Cecelia Ahern 2-book Bundle

by Cecelia Ahern

  I move my finger away from the doorbell, keep hidden from all the windows and I bide my time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Justin looks to his brother in panic and searches quickly for something to sit on. He pulls over a giant paint tub and sits down, not noticing the wet white ring of paint around the top.

  ‘Al, what was she talking about? About you being dead next month.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ Al laughs. ‘She said, might be dead. That’s distinctly different. Hey, you got away lightly there, bro. Good for you. I think that valium is really helping her. Cheers.’ He holds up his bottle and downs the last of it.

  ‘Hold on, hold on. Al, what are you talking about? There’s something you haven’t told me? What did the doctor say?’

  ‘The doctor told me exactly what I’ve been telling you for the last two weeks. If any members of a person’s immediate family developed coronary heart disease at a young age, i.e., a male under fifty-five years old, well then, we have an increased risk of coronary heart disease.’

  ‘Have you high blood pressure?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Have you high cholesterol?’

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘So, all you do is make lifestyle changes, Al. It doesn’t mean you’re going to be struck down like … like …’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘No.’ He frowns and shakes his head.

  ‘Coronary heart disease is the number-one killer of American males and females. Every thirty-three seconds an American will suffer some type of coronary event and almost every minute someone will die from it.’ He looks at their mother’s grandfather clock half-covered in a dust sheet. The minute hand moves. Al grabs his heart and starts groaning. His noises soon turn to laughter.

  Justin rolls his eyes. ‘Who told you that nonsense?’

  ‘The pamphlets at the doc’s office said so.’

  ‘Al, you’re not going to have a heart attack.’

  ‘It’s my fortieth birthday next week.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Justin hits him playfully on the knee. ‘That’s the spirit, we’ll have a big party.’

  ‘That’s what age Dad was when he died.’ He lowers his eyes and peels the label from his beer.

  ‘That’s what this is about?’ Justin’s voice softens. ‘Damnit, Al, that’s what this is all about? Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

  ‘I just thought that I’d spend some time with you before, you know, just in case …’ His eyes tear up and he looks away.

  Tell him the truth.

  ‘Al, listen, there’s something you should know.’ His voice trembles and he clears his throat, trying to control it. You’ve never told anyone. ‘Dad was under a huge amount of pressure at work. He had a lot of difficulties, financial and otherwise, that he didn’t tell anyone. Not even Mom.’

  ‘I know, Justin. I know.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Yeah, I get it. He didn’t just drop dead for no reason. He was stressed out of his mind. And I’m not, I know that. But ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this feeling hanging over me that it’s gonna happen to me too. It’s been playing on my mind for as long as I can remember and now that my birthday’s next week and I’m not in the greatest of shape … Things have been real busy at the business and I haven’t been looking after myself. Never could do it like you could, you know?’

  ‘Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me.’

  ‘Remember that day we spent with him on the front lawn? With the sprinklers? Just hours before Mom found him … Well, remember the whole family playing around?’

  ‘They were good times,’ Justin smiles, fighting back the tears.

  ‘You remember?’ Al laughs.

  ‘Like it was yesterday,’ Justin says.

  ‘Dad was holding the hose and spraying us both. He seemed in such good humour.’ Al frowns with confusion and thinks for a while, then the smile returns. ‘He’d brought Mom home a big bunch of flowers – remember she put that big flower in her hair?’

  ‘The sunflower.’ Justin nods along.

  ‘And it was real hot. Do you remember it being real hot?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And Dad had his pants rolled up to his knees and his shoes and socks off. And the grass was getting all wet and his feet were all covered in grass and he just kept chasing us around and around …’ He smiles into the distance. ‘That was the last time I saw him.’

  It wasn’t for me.

