The Time of My Life

by Cecelia Ahern

  ‘Walk? In these shoes? And we can’t leave the car here in the ditch.’

  ‘I’ll call the AA on our way to the house.’

  ‘We’re not asking for help, we can do this ourselves. You and me. Come on.’ I whipped him into action and soon I was behind the wheel of the car while he tried to push us. Then when that didn’t work, he was behind the wheel of the car and I was pushing. And when that didn’t work we were both pushing. And when that didn’t work we took our bags from the boot and trudged down the country road following Life’s iPhone sat nav. When I say road I use the term loosely – it was more of a track or a trail, a surface for farmyard animals and tractors to travel, not for a wedge-heeled wrap-around-dress-wearing woman with an aching back and twigs in her hair. We were walking for forty-five minutes before we found the B&B, which we realised was overlooked by a brand-new Radisson Hotel on the motorway. Life looked at me apologetically. The B&B was a bungalow with old-style carpets and wallpaper and smelled of air freshener; it was old-fashioned but it was clean. Because I hadn’t had any microwave dinners for lunch and I had sipped only a few spoons of courgette and pea soup which my palette had been too stunned to taste as my father shouted insults at me, I was ravenous. The lady of the house rustled up some ham sandwiches and a pot of tea which hit the spot, and a plate of biscuits I hadn’t seen the likes of since I was ten years old. I sat on the bed with rollers in my hair painting my toenails. The words my father had spoken rattled around in my head, which felt hollow and empty – a perfect barren place for such words to echo around for all eternity.

  ‘Stop thinking about your father,’ Life said.

  ‘Do you read minds?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because sometimes you say exactly what I’m thinking.’ I looked at him. ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘I suppose I pick up on what you’re feeling. But it would be obvious for you to be thinking about your dad. He said some harsh things.’

  ‘Father,’ I corrected him.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So your parents are rich,’ Life said, talking about it anyway.

  ‘Wealthy,’ I said automatically, not even thinking, it was an immediate response.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘They’re not rich, they’re wealthy.’

  ‘Who told you to say that?’

  ‘Mum. I went to a summer camp when I was eight and the other kids kept saying I was rich because they’d seen me roll up in a BMW or whatever we had at the time. I’d never even thought about it before, money was never an issue, never a thought.’

  ‘Because you had it.’

  ‘Maybe. But I ended up using the word myself at our annual winter solstice breakfast with the Maguires. I said that we were rich and my parents looked at me in such a way I knew never to use the word again. It’s as if I swore or something. It’s a dirty word, to be rich.’

  ‘What other rules did they put in your head?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘Like …’

  ‘No elbows on the table, no shrugging or nodding … no drinking poitín with nine men in a barn.’ He looked at me. ‘Long story. No crying. No emotion whatsoever, no expression of oneself. You know, the usual.’

  ‘Do you follow them all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you break them all?’

  I thought about the crying rule, which was never technically a rule, just a learned habit. I just never saw them cry, not even when their parents died; they were as stoic and as still, and appropriate as always.

  ‘Only the important ones,’ I said. ‘I will never give up my God-given right to drink with nine men in a barn.’

  Life’s phone beeped.

  He read it, smiled and texted back immediately.

  ‘I’m nervous about tomorrow,’ I revealed.

  His phone chirped again and he went straight to it, ignoring my big revelation. He smiled again, texted back immediately.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked, feeling oddly jealous that I didn’t have his full attention for once.

  ‘Don,’ he said, concentrating on texting.

  ‘Don? My Don?’

  ‘If you want to be psychotically possessive about another human being, then yes. Your Don.’

  ‘That’s not psychotic, I met him first,’ I huffed. ‘Anyway, what is he saying?’ I tried to look at his phone, but he moved it away from me.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Why are you texting him?’

  ‘Because we get along and I’ve a lot of time for him. We’re going for a drink tomorrow night.’

  ‘Tomorrow night? You can’t, we’ll still be away and anyway, what are you thinking? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?’

  ‘If you’re referring to Blake, I have no interest in him, so no, there’s no conflict.’

  I studied him. His body language had changed; he’d stiffened his spine and turned himself away from me.

  ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘What happens if me and him, you know, get back together?’ The very thought made my stomach churn and sent butterflies flying everywhere. I thought of his perfect lips kissing me all over. ‘How would you feel about it?’

  He screwed his mouth up and thought about it. ‘If you were happy, it wouldn’t bother me, I suppose.’

  ‘You would have to be happy then, wouldn’t you? Because when I’m happy, you’re happy? But if I was with him and you weren’t happy, well then, that would mean I don’t really love him, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It wouldn’t mean you don’t love him. It would mean that in some way, it’s not right and not meant to be.’

  ‘I’m nervous. First I was nervous about seeing him again. I mean, it’s been so long and apart from the TV shows I haven’t been anywhere near him. I’ve never passed him in the street, never bumped into him in a bar. I’ve never heard his voice or, oh my God, what if he doesn’t want me here? What if he takes one look at me and is happy he walked away? What if he really loves this girl and wants to spend the rest of his life with her?’ I looked at Life, appalled and terrified by all the new thoughts. ‘What if after all this time, I’m still not good enough?’ My eyes filled up and I quickly blinked them away again.

