Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

After they had both been covered head-to-toe in paint and Elizabeth was laughing so much she could no longer put up a fight, Ivan turned his attention to the wall. “What this wall needs now is some paint.”

Elizabeth removed her mouth cover and tried to regain her breathing, revealing the only normal skin color on her face.

“Well, at least that came in handy,” Ivan noted, and turned back to face the wall. “A little birdie told me that you went on a date with Benjamin West,” he said, dipping a fresh brush into the red paint pot.

“Dinner, yes. A date, no. And may I add that I went out with him the night you stood me up.”

He didn’t reply. “You like him?” he asked.

“He’s a nice man.” She still didn’t turn around.

“You want to spend more time with him?” he asked.

Elizabeth began to roll up the paint-splattered sheet from the floor. “I’d like to spend more time with you.”

“What if you couldn’t?”

Elizabeth froze. “Then I’d ask you why.”

He avoided the question. “What if I didn’t exist and you’d never met me, would you want to spend more time with Benjamin then?”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, put her paper and pens into her bag, and zipped it shut. She was tired of playing games with him and his talk was making her nervous. They needed to discuss this properly. She stood up and faced him. On the wall, Ivan had written, “Elizabeth LOVES Benjamin” in big red letters.

“Ivan!” Elizabeth giggled nervously. “Don’t be such a child, what if someone was to see that!” She went to grab the brush from him.

He wouldn’t let go and their eyes locked together. “I can’t give you what you want, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

A coughing from the doorway caused them both to jump.

“Hi, Elizabeth.” Benjamin looked at her with curious amusement. He glanced at the wall behind her and grinned. “That’s an interesting theme.”

There was a pregnant pause. Elizabeth looked to her right. “It was Ivan.” Her voice came out childlike.

Benjamin laughed slightly. “Him again.”

She nodded and he looked to the paintbrush in her hand, dripping red paint onto her splattered jeans. A red-, blue-, purple-, green-, and white-splashed face now turned crimson.

“Looks like it’s you who’s been caught painting the roses red,” Benjamin said softly, and went to take a step into the room.

“Benjamin!” Vincent’s voice shouted at him.

He paused midstep, with a pained expression at the sound of Vincent’s demanding voice. “I better go.” He smiled. “I’ll talk to you later.” He laughed and headed off in the direction of Vincent’s shouts. “Oh, by the way,” he called out, “thanks for the party invitation.”

Elizabeth ignored Ivan, who was doubled over laughing and snorting. She dipped her brush in the white pot and erased Ivan’s words, trying to erase this embarrassing moment from her memory.

...

“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Callaghan; hello, Maureen; hello, Fidelma; hi, Connor; Father Murphy,” she greeted her fellow villagers as she walked through the town to get to her office. Red paint dribbled down her arms, blue paint clung in strands around her hair, and her jeans looked like Monet’s palette. Silent, stunned stares followed her as her clothes continued to drip with paint, leaving a multicolored trail behind her.

“Why do you always do that?” Ivan asked, running alongside her to keep up as she marched through the town.

“Do what? Good afternoon, Sheila.”

“You always cross the road before you get to Flanagan’s Pub, walk on the opposite path, and then cross again once you get to Joe’s.”

“No I don’t.” She smiled at another gawker.

“Talk about painting the town red, Elizabeth,” Joe called out to her, laughing as she left red footprints behind her as she ran across the road.

“Look, you just did it!” Ivan laughed.

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and looked back on her trail, visible by her footprints. True enough, she had crossed the road at Flanagan’s, walked on the opposite path, and crossed over once again to get to her office, instead of staying on the same path. She hadn’t noticed that before. She looked back at Flanagan’s Pub. Mr. Flanagan stood at the door having a cigarette; he nodded at her strangely, appearing surprised that she held his stare. She frowned and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she stared at the building.

“Everything OK, Elizabeth?” Ivan asked, cutting into her thoughts.

“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and looked at Ivan in confusion and unconvincingly repeated, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Elizabeth passed a gobsmacked and disapproving Mrs. Bracken, who was standing at the door with two other elderly women, all with pieces of fabric in their hands. They tutted as she trudged by with paint in clumps in the ends of her hair, which was rubbing against her back and causing a beautiful multicolored effect.

“Is she losing her marbles or what?” the woman beside her whispered loudly.

“No, quite the opposite.” Elizabeth could hear the smile in Mrs. Bracken’s voice. “I’d say she’s been on her hands and knees looking for them.”

The other women tutted and wandered away, muttering about Elizabeth not being the only one losing her marbles.

Elizabeth ignored the stare from Becca and the shout from Poppy, “That’s more like it!”, and marched into her office, closing the door softly behind her. Shutting everything out. She leaned her back against the door and tried to figure out why her body was shaking so much. What had been stirred inside her? What monsters had awoken from their slumber and were bubbling away under her skin? She breathed in deeply through her nostrils and exhaled slowly, counting one, two, three times until her weak knees stopped trembling.

Everything had been fine if not mildly embarrassing as she walked through the town looking like she had dipped herself a pot of rainbow-colored paint. It had all been fine until Ivan said something, what did he say, he said . . . and then she remembered and a chill ran through her body.

Flanagan’s Pub. She always avoided Flanagan’s Pub, he said. She hadn’t noticed until he had brought it to her attention. Why did she do it, because of Saoirse? No, Saoirse drank in the Camel’s Hump, on the hill, down the road. She remained leaning against the door, thinking, until her head was dizzy with all the thoughts. The room spun around her and she decided she needed to get home. Home to where she could control what went on, who could enter, who could leave, where things had their own place and where every memory was clear. She needed order.

“Where’s your beanbag, Ivan?” Calendula asked, looking up at me from her yellow-painted wooden chair.

“Oh, I got tired of that,” I replied. “Spinning is my new favorite thing now.”

“Nice.” She nodded with approval.

“Opal’s really late,” Tommy said, wiping his runny nose along his arm.

Calendula looked away in disgust, fixed her pretty yellow dress, crossed her ankles, and swung her white patent shoes and frilly socks while she hummed the humming song.

Olivia knitted in her rocking chair. “She’ll be here,” she rasped.

Jamie-Lynn reached out to the center table to grab a chocolate Rice Krispies bun and a glass of milk and as she coughed and spluttered, her glass of milk spilled all over her arm. She licked it off.

“Have you been playing in the doctor’s waiting room again, Jamie-Lynn?” Olivia asked, glaring at her over the rims of her glasses.