A Place Called Here

by Cecelia Ahern

  “Helena said the very same thing to me. Did that happen before?”

  “My god, did it happen before. Well not exactly the same circumstances.” He waved his hand dismissively and dropped the dramatics. “Years ago, before I even arrived here, some old guy claimed that some of his things kept going missing. If you ask me it was his mind more than anything. Well, as soon people heard, there wasn’t a toilet he could go to without company. He was followed absolutely everywhere. When he went to the eatery, people flocked to his table; they followed him to the shops and even waited outside his home. It was madness. Eventually he had to give up his job because huge numbers would shadow him.”

  “What was his job?”

  “He was a postman.”

  “A postman? Here?” I screwed up my face.

  “What’s so odd about that? We need postmen here more than anywhere. People need to get letters, messages, and packages to others in surrounding villages, because even though we have telephones, televisions, and computers, there’s no network or service on any of them, just static and a lot of fuzz. Anyway he couldn’t keep cycling into villages with a trail of people behind him. Villagers were giving out about it but the people who followed him thought he was miraculously going to find his way out of here.”

  “And what happened?” I asked, now on the edge of my seat.

  “They all drove him crazy, even more crazy than he already was. There was nowhere he could go in privacy.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I dunno.” Bobby appeared suddenly bored by the story. “He disappeared. He’s probably a few towns away or something. Joseph would know, as they were very close. You should ask him.”

  A chill entered my body and I shivered.

  “Are you cold in here?” Bobby asked, incredulous. “It’s always so hot upstairs, I find. I’m absolutely sweating.” He picked up our plates and glasses.

  He may have acted cool, but I saw him. I saw him from the corner of my eye, giving me a long, long look before he exited the room. He wanted to see if his seed had been planted. He needn’t have worried. It had.

  36

  Come on, we can walk and talk at the same time,” Bobby said, standing and grabbing my hand to pull me up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To rehearsals, of course. Now more than anything, you have to keep up this play lark. People will be keeping their eyes on you whether you notice it or not.”

  I got chills again and shuddered. Once downstairs, Bobby started throwing clothes at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “People will take you a lot more seriously if you stop dressing like Sinbad the Sailor.” He handed me a gray pinstriped pair of trousers and a blue shirt.

  “These are the correct sizes,” I said, looking through the tags, impressed.

  “Yes, but I did not take into account the very long legs.” He bit his lip, looking down at me.

  “The bane of my life.” I rolled my eyes, handing the trousers back.

  “No problem, I’ve got just the thing!” He ran off down to the end of the shop. “This entire rack is for people with very long legs.” He rooted through the hangers, while I looked at the clothes like a kid in a candy store. Never, never had I come across such a luxury.

  “My God, I think I might be happy here after all.” I ran my fingers along all the clothes.

  “Here you go.” He handed me what looked like exactly the same trousers, but longer. “Put them on quick. We don’t want to be late for rehearsals.”

  We stepped outside into the bright sunny day, my eyes aching after being hidden away in the darkness of the musty walnut building. It was noisy with the business of trade going on. People were shouting, bargaining, laughing, and calling out in all different languages, some I had never heard before. A small group of four women turned to stare at Bobby and me as he locked up the shop. I stood on the porch in my new clothes, feeling on display, as they whispered to one another.

  “There she is,” I heard one whisper very loudly, so loudly I wonder how on earth she thought I wouldn’t hear her. One nudged another and she was pushed forward, stumbling toward us as we made our way down the steps.

  “Hi.” She stopped us in our tracks.

  Bobby went to move around her but she stepped to the left, blocking us again.

  “Hi,” she repeated, looking at me and ignoring Bobby.

  “Hi,” I responded, aware that the group she had emerged from was watching.

  “My name is Christine Taylor?”

  Was that a question?

  “Hi, Christine.”

  Silence.

  “I’m Sandy.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she searched my face, hunting for my recognition of her.