  ‘Lucy,’ Life said gently, ‘if it doesn’t work out it’s not because you’re not good enough.’

  I had a hard time believing that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I didn’t sleep very much that night. Life wasn’t snoring but it kept me awake all the same, haunting me with questions and fears and wholly unhelpful thoughts. By the time I woke up I had come to the conclusion that if all did not go well today, then all of my father’s accusations would indeed be validated. Getting back together with Blake somehow became my sole aim to fixing everything. It was losing him that had caused me to go off track in my life, so if I could get him back I would find my way again. Despite the fact that Blake didn’t have a formal job, my father had always liked him, and as alien as the thought seemed now, he actually attended some of the dinner parties in our converted bread-factory loft. Father liked Blake’s can-do attitude, his drive, his ambition; he knew that Blake would always have an interest in something and would do everything to succeed. He liked that he had goals, that he climbed mountains, ran marathons, that he achieved personal physical feats. And even though he didn’t like that I wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer or a nuclear physicist, he at least used to like my attitude too. But then I’d changed and the things he’d loved about me were gone and then so was his love.

  Despite being awake most of the night I was last to get up and showered, and I wandered down the hall, following the voices. At the back of the house, in a bright and airy conservatory which served as the breakfast room, Life sat at a table shared by four others, with a plate before him piled high with food.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, looking up at me before shovelling baked beans into his mouth.


  ‘Whoa,’ I said, and stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of him.

  He looked to the others self-consciously before he continued eating the rest of his fry-up. There was two of everything on the plate.

  I pulled a chair out beside him and sat down, saying good morning to everyone. The three boys and girl were the college-student type, no older than twenty, no younger than seventeen, and the surfing kind, the boys with long hair, the girl with short. The chat was moving at a hundred miles an hour as they teased each other and passed insulting remarks across the table at one another. There was no more than ten years between us and I felt like we were living on different planets.

  I leaned in close to Life so that the others couldn’t hear me. ‘What the hell happened to your face?’

  He looked at me with annoyed eyes, and finished eating. ‘Not just my face, my whole entire body.’ He pulled the neckline of his new T-shirt down and the red blotches continued. ‘It’s a rash,’ he said.

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘Stress. From you tossing and turning all night, convincing yourself everything in your world will be further defined from this moment.’

  ‘Wow.’ I studied his face. In addition to the rash, he still had the massive boil on his chin from when Don didn’t call. ‘Some of the red bits have purple bits.’

  ‘Don’t you think I don’t know that?’ he hissed. His entire face went momentarily even redder as if he was about to choke.

  ‘All this is because of Blake?’

  ‘Blake, your job, your father, your family …’

  ‘Don?’

  ‘Don is the only person who cheers me up and because you’ve dumped him it makes me feel worse.’

  ‘I haven’t dumped him.’ I meant we had nothing to dump, but Life misunderstood.

  ‘No, you’ve just put him on hold while you check out another line like you’re some kind of 1950s switchboard operator.’

  I frowned. ‘Fine, you go out with Don then if he makes you so happy.’

  ‘I am,’ he snapped. ‘Tonight. So you’d better talk quickly with Blake because I’m not hanging around another night.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I can try to cover up your rashes with powder.’

  ‘This isn’t about the rashes,’ he hissed again, his face going purple.

  He was more like the Life I’d met on the first day; tragically we were going backwards. The lady of the house asked me what I’d like to eat. I eyed up Life’s breakfast. ‘Something healthy,’ I said critically. ‘I’ll have the granola, please.’

  ‘Microwaved?’ he said loudly, making a point.

  ‘I’m going to start cooking again,’ I said defensively.

  He snorted. ‘I’ve filled your fridge with fresh fruit and vegetables every few days; they’ve all gone rotten and I’ve had to throw them out.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have noticed, you were only opening the freezer.’

  ‘Are you guys going to the adventure centre too?’ the girl asked.

  Life rudely ignored her, not in the mood to talk to anyone unless it was to torment me.

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled, excited for Blake. ‘You’re all going there?’

  ‘Second time this month, but it’s Harry’s first.’

  I could tell which one was Harry because the blond beside me went red as they all jeered and jostled him, ruffling his hair and leaving him even more dishevelled looking.

  ‘Harry’s terrified of heights,’ the girl explained for me, with a bright smile. ‘If he dives, Declan has promised to shave his eyebrows.’

  ‘And his balls,’ the redhead said and it was Declan’s turn to look slightly embarrassed as they all jeered again.

  ‘Have you been taking lessons?’ It was a question for Harry.

  ‘No, his mom’s been shaving his balls all his life so he knows exactly what to do,’ the cheeky redhead said and they all laughed again, Harry included this time.

  ‘We’re doing a tandem skydive,’ the girl answered me.

  ‘What’s that?’ Life asked, starting on a chocolate croissant. I glared at him but he stuffed it in his mouth.

  ‘Tandem skydiving is when two people fall through the sky attached to one parachute system,’ I explained. ‘You just need to do twenty minutes of training before the skydive.’