  Justin’s memory flashes through the image of his father closing the living-room door. Justin had run into the house from the front yard to go to the bathroom; all that playing around with water was almost making him burst. As far as he knew, all the members of his family were still outside playing. He could hear his mom chasing and taunting Al, and Al, who was only five years old, screeching with laughter. But when he was coming downstairs, he spotted his dad coming out of the kitchen, walking down the hall. Justin, wanting to jump out and surprise him, crouched down and watched him from behind the banister.

  But then he saw what was in his hand. He saw the bottle of liquid that was always locked away in the cabinet in the kitchen and only taken out on special occasions when his dad’s family came over from Ireland to visit. When they all drank from that bottle they would change, they would sing songs that Justin had never heard before but that his dad knew every word of, and they would laugh and tell stories and sometimes cry. He wasn’t sure why that bottle was in his dad’s hands now. Did he want to sing and laugh and tell stories today? Did he want to cry?

  Then Justin saw the bottle of pills in his hand too. He knew they were pills, because they were in the same container as the medicine Mom and Dad took when they were sick. He hoped his dad wasn’t feeling sick now and he hoped he didn’t want to cry. He watched as he closed the door behind him with the pills and bottle of alcohol in his hands. He should have known then what his dad was about to do but he didn’t. Thinks of that moment over and over and tries to force himself to call out and stop him. But the nine-year-old Justin never hears him. He stays crouched on the stair, waiting for his dad to come out so he can jump out and surprise him. As time went by he began to feel that something wasn’t right, but he didn’t quite know why he felt that way and he didn’t want to ruin the big surprise by checking on his dad.

  After minutes that felt like hours, of nothing but silence from behind the door, Justin gulped and stood up. He could hear Al screaming with laughter outside. He could still hear Al laughing when he went inside and saw the green feet on the floor. He remembers the sight of those feet so vividly, Dad lying on the floor like a big green giant. He remembers following those feet and finding his dad on the floor, staring lifeless at the ceiling.

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t scream, didn’t touch him, didn’t kiss him, didn’t try to help him because though he didn’t understand much at that time, he knew that it was too late for help. He just slowly backed out of the room, closed the door behind him and ran out to the front lawn to his mom and younger brother.

  Five minutes they had. Five more minutes of everything being exactly the same. He was nine years old on a sunny day with a mom and a dad and a brother, and he was happy and Mom was happy and the neighbours smiled at him normally like they did all the other kids, all the food they ate for dinner was made by his mom and when he was bad at school the teachers shouted at him, like they should. Five more minutes of everything being the same, until his mom went into the house and then it was all completely different, then everything changed. Five minutes later, he wasn’t nine years old with a mom, a dad and a brother. He wasn’t happy, neither was Mom, and the neighbours smiled at him with such a sadness he wished they didn’t bother smiling at all. Everything they ate came from containers carried over by women that lived on the same street, who always looked sad too, and when he acted up at school the teachers just looked at him with that same face. Everyone had the same face. The five extra minutes wasn’t long enough.

  Mom told them
Dad had suffered a heart attack. She told the entire family and anybody that came by with a home-cooked meal or pie.

  Justin could never bring himself to tell anyone he knew the truth, half because he wanted to believe the lie and half because he thought his mother had started to believe it too. So he kept it to himself. He hadn’t even told Jennifer, because saying it out loud made it true and he did not want to validate his father dying that way. And now, their mother gone, he was the only person who knew the truth about his dad. The story of their father’s death that had been fabricated to help them had ended up hanging like a black cloud over Al and a burden for Justin.

  He wanted to tell Al the truth right now, he really did. But how could it help him? Surely knowing the truth would be far worse, and he’d have to explain how and why he’d kept it from him all these years … But then he would no longer have to shoulder all the burden. Perhaps there would be finally some release for him. It could help Al’s fear of heart failure and they could deal with it together.

  ‘Al, there’s something I have to tell you,’ Justin begins.

  The doorbell rings suddenly. A sharp sting of a ring that startles them both from their thoughts, smashing the silence like a sledgehammer through glass. All their thoughts shatter and fall to pieces on the ground.

