Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

Elizabeth held her stomach from laughing so hard. “I would never let them knock down that house. Anyway, this job pays me lots of money,” she explained.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned money. We’re doing fine. What do you need all this money for?” Mark asked.

“A rainy day,” Elizabeth said, her laughter dying down and her smile fading as her thoughts drifted to Saoirse and her father. A very rainy day, indeed.

“Just as well we’re not living here anymore then,” Mark said, looking out the window, “or you’d be broke.”

Elizabeth looked out the window to the wet day and couldn’t help feeling that the week had been a complete waste of time. She hadn’t exactly been expecting a welcoming committee and buntings to be hung from the village shops, but neither Saoirse nor her father seemed to be in the least bit interested in whether she was home or not and what she had been up to in her time away. But she hadn’t returned to share stories about her new life in New York, she had returned to check up on them.

Her father still wasn’t talking to her on account of her leaving home and deserting him. Working for a few months at a time in different counties had seemed at the time the ultimate sin, but leaving the country altogether was now the mightiest sin of all. Before Elizabeth had left, she had made arrangements to ensure that her father and Saoirse would both be looked after. Much to Elizabeth’s great disappointment, Saoirse had dropped out of school the previous year and Elizabeth had just set her up with her eighth job in two months, stocking shelves in the local supermarket. She had also arranged with a neighbor to drive her into Killarney twice a month to see her counselor. To Elizabeth, that part was far more important than the job and she knew that Saoirse had only agreed to it as it gave her the opportunity to escape from her cage twice a month. In the unlikely event that Saoirse ever decided to talk about how she was feeling, at least there would be someone there to listen.

There had been no sign of the housekeeper Elizabeth had hired for her father, though. The farmhouse was a dusty, smelly, damp mess and after spending two days scrubbing the place Elizabeth gave up, realizing there was no amount of cleaning products that would bring back the shine to the farmhouse. When her mother left, she took the sparkle with her.

Saoirse had moved out of the bungalow and into a house with a group of strangers she had met while camping out at a music festival. Their primary daily activity was to lie around in the grass by the old tower, with their long hair and beards, strumming on the guitar and singing songs about suicide. Elizabeth had only managed to meet up with her sister twice during her stay. The first time was very brief. On the day of Elizabeth’s arrival she received a phone call from the only ladies’ clothes store in Baile na gCroíthe. They were holding Saoirse, as they had caught her shoplifting some T-shirts. Elizabeth had gone down, apologized profusely, paid the women for the T-shirts, and as soon as they had stepped outside Saoirse had headed for the hills. The second time they met was only long enough for Elizabeth to loan Saoirse some money and then organize to meet for lunch the next day, a lunch Elizabeth ended up eating alone. At least she was glad to see Saoirse had put on some weight at last. Her face was fuller and her clothes didn’t seem to hang off her as they once did. Perhaps living away from home was good for her.

November in Baile na gCroíthe was lonely. The young population was away at school and college, the tourists were at home or visiting hotter countries, businesses were quiet and empty, some closed, the others struggling. The village was drab, cold, and dreary, the flowers not out to brighten the streets. It was like a ghost town. But Elizabeth was glad she had returned. Her small family might not have given two flutes as to whether she was home or not, but she knew with a certainty now she couldn’t live her life worrying about them and not knowing how they were.

Mark and Elizabeth moved up the queue. There was only one person ahead of them and then they would be free. Free to catch their flight to Dublin so they could go back to New York.

Elizabeth’s phone rang and her stomach lurched instinctively.

Mark whipped around. “Don’t answer that.”

Elizabeth took the phone out of her bag and looked at the number.

“Don’t answer it, Elizabeth.” His voice was steady and stern.

“It’s an Irish number.” Elizabeth bit down on her lip.

“Don’t,” he said gently.

“But something could be wro—” The ringing stopped.

Mark smiled, looked relieved. “Well done.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly and Mark turned back to face the check-in desk. He took a step forward to approach the desk and as he did so her phone began ringing again.

It was the same number.

Mark was talking to the woman behind the desk, laughing and as charming as usual. Elizabeth clutched the phone tightly in her hand and stared at the number on her screen until it disappeared and the ringing stopped again.

It beeped, signaling a voice mail.

“Elizabeth, she needs your passport.” Mark swirled around. His face fell.

“I’m just checking my messages,” Elizabeth said quickly and began rooting in her bag for her passport, phone pressed to her ear.

“Hello Elizabeth, this is Mary Flaherty calling from the maternity ward in Killarney hospital. Your sister Saoirse has been taken in with labor pains. It’s a month earlier than expected, as you know, so Saoirse wanted us to call you to let you know in case you wanted to be here with her . . .” Elizabeth didn’t hear the rest. She stood frozen to the spot. Labor pains? Saoirse? She wasn’t even pregnant. She replayed the message, thinking maybe it was the wrong number, ignoring Mark’s pleas for her to hand over her passport.

“Elizabeth,” Mark said loudly, interrupting her thoughts. “Your passport. You’re holding everyone up.”

Elizabeth turned around and was greeted by a line of angry faces.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her whole body shaking, feeling stunned.

“What’s wrong?” Mark said, his anger fading and concern spreading across his face.

“Excuse me,” the woman at the desk called. “Are you getting on this flight?” she asked as politely as she could.

“Em.” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes in confusion, looked from Mark’s issued ticket on the counter and back to his face and back again. “No, no I can’t.” She stepped backward out of the queue. “Sorry.” She turned to the few people in the queue who looked at her with softened faces. “So sorry.” She looked at Mark standing in the queue, looking so . . . so disappointed. Not disappointed she wasn’t coming but disappointed in her.

“Sir.” The lady handed him his ticket.

He took it distractedly and slowly stepped out of the queue. “What happened?”

“It’s Saoirse,” Elizabeth said weakly, a lump forming in her throat. “She’s been taken into hospital.”

“Did she drink too much again?” The concern had instantly disappeared from Mark’s voice.

Elizabeth thought about that answer long and hard and the shame and embarrassment of not having known about Saoirse’s pregnancy took charge and shouted at her to lie. “Yes, I think so. I’m not too sure.” She shook her head, to try to shake her thoughts away.

Mark’s shoulders relaxed. “Look, she probably just has to get her stomach pumped again. It’s nothing new, Elizabeth. Let’s just get you checked in and we can talk about it in the café.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, no, Mark, I have to go.” Her voice trembled.

“Elizabeth, it’s probably nothing. ” He smiled and put his hands reassuringly on either side of her face. “How many of these phone calls do you get a year and it’s always the same thing.”