  “Can I help you?” I asked politely.

  “I’ve been here for two and a half years?” she asked again.

  “Oh, I see. That’s”—I looked to Bobby, who raised his eyes to heaven in response—“well, that’s quite a while, isn’t it?”

  She studied me again. “I used to live in Dublin?”

  “Really? Dublin’s a very nice city.”

  “I have three brothers and one sister?” She tried to refresh my memory. “Andrew Taylor?” Eyes searched my face. “Martin Taylor?” Silence. “Gavin Taylor?” Silence. “My sister is Roisín Taylor?” Searched again. “She’s a nurse in Beaumont Hospital?”

  “I see…” I nodded slowly.

  “Do you know any of them?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” I really didn’t. “It was nice to meet you, though.” We started to move away when she grabbed my arm. “Hey!” I yelped, trying to shake her off. Her grip tightened.

  “Hey, let go of her.” Bobby stepped in.

  “You know them, don’t you?” she said, moving closer to me.

  “No!” I said, stepping back, her grip tightening on my arm.

  “My mam and dad are Charles and Sandra Taylor.” She spoke more quickly now. “You probably know them too. Just tell me ho—”

  “Get off me!” I pulled my arm violently away from her as the crowd around us quieted and turned to stare.

  That stopped her talking and she turned to her friends, who stared back, assessing me.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re late for the rehearsals. We have to go now.” Bobby took me by the sore arm and pulled me away. In shock, I allowed him to pull me along, half running, half walking through the crowd, feeling eyes boring into me as we passed.

  We finally reached the Community Hall and there was a small line forming at the door.

  “Sandy!” one person called out. “There she is! Sandy!” Others began to call out and swarmed around me. I felt Bobby tugging me again, I was pulled backward and the door to the Community Hall slammed behind me. The cast of the play, who sat in a circle, all turned to stare at me and Bobby, who stood panting with our backs pressed up against the door.

  “Well,” I said, catching my breath, as my voice echoed around the hall, “is this the bloody twilight zone or what?”

  Helena jumped up, “Said Dorothy as she landed in Oz. Thank you, Sandy, for sharing her first line with us,” she said quickly as horrified faces transformed to understanding nods. “It will be a modern twist on an old story,” Helena explained. “Thank you, Sandy, for sharing that with us so dramatically.”

  Mary finally pressed STOP as Bobby’s first-grade school play ended and she ejected the videotape Jack had secretly fantasized about burning for the last two hours. He knocked back the remainder of his cold coffee in a bid to stay awake.

  “Mary, I really have to get back to Limerick tonight,” he hinted, looking at his watch. In all the time he had spent in her company, there hadn’t been one mention of Sandy. He felt he was being broken in first, being inducted into Mary’s life before they could move on to other matters. All around him in the living room, framed photographs cluttered every surface. Bobby as a newborn baby, Bobby as a toddler, Bobby on his first bike, Bobby on hi
s first day of school, Bobby on the day of his Holy Communion, his Confirmation, decorating a Christmas tree, Bobby in freeze-frame, leaping into a swimming pool on a summer holiday. From bald, to bleached-blond, to mousy-brown hair. No teeth, to missing teeth, to metal train tracks. There were no clocks in this room, time was imprinted in every picture and suspended as if forbidden to tick on from the last photograph; Bobby and Mary on his sixteenth birthday.

  Thirty-eight-year-old Mary lived in an apartment above her charity shop, which consisted of clothes, shoes, books, knickknacks, home accessories, and everything else you could imagine. The shop was musty from the smell of second- or third-hand clothes, dusty books that had been well thumbed, and old toys that had been outgrown and outlived. Above was the space that Mary had shared with Bobby all of his sixteen years.

  Mary stood up. “More coffee?”

  “Please.” Jack followed her to the kitchen, where he found more photographs dotting the walls, lining the windowsill. “Aren’t any of the others I called coming to the meeting?” Jack had been expecting a small gathering.

