Cecelia Ahern - Girl in the Mirror

He wanted to say so many things - shout, demand to know who did this to her. So many questions and feelings he had inside he had to take a minute to process which one he should say first. The wrong thing and he knew she’d be gone. She was so fragile, her presence so precious but like a feather, a light wind and he knew she’d be taken away from him so easily. He managed to calm himself a little. The red-faced anger had left him and now he felt the tremble in his body, the after-shock. He cleared his throat to speak but she stopped him. Her pink hand jerked suddenly into the air to halt him as a traffic warden would. The sleeve fell further down in the motion and he saw the markings on her wrist. Yellow-tinted black bruises all the way up her arm.

‘Don’t,’ she said, and her voice was firmer than he’d ever heard.

He didn’t.

He knew he would not.

He would not risk losing her.

‘Don’t ask,’ she said, ‘and I won’t ask why you’ve done this, this morning.’

He was suddenly embarrassed but understood. He nodded, knowing with her back turned she couldn’t see him but her comment was not a question and she expected no answer.

They sat at the table, his jubilant mood from that morning murdered, and they ate in silence. She didn’t eat much. Neither did he.

His first client of the day arrived. An eighteen-year-old whose father, he said, despised him. He wanted memories of spending time with his father so that when he looked at him he wouldn’t feel so sad about what he was missing and what he had missed. His father in the stand at his football match, his father cheering when he’d scored the winning goal. His father smiling when he made a joke. No new conversations, nothing dramatic and exotic. Just memories with his father just being there. Present and attentive.

He was afraid she wouldn’t come back the next day but she did. As usual she was dressed in a day dress but this had long sleeves and a high neck with back buttons to hide what he had seen before. But it was too late. He would see it for ever. Whenever he closed his eyes. The flesh around the eye had coloured more. And for weeks it went back to being as it was before, only it wasn’t like it was before. It was polluted, their fresh perfect existence together polluted, until late one night she arrived doubled over and coughing on his doorstep, so much blood he couldn’t see where it was coming from. She wouldn’t let him call the police or bring her to the hospital. She wouldn’t even let him clean her up. She wanted to do it herself, she just needed a place. She locked herself in the bathroom and was in there for an hour, the sound of running water and occasional splashing the only thing to let him know she was still alive.

She opened the door, dressed in his shirt, looking like a small child in the oversized striped top. She slept in his bed, he slept - or didn’t - on the couch. They never spoke of it, though he had to fight with himself not to. A few days later she came to him.

‘Can we talk?’

‘Of course. I have an appointment now. Would you like to wait in the kitchen?’

‘I am your appointment.’ She sat before him in the armchair.

He suddenly froze.

‘I’m not going to tell you anything,’ she said.

He nodded just once, not trusting himself to speak just then.

‘I know you’re not a psychiatrist. I know that you hate people telling you things.’

‘You’re different.’

She smiled sadly. ‘So here is my memory. The one that I want. The day I arrived here.’

He knew which day she meant.

‘You open the door, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. I’m intrigued but I smile. Your smile is so big it’s contagious. You’re happy to see me smile. Good morning, Judith, you say. My name is Mary, I tell you.’

She was looking at him intently, her eyes shining with tears.

Mary, he thought, what a beautiful name.

‘Mary, you say, that’s a beautiful name. Thank you I say. Then you bring me down the hall, you take my coat, always the perfect gentleman, and you show me the kitchen. As soon as you have opened the door the smell hits me. It’s the most beautiful table of food I’ve ever seen. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

‘And I turn around to face you and I thank you. And I tell you that there is the most beautiful smell, the most beautiful spread, the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

‘And you are so happy.

‘We sit down and I eat everything. I eat everything because it tastes so good and I want you to know that I appreciate how long it must have taken you to cook it. And I tell you it’s the tastiest food I’ve ever eaten.

‘And you’re so happy.

‘Then you read the newspaper and we talk about the news stories. I ask you to explain, not because I want to know but because I want to hear your voice. Because I love the sound of your voice. Because it’s the most solid and safe thing I’ve ever heard in my life. The most solid thing in my whole life.’

His eyes well up.

‘And I tell you that and you almost cry. And then I ask you about the machine, about how you did it. But I don’t ask why, even though I’ve always wanted to know why. I can guess. I’ve heard the stories of what happened, but I don’t believe them all. But I don’t ask you why because now I understand. I already know why. Because I know how a moment can pass - how you’ve really wanted to say something to someone or do something, but something happens and you don’t, and you almost want to explode afterwards because you didn’t do it. And I know you get annoyed when people come in here and try to make stupid memories like becoming sporting heroes and play around on their wives with prettier women. Because that’s not what it’s about. It’s about fixing a moment back to the way it should have been, had you not got distracted, or if you weren’t such a coward or if you had known that that lost moment was the only moment you had to say or do what you wanted.

‘But I don’t say that to you then, because you know that I know. We talk about the appointments. We have a cheese sandwich. Before I go, I thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And I give you a hug. And it’s the warmest, softest - safest - hug I’ve ever had and I know that you’ll protect me through everything.’

He nods.

‘And then I go home. Happy. And you watch me leave. Happy. And we both know that we’re going to be okay.’

She stopped then, tears streaming down both their faces. She removes the wires from her head, she stands, takes her bag and coat, and leaves. The front door clicks behind her. He watches her boots on the metal steps upstairs to the roadside. All he can hear is the hum of the machine. He never sees her again.

He puts the pads over his temples and forehead.

He runs his fingers through her hair, it’s loosely curled and his fingers fall straight through it, it is so soft, like velvet. He hears his name being called. A colleague to his right-hand side coming toward him. He greets him.

She tells him she’ll see him later. He is a little distracted but he agrees. He quickly brushes his lips against the skin on her fingers. Her skin is warm and soft. She takes her hand away quickly so as not to embarrass him in the company of his colleague, and she moves away. He turns to greet his colleague. They begin to discuss a case that has been boggling the offices for a great many months. He hears her call goodbye again but he is caught in conversation. He tells his colleague he is very sorry but he must say goodbye to her properly. His colleague is a little put out but he waits for him. He looks up and she turns around and their eyes meet, she smiles at him. He smiles back. One final confirmation of their love.