Cecelia Ahern - How to Fall in Love

I was mid conversation with her when I realised the shower had stopped running, in fact I hadn’t heard it in a while. I turned around, his phone still to my ear. Adam was standing at the bathroom door, as if he’d been there for a while, towel wrapped around his waist, his skin bone dry, anger on his face. I quickly made my excuses and ended the call. I spoke before he had the chance to attack me.

‘You had seventeen missed calls on your phone, I thought it might be important so I answered. Also, if this is going to work between us, then I need total access to your life. No holds barred. No secrets.’

I stopped to make sure he understood. He didn’t object.

‘That was Maria. She was worried about you. She was afraid you’d hurt yourself after last night, or worse. She’s been worried about you for a year now, extremely worried for nine months. She felt she wasn’t getting through to you so she went to Sean for help, so they could figure out what to do. She fought how she felt for him, but she fell for Sean. They didn’t want to hurt you. They’ve been together for six weeks. She didn’t know how to tell you. She thought your behaviour was down to your sister leaving Ireland, then you having to leave your job, and your father being sick. She said every time she wanted to talk to you, something bad happened. She wanted to tell you about her and Sean, but then the news about your father’s illness being terminal came. She said she’d arranged to meet with you last week to tell you finally, and instead you told her about being let go from your job. She wished you hadn’t found out the way you did.’

I watched as he took all of this in. He was seething, the anger was bubbling beneath his skin but I could see the hurt too, he was really so fragile, so delicate, so heartbroken, a whisper away from breaking.

I continued, ‘She seemed put out that I answered the phone, upset, almost angry with me that she didn’t know who I was. She said in the six years you were together she thought she knew all of your friends. She was jealous.’

The anger seemed to lessen then, with thoughts of her jealousy of him and another woman like water over his burning rage.

I felt hesitant about adding the rest but took a gamble that I thought would pay off. ‘She said she doesn’t recognise you any more. That you used to be fun – funny and spontaneous. She said you’ve lost your spark.’

His eyes filled a little and he coughed and shook his head, macho man back.

‘We’re going to get you back to that way again, Adam, I promise. Who knows, maybe she’ll recognise the man she fell in love with and she’ll fall in love with him all over again. We’ll rediscover your spark.’

I gave him space to think about that and waited in the living room, nervously biting my nails. Twenty long minutes later he appeared in the doorway, fully dressed, eyes clear and hiding any proof of his despair.

‘Breakfast?’

The dining-room buffet had quite an array of food to choose from and customers went back and forth several times to avail of the all-you-can-eat menu. We sat with our backs to the display with cups of black coffee and empty placemats.

‘So you don’t eat, you don’t really sleep and we both like to rescue people. What else do we have in common?’ Adam said.

I had lost my appetite three months ago, the same time I’d realised I was not happy in my marriage. As a result of losing my appetite, I’d lost a lot of weight, though I was working on it through my How to Get Your Appetite Back One Bite at a Time book.

‘Broken relationships,’ I offered.

‘You left yours. I was left. Doesn’t count.’

‘Don’t take my leaving my husband personally.’

‘I can if I want.’

I sighed. ‘So tell me about you. Maria said you’d lost your spark over a year ago, which was a comment that has really stayed with me.’

‘Yeah, that has stayed with me too,’ he interrupted, with false animation. ‘I’m wondering if she’d realised that before or after she fucked my best friend, or perhaps it was during. Now wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’

I didn’t respond to that, allowed him to have his moment. ‘What were you like when your mother passed away? How did you behave?’

Maria had also revealed that detail over the phone, disclosing much of Adam’s life and his problems as though I was a long and trusted friend who knew all of this information anyway. I’m sure she would have been far more careful with her words had she known the real situation, but she didn’t, it wasn’t her business, and so I’d let her talk; her rant an attempt to justify her actions and also a way for me to be enlightened on aspects of Adam’s life that perhaps he wouldn’t have shared with me himself.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s helpful to me.’

‘Will it be helpful to me?’

‘Your mother passed away, your sister moved away, your father is sick, your girlfriend has met someone else. I think that your girlfriend leaving you was the trigger. Perhaps you can’t deal with people leaving. Perhaps you feel abandoned. You know, if you can recognise your triggers, it can help with being aware of those negative thoughts before you drop into the downward spiral. Maybe when someone leaves you now, you connect with how you felt when you were five years old.’

I was impressed with myself but I seemed to be the only one.

‘I think you should stop playing therapist.’

‘I think you should go and see a real one, but for some reason you won’t and I’m the best you’ve got.’

He was silenced by that. Whatever his reasons, that didn’t seem to be an option. Still, I was hoping I’d get him there eventually.

Adam sighed and sat back in the chair, looking up at the chandelier as if it was that which had asked him the question. ‘I was five years old, Lavinia was ten. Mum had cancer. It was all very sad for everyone, though I didn’t really understand. I didn’t feel sad, I only knew that it was. I didn’t know she had cancer, or if I did I didn’t know what it was. I just knew she was sick. There was a room downstairs in the house where she stayed that we weren’t allowed to go into. It was for a few weeks or a few months, I can’t really remember. It felt like for ever. We had to be very quiet around the door. Men would go in and out with their doctor’s bags, ruffle my hair as they passed. Father would rarely go in. Then one day the door to that room was open. I went in; it had a bed in it that never used to be there before. The bed was empty but apart from that the room looked exactly the same as it used to. The doctor who used to tap me on the head told me my mother was gone. I asked him where, he said Heaven. So I knew she wasn’t coming back. That’s where my grandfather went one day and he never came back. I thought it must have been a fun place to go to never want to come back. We went to the funeral. Everybody was very sad. I stayed with my aunt for a few days. Then I was packed off to boarding school.’ He spoke of it all devoid of emotion, totally disconnected as his defence mechanism kicked in to block out the overwhelming pain. I guessed for him to connect, to feel the pain, felt too much to bear. He seemed isolated and disengaged and I believed every word he said.

‘Your father didn’t discuss what was happening to your mother?’

‘My father doesn’t do emotion. After they told him he had weeks to live he asked for a fax machine to be put in his hospital room.’

‘Was your sister communicative? Could you talk about it together, in order to understand?’

‘She was sent to a boarding school in Kildare and we saw each other for a few days each holiday. The first summer we were back at the house from boarding school she set up a stall in town and sold my mother’s shoes, bags, fur coats and jewellery and whatever else was of any value and made herself a fortune. Every single thing was sold and couldn’t be bought back by the time anyone realised what she’d done a few weeks later. She’d spent most of the money already. She was practically a stranger to me and even more so after that. She’s made of the same stuff my father is. She’s more intelligent than me, it’s just a pity she didn’t put her brains to better use. She should be taking Father’s place, not me.’