  ‘Is someone gonna get that?’ Doris yells, breaking the silence.

  Justin walks to the door with a white ring of paint around his behind. The door is already ajar and he pulls it open further. Before him, on the railings, hangs his dry cleaning. His suits, shirts and sweaters all covered in plastic. Nobody is there. He steps outside and runs up the basement steps to see who has left them there, but apart from the skip, the front lawn is empty.

  ‘Who is it?’ Doris calls.

  ‘Nobody,’ Justin responds, confused. He unhooks his dry cleaning from the railing and carries it inside.

  ‘You’re telling me that cheap suit just pressed the doorbell itself?’ she asks, still angry at him from before.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s peculiar. Bea was going to collect this tomorrow. I hadn’t arranged a delivery with the dry cleaners.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a special delivery, for being such a good customer because by the looks of it, they dry cleaned your entire wardrobe.’ She eyes his choice of clothes with distaste.

  ‘Yeah, and I’ll bet the special delivery comes with a big bill,’ he grumbles. ‘I had a little falling-out with Bea earlier; maybe she organised this as an apology.’

  ‘Oh, you are a stubborn man.’ Doris rolls her eyes. ‘Do you ever think for a second that it’s you who should be making the apologies?’

  Justin narrows his eyes at her. ‘Did you talk to Bea?’

  ‘Hey, look, there’s an envelope on this side,’ Al points out, interrupting the beginnings of another fight.

  ‘There’s your bill,’ Doris laughs.

  Justin’s heart immediately leaps to his mouth as he catches sight of the familiar envelope. He throws the pile of clothes down on the dust sheet and rips off the envelope.

  ‘Be careful! These have just been pressed.’ Doris takes them and hangs them from the door frame.

  He opens the envelope and gulps hard, reading the note.

  ‘What does it say?’ Al asks.

  ‘It must be a death threat, look at his face,’ Doris says excitedly. ‘Or a begging letter. Some of those are so much fun. What’s wrong with them and how much do they want?’ she giggles.

  Justin takes out the card he received on the muffin basket earlier, and he holds the two cards together so that they make a complete sentence. Reading the words causes a chill to run through his body.

  Thank you … For Saving My Life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I lie in the skip, breathless, heart beating at the speed of a humming bird’s wings. I’m like a child playing hide and seek, with intense nervous excitement rolling around my tummy; like a dog on its back trying to rid itself of fleas. Please don’t find me, Justin, don’t find me like this, lying at the bottom of the skip in your garden, covered in plaster and dust. I hear his footsteps move further away, back down the steps to his basement flat and the door closes.

  What on earth have I become? A coward. I chickened out and rang the doorbell to stop Justin telling the story about his father to Al and then, afraid of playing God to two strangers, I ran, leaped and landed in the bottom of a skip. How metaphorical. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to speak to him. I don’t know how I’ll ever find the words to explain how I’m feeling. The world is not a patient place: stories such as this are mostly for the pages of the Enquirer or double-page spreads in certain women’s magazines. Beside my story would be a photograph of me, in my dad’s kitchen, looking forlornly at the camera. With no make-up. No, Justin would never believe me if I told him – but actions speak louder than words.

  Lying on my back, I stare up at the sky. Lying face down, the clouds stare right back down at me. They pass over the woman in the skip with curiosity, calling the stragglers behind them to come see. More clouds gather, eager to see what the others are grumbling about. Then they too pass over, leaving me staring at blue and the occasional white wisp. I almost hear my mother laughing aloud, imagine her nudging her friends to come have a look at her daughter. I imagine her peeping over a cloud, hanging over too far like Dad in the balcony at the Royal Opera House. I smile, enjoying this now.

  Now, as I brush dust, paint and wood from my clothes and clamber out of the skip, I try to remember what other things Bea mentioned her father wanted to have done, by the person he saved.