  “They can’t make it on such short notice. Peter lives in Donegal with his two young children and Clara and Jim live in Cork, although they’ve recently divorced so the chances of getting them in the same room will be slim. It’s sad really. Their daughter, Orla, has been missing for six years. I think it’s that that drove them apart.” She poured more coffee. “Things like this, huge dramatic changes in life, have the magnet effect. They either drive people apart or bring them together. Unfortunately the former happened in their case.”

  Jack immediately began thinking of Gloria and how this magnetic event had repelled them apart.

  “I’ve no doubt everybody will pitch in to help, though, once we need them for something specific.”

  “Sandy helped all of these people?”

  “Sandy helps, Jack. She’s not gone yet. She’s a Trojan worker. I know you didn’t get the benefit of actually seeing her in action, but she keeps in touch with us every week. Even after all these years, she gives us a weekly call to let us know if there’s any news. Most of the time, and particularly more lately, the phone calls have been to see how we are.”

  “Did anybody hear from her this week?”

  “Nobody.”

  “And that’s unusual?”

  “Not entirely unusual.”

  “I’ve been told by a few people that it’s not unusual for her to lose contact and just disappear for a while.”

  “She disappeared all the time, but she’d still ring us from her hiding places. If there’s one thing Sandy is committed to it’s her work.”

  “It sounds like it’s the only thing.”

  “Yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true.” Mary nodded. “Sandy gave, gives”—she corrected herself—“very little away. She’s a pro at not talking about herself. She never mentions family or friends. Not once, and I’ve known her for three years.”

  “I don’t think she has any,” Jack said, sitting at the kitchen table with a fresh mug.

  “Well, she has us.” Mary joined him. “You didn’t get anywhere with Garda Turner?”

  Jack shook his head. “I spoke to him today. There’s really nothing he can do if relatives and friends are saying that this is normal behavior. Sandy’s not a danger to herself or others and there’s nothing suspicious about her disappearance.”

  “There’s nothing suspicious about a deserted car with all her belongings left inside?” Mary asked in surprise.

  “Not if it’s what she does all the time.”

  “But what about the watch you found?”

  “The link on it was broken, she apparently often drops it.”

  Mary tutted and shook her head. “That poor girl is going to be punished for all her previous odd behavior.”

  “I’d love to talk to her parents, see what they think about the whole thing. I have such a hard time dealing with the fact that five days without hearing from a family member isn’t something to be worried about.” Jack knew inside that this was all entirely possible. He hadn’t been particularly close to Donal or with the rest of his family, for that matter. Apart from Judith, they would often go for weeks without hearing from one another. It was his mother who had raised the alarm bells after three days.

  “I have their address, if you want.” Mary left the table to rummage around in a kitchen cabinet. “Sandy quite surprisingly asked me to send something to her there.” Her voice was muffled from inside the press. “I think she was stranded with the family for Christmas one year and was desperately looking for some work to save her.” She laughed. “But isn’t that what Christmases are all about? Here it is.” Her head finally emerged.

  “I can’t just drop in unannounced,” Jack said.

  “Why not? The worst they can do is not talk to you, but it’s worth a try.” She handed him the Leitrim address. “You can stay here tonight, if you like. It’s far too late for you to be traveling to Leitrim and then on to Limerick.”

  “Thanks, I might even stay in Dublin a bit longer tomorrow to see if Sandy shows up to another appointment she made.” Jack smiled, looking at a photo of a young Bobby dressed as a dinosaur for Halloween. “Does it get any easier?”

