Cecelia Ahern - How to Fall in Love

My mouth fell open. I heard another of my eggs crack under the pressure.

‘Father, that’s enough,’ Adam said firmly. ‘Don’t speak to her like that. She’s not trying to change anything, she’s only telling you what she thinks you don’t know. She wants to help.’

‘And why are you communicating the message on my son’s behalf?’ He looked at Adam. ‘Son, it’s time you grew a set of balls. Don’t let other people do your dirty work.’ And then his tone turned nasty. Not comedy nasty as it had previously been, but bitter nasty, pure vitriol emanating from his eyes and mouth, which was twisted in a sneer. ‘Did he tell you he doesn’t receive a penny, no inheritance whatsoever, until he’s done ten years with the company? Whether I’m dead or alive, he gets nothing. I think that might persuade him.’

Adam was staring at the wall, his face set.

‘No, he didn’t,’ I said, now thoroughly riled by this vile old man. ‘But I really don’t think money is an issue for Adam. Mr Basil, if your company matters to you more than your own son’s wellbeing, shouldn’t you at least consider what is best for the company? I realise it’s a family company and it’s been there for generations; you’ve put your entire life into it, blood, sweat and tears – now you need to find someone who will go on doing that in your absence. The company will not flourish in Adam’s hands because he’s not driven by the same desire you are. If you really care about your legacy, find someone who will love it and nurture it as you have.’

He looked at me, his expression contemptuous, his eyes cold, then turned to Adam. I expected to hear spite but was surprised by his calm tone. ‘Maria will help you, Adam. When there are decisions to be made that you don’t know how to make, sound them out with her. Back when I started out, do you think a day went by that I didn’t ask your mother her opinion? And you’ll have Mary – she’s my right-hand man. You think you’ll have to do it alone? You won’t.’ He stopped, suddenly exhausted. ‘You can’t let Nigel step in, you know you can’t.’

‘Maybe Maria’s too busy sleeping with Sean to help him out. Isn’t that right?’

Startled, we all turned towards the doorway. A handsome young man looked back at us, the family resemblance obvious in his strong jaw and blue eyes. But his hair was dark instead of fair – and so was his soul. To me, he emanated bad vibes.

Amused, he raised an eyebrow at us, put his hands in his pockets and strolled over casually.

‘Nigel,’ Adam said curtly.

‘Hello, Adam. Hello, Uncle Dick.’

I wish I could have felt for Mr Basil then. What could be worse than seeing someone you despise when you’re ill in bed, wearing paisley pyjamas, powerless to defend yourself. And his name was Dick. But it was impossible to summon the pity.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Adam asked, not bothering to be polite and looking as though he wanted to hit him.

‘I came to visit my uncle, but it turns out to be good timing – you and I never got to finish our meeting last week. You seemed to leave in rather a rush.’

‘You two had a meeting?’ Mr Basil looked as though he’d been stabbed in the heart.

‘Adam came to me about my taking over Basil’s. He quite liked the idea of the names Bartholomew Basil coming together – the greatest tribute to our grandfather, don’t you think?’ he smirked.

‘You’re a liar!’ Adam’s fury was evident. He trampled on my feet to get to his cousin, who he grabbed by the scruff of the neck and pushed all the way across the room till he slammed him hard against the wall. He wrapped his hand around Nigel’s throat and held him there as his cousin struggled.

‘Adam,’ I warned, trying to hold back my panic.

‘You’re a bloody liar,’ Adam said through gritted teeth. Nigel’s veins were protruding from his forehead as he tried to pull Adam’s hands away from his throat, but Adam was stronger. Instead, Nigel turned his effort to thrusting his fingers at Adam’s nostrils, forcing his head back.

‘Adam!’ I jumped up. I tried to stop them but was afraid of getting too close when they were battling it out. I looked back at Mr Basil. His face was like thunder but he was ultimately an impotent old man in his sick bed – and he knew it. He started breathing very heavily.

‘Mr Basil, are you okay?’ I asked. I ran back to his side and pressed the call button for the nurse.

His eyes were watering.

‘He wouldn’t,’ I said firmly. ‘Adam wouldn’t do that.’

He searched my face for signs of being misled.

‘Of course, he wouldn’t,’ I said, beginning to panic and pressing the call button continuously. By the time security burst into the room, Adam and Nigel were scuffling on the ground. They immediately pulled Adam off Nigel and while they held him by the shoulders, with his arms trapped behind his back, Nigel swung his arm and punched Adam hard, first across the jaw, then in the stomach.

Adam doubled over.

‘I think your modelling days are over,’ I joked weakly as I dabbed Adam’s split lip once we were back at the flat.

He smiled and the blood started to spill all over again through his stretched cut.

‘Ah, don’t smile,’ I said, dabbing at it again.

‘No problem,’ he sighed. He stood up suddenly, pushing me away, the aggression back in his body. ‘I’m going for a shower.’

I opened my mouth to call out an apology. I had tried to do right and it had all gone horribly wrong. Our lunch at the restaurant had given him cramps, the walk in the park had led him to be locked in a garda cell, the random drive had led to a car chase, and my quest to tell his father the truth had led to him getting his face punched in.

Sorry.

But I didn’t say anything. It didn’t matter. I had said it in the car on the way home until I was blue in the face; I had tried to talk the entire episode into a positive experience, one about facing the truth and dealing with consequences, but I knew it was a hard sell. I’d misjudged the situation. I’d thought he had been too afraid to tell his father, but the fear was because he knew that his father was aware he wanted none of it but it made no difference. It had been naïve of me, thinking I could hit upon an obvious way out of a situation Adam had spent years trying to extricate himself from. It was only after exploring every other possible escape route that he’d made his desperate decision on the Ha’penny Bridge. I should have known that, and the fact it hadn’t occurred to me left me feeling awkward and embarrassed. He didn’t want to hear my words any more. My words weren’t fixing anything. My being sorry would change nothing.

At four a.m. I kicked the duvet covers off the bed in a fit of frustration and officially gave up on trying to sleep.

‘Are you awake?’ I called out to the dark.

‘No,’ he responded.

I smiled. ‘I left a sheet for you on the coffee table. Pick it up.’

I heard him move across the room to retrieve the page I’d set out the night before.

‘What the hell is this?’

‘Read one.’

‘“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart.” Helen Keller.’ He was silent. Then he snorted.

‘“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.” Aristotle Onassis.’ I called out, from memory, lying back down on the bed.

He paused and I wondered if he was going to rip it up, or humour my attempt at lifting his spirit.

‘“Believe you can and you’re halfway there.” Theodore Roosevelt,’ I called out again, encouraging him to read another.

‘Don’t piss into the wind,’ Adam called.