  ‘Justin, calm down, for creep’s sake. You’re making me nervous.’ Doris sits on a stepladder and watches Justin pace up and down the room.

  ‘I can’t calm down. Do you not understand what this means?’ He hands her the two cards.

  Her eyes widen. ‘You saved someone’s life?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He shrugs and stops pacing. ‘It’s really no big deal. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.’

  ‘He donated blood,’ Al interrupts his brother’s failed attempt at modesty.

  ‘You donated blood?’

  ‘It’s how he met Vampira, remember?’ Al refreshes his wife’s memory. ‘In Ireland when they say, “Fancy a pint?” beware.’

  ‘Her name is Sarah not Vampira.’

  ‘So you donated blood to get a date.’ Doris folds her arms. ‘Is there nothing you do for the greater good of humanity or is it all just for yourself?’

  ‘Hey, I have a heart.’

  ‘Though a pint lighter than it was,’ Al adds.

  ‘I have donated plenty of my time to helping organisations – colleges, universities and galleries – which are in need of my expertise. Something I don’t have to do, but which I have agreed to do for them.’

  ‘Yeah and I bet you charge them per word. That’s why he says “oops-a-daisies” instead of “shit” when he stubs his toe.’

  Al and Doris dissolve into laughter, thumping and hitting each other in their fit.

  Justin takes a deep breath. ‘Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Who is sending me these notes and running these errands?’

  He begins pacing again and biting his nails. ‘Maybe this is Bea’s idea of a joke. She’s the only person I had the conversation with about deserving thanks in return for saving a life.’

  Please, don’t be Bea.

  ‘Man, you are selfish,’ Al laughs.

  ‘No.’ Doris shakes her head, her long earrings whip against her cheeks with each movement, her back-brushed hairsprayed hair as still as a microphone head. ‘Bea wants nothing to do with you until you apologise. No words can describe how much she hates you right now.’

  ‘Well, thank God for that.’ Justin continues pacing. ‘But she must have told somebody or this wouldn’t be happening. Doris, find out from Bea who she spoke to about this.’

  ‘Huh.’ Doris lifts her chin and looks away. ‘You said some pretty nasty things to me before. I don’t know if I can help
you.’

  Justin falls to his knees and shuffles over to her.

  ‘Please, Doris, I’m begging you. I am so, so sorry for what I said. I had no idea how much time and effort you were putting into this place. I underestimated you. Without you, I’d still be drinking from a toothbrush holder and eating from a cat bowl.’

  ‘Yeah, I meant to ask you about that,’ Al interrupts his grovelling. ‘You don’t even have a cat.’

  ‘So I’m a good interior designer?’ Doris lifts her chin.

  ‘A great designer.’

  ‘How great?’

  ‘Greater than …’ he stalls. ‘Andrea Palladio.’

  Her eyes look to the left, look to the right. ‘Is he better than Ty Pennington?’

  ‘He was an Italian architect in the sixteenth century, widely considered the most influential person in the history of Western architecture.’

  ‘Oh. OK. You’re forgiven.’ She holds out her hand. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll call Bea.’

  Moments later they are all seated around the new kitchen table listening to Doris’s half of the phone conversation.

  ‘OK, Bea told Petey, and the costume supervisor for Swan Lake. And her father.’

  ‘The costume supervisor? Do you guys still have the programme?’

  Doris disappears to her bedroom and returns with the ballet programme. She flicks through the pages.

  ‘No,’ Justin shakes his head on reading her biography, ‘I met this woman that night and it’s not her. But her father was there? I didn’t see her father.’

  Al shrugs.

  ‘Well, these people aren’t involved in this, I certainly didn’t save her life or her father’s. The person must be Irish or have received medical attention in an Irish hospital.’

  ‘Maybe her dad’s Irish, or was in Ireland.’

  ‘Give me that programme, I’m calling the theatre.’

  ‘Justin, you can’t just call her up.’ Doris dives for the programme in his hand, but he dodges her. ‘What are you going to say?’