  Mary sighed. “Never easier, but a little less hard, perhaps. It’s always at the forefront of my mind, every single waking and sleeping moment. The hurt begins to…not quite disappear, but it’s as though it evaporates so that it’s always there in the air around me, ready to rain down when I least expect it. Then when the hurt goes, anger takes its place; when the anger runs out of steam, loneliness steps in to take over. It’s a never-ending circle of emotions; every lost emotion being replaced by another. The same isn’t so for sons, unfortunately.” She smiled wryly. “I used to love the great mysteries of life, the uncertainties, the not-knowing. I always thought it was so necessary to our journey.” She smiled sadly. “I’m not so enthusiastic about that anymore.”

  Jack nodded and they both got lost in thought for a while.

  “Anyway, it’s not all doom and gloom.” Mary perked up, “Hopefully, Sandy will do what she always does and return home in the morning.”

  “With Bobby and Donal in tow,” Jack added.

  “Well, here’s hoping.” Mary raised her mug and clinked it with Jack’s.

  37

  Jack slept in Bobby’s box bedroom that night, surrounded by posters of sports cars and half-naked blondes. On the ceiling were miniature stars and spaceships that once illuminated brightly in the dark but, like Bobby’s presence, now merely emitted a faint glow. Stickers that had been stuck to the door and the discolored wallpaper had been torn off, leaving He-Man without his sword, Bobby Duke without his cowboy hat, and Darth Vader without his helmet. The earth’s solar system was displayed on the navy blue duvet cover, every planet and place to be seen but the one Bobby was in.

  A writing desk was piled high with CDs, a CD player, speaker phones and magazines containing yet more cars and women. Few school books were piled up in the corner, their place of importance low on the scale. Above the desk, shelves burst with more CDs, DVDs, magazines, and football medals and trophies. Jack doubted anything had been altered since the day Bobby had left this room and never come back. Jack placed his hands on as few items as possible and tiptoed on the carpet, not wanting to leave his imprint behind. Everything in this room was precious and existed only as a museum.

  Peeking out from between the posters of cars and naked glamour models was Thomas the Tank Engine wallpaper. Just beneath the surface lay childhood with only a thin layer to separate it from adolescence. It was the room of someone no longer a boy but not yet a man; of someone in a place between innocence and realization, on the path of discovery.

  Jack once again felt as he had earlier while in the house. He felt trapped in a time that wasn’t allowed to move on. The door plate reading BOBBY’S ROOM: KEEP OUT! had been heeded and the door had been firmly shut, leaving everything inside, all the treasured items
locked away as though the bedroom were a safe. Jack wondered whether Bobby was elsewhere now, living his life, whether he had moved on from the image Mary was fighting to hold on to or whether his journey had ended. Was he forever to exist in time as no longer a boy and not yet a man, in an in-between place as an in-between person with nothing fully whole, nothing fully realized?

  He thought of his own refusal to let go of Donal and what Dr. Burton had said to him about replacing one search, which had reached a dead end, with another. He supposed in theory he was refusing to let go, but he was adamant that it wasn’t due to an unwillingness and inability to move on. He shook away the thought that he was in any way similar to Mary, hanging on to memories and being stuck eternally in a moment that had long since passed. He pulled the duvet over his head and hid from the stars on the ceiling and galaxy above him. Realistically, his search for Sandy wouldn’t find Donal, but something in his heart, in his mind was driving him forward.

  Tomorrow would be Friday, and Sandy, if she didn’t wander back into her life, would have been missing for six days. He needed to make the decision now whether it was the moment to pull back, to open the door of his life and allow the trapped time and memories to escape, to move on and catch up on all it had missed. Or he could go full steam ahead with this search, peculiar and out of the ordinary though it might be. He thought about Gloria at home, the nothingness he felt toward her, his life, and their future, and he decided that he, like the Bobby that still inhabited the room he lay in, was embarking on a journey of discovery. He heard Mary switching off the television and unplugging appliances in the kitchen. A gap in the curtains welcomed a sudden light to seep through into the bedroom, shining a ruler of yellow light onto a poster of a red Ferrari. Realizing it was the porch light, Jack was engulfed by a strange sort of calm and he watched the light on the wall until his eyes became heavy.