder. Luke’s face broke into a front-toothless smile. “Oh, hello, Sam’s dad.”

He giggled uncontrollably. “Sam will be down in a minute.” He laughed, then he ran back to his room.

Elizabeth had no choice but to turn slowly and face Sam’s father. She couldn’t continue to avoid him while he waited in her home for his son. On first glance, she noticed he had a look of bewilderment as he watched Luke run back down the hall giggling. He turned to face her, looking worried. He was leaning against the door frame, hands tucked into the back pockets of a pair of faded blue jeans. He wore a blue T-shirt and wisps of jet-black hair escaped from under his blue cap. Despite his youthful attire, she presumed he was her age.

“Don’t worry about Luke,” Elizabeth said, slightly embarrassed at her nephew’s behavior. “He’s just a little hyper tonight and,” she rushed her words, “I’m sorry you caught me at a bad time in the garden,” Elizabeth said, wrapping her arms around her body protectively. “I’m not usually like this.” She wiped her eyes with a trembling hand and quickly clasped her hands together to hide her shaking. Her overflow of emotion had disoriented her.

“That’s OK,” the soft deep voice replied. “We all have our bad days.”

Elizabeth chewed on the inside of her mouth and tried in vain to remember her last good one. “Edith is away at the moment, I’m sure you’ve had dealings with her, which is why we’ve never met?”

“Oh, Edith.” He smiled. “Luke’s mentioned her lots of times. He’s very fond of her.”

“Yes.” She smiled weakly and wondered if Luke had ever mentioned her. “Would you like to sit down?” she motioned toward the living room. After offering him a drink, she returned from the kitchen with the unusual request for a glass of milk for him and an espresso for herself. She paused at the door of the living room in surprise to catch him spinning around in the leather swivel chair. The sight of him made her smile. On seeing her at the door, he smiled back, stopped spinning, took the glass from her, and then moved to the leather couch. Elizabeth sat in her usual chair, so oversized it almost swallowed her up. She hated herself for hoping his runners wouldn’t dirty her cream carpet.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” she said, trying to brighten up the dull tone in her voice.

“My name’s Ivan.”

She spluttered coffee down her top as it caught in her throat.

Ivan rushed over to pat her on the back. His concerned eyes stared right into hers. His forehead creased with worry.