  Life made a face. ‘Who in their right mind would want to do that?’

  Harry looked like he agreed with Life but wouldn’t say.

  ‘We used to do it all the time.’ I smiled at the memories of Blake and me hurtling towards the earth together, and wanting to get back up in the air as soon as we’d landed.

  ‘How romantic,’ Life said sarcastically. ‘It’s a pity the parachute didn’t fail to open.’ He reached into the basket for a chocolate muffin. Again my glare did nothing to stop him. ‘So what? I’m depressed.’

  ‘Well, you need to snap out of it because you’re going to need every ounce of energy you have to help me.’

  ‘You can get a lift with us if you want,’ the girl said. ‘We’ve got Declan’s mum’s camper van. There’s plenty of room.’

  ‘Great, thanks,’ I perked up.

  It was a five-minute drive from the B&B to the adventure centre. My stomach lurched every few seconds. I was quite uneasy and not just because I was precariously perched on a pile of surfboards, which were bouncing around and fit to fall despite Declan’s very careful driving, though the others were shouting at him to speed it up. Harry was sitting beside me, pale as could be.

  ‘It’ll be fine. If anything, this will help you overcome your fear of heights.’

  He looked at me doubtfully, then, when the others were busy slagging each other about Declan driving like an old man he said quietly, ‘What if I get sick in the air?’

  ‘You won’t,’ I said confidently. ‘There’s no sensation of sickness. Skydiving is a constant so it doesn’t turn your stomach like going over a bump or a hill.’

  He nodded, then a moment later he asked, ‘What if the parachute doesn’t open?’

  ‘It will and anyway there are two parachutes, and both parachutes will have been meticulously maintained by highly qualified staff. I know the guy who runs the place and he’s perfect, I mean he’s a perfectionist.’

  He looked a little more relieved but not completely. ‘How well do you know him?’

  I thought about it, then said firmly, ‘I haven’t seen him for almost three years but I’m in love with him.’

  Harry looked at me like I was a weirdo and mumbled, ‘Yeah well, people can change a lot in three years.’ Then he left me to think about that while he joined the other two who were pretending to snore as Declan carefully rounded the corners.

  ‘Well, that told you,’ Life said, sitting on a half-inflated banana boat across from me. Despite his crankiness he looked good in a new pair of jeans, trainers and a polo shirt. I’d managed to take down some of the redness in his face with powder but he was still a bit blotchy. He looked like he wanted to say something.

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It’s just that poor little Harry there is terrified of going up in a plane and you’ve just given your word that Blake is “perfect”.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘So? Blake is the most safety-conscious guy I know.’

  ‘He’s also a liar. Pity you didn’t tell him that.’

  I ignored him the rest of the way.

  The centre was actually a very modest building.

  ‘It’s a Portaloo,’ Life said, stepping out from the camper van and joining me.

  ‘It’s not a Portaloo,’ I said, annoyed, surveying Blake’s new business. It was more of a Portakabin. In fact, it was two. One was clearly the registration and checking-in room and the other was changing and toilet facilities.

  ‘Is this what your dream looked like?’

  It wasn’t but I ignored him. At least Blake had actually done something he wanted to do unlike most of the p
eople in the world. Unlike me. The nerves were still there but I was excited; I kept that paused image of Blake and Jenna clinking glasses in Morocco and I held onto it as a driving force. That was why I was here; to break them up, to make him see me and realise he loved me again. I’d changed a lot in our two years, eleven months and twenty-one days of being apart and I wanted him to see that.

  I followed the excited Fantastic Four – or at least the Thrill-Seeking Three and a Petrified Harry – into the cabin. There was a sweets and crisp dispenser, a tea and coffee dispenser and chairs lining the walls.

  ‘That’s good, maybe I can see the doctor about my rash while I’m here,’ Life criticised once again.

  The walls were covered in framed photographs of Blake, some of which had been blown up and super-sized. They were taken from his TV show and made him look like Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible, freeze-framed in a muscle-bulging action sequence, all biceps and abs and rock-solid bum cheeks: Blake jumping out of aeroplanes, Blake white-water rafting, Blake climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, Blake’s muscles popping from his skin as he climbed the Rocky Mountains, Blake having a shower under a waterfall. My eyes lingered on that one for a while as I checked out his amazing body, as did all the eyes of the young women in the cabin. It was only then, when I looked around at the rest of the clientele, that I realised it was mostly women, mostly young women, mostly beautiful, tanned, toned, pretty women. It put me on the wrong foot momentarily; all these young things were here to see Blake the TV star, he probably got this attention all the time, in every bar, in every town and city, in every country. They probably all threw themselves at him; he could have his pick, he could have them all at once and just to torment myself, I had an image of them all together, him in the middle of all their young naked bodies writhing all over him. I might have been ten years older than them all but I used to have his naked body writhing all over me too, whenever I wanted, and that made me feel better.

  I was scanning the walls of Blake’s achievements when I saw her. Her. Jenna. The bitch. From Australia. She was sitting down at a little makeshift desk sorting through application forms and IDs and taking money and generally running the place.