There’s No Place Like Here

by Cecelia Ahern

  “Ah, there she is now.” The sound of my father’s voice greeted me as though I was suddenly pulled up out of the water. Muffled sounds gradually became audible, faces eventually recognizable. It was as though I was reborn into the world, facing my loved ones from a hospital bed once again.

  “Hello, honey.” My mother rushed to my side and took my hand. Her face appeared close to mine, too close for me to focus and so she remained a lavender-scented blur with four eyes. “How do you feel?”

  I hadn’t yet had time to feel before I was asked, and so concentrated on it before answering. I didn’t feel very good.

  “OK,” I responded.

  “Oh, my poor baby.” Her cleavage dominated my view as she leaned over to kiss my forehead, glossy lips leaving my skin sticky and ticklish. I looked around the room after she’d moved and saw my father, scrunched cap in hand and looking older than I remembered. Perhaps I had been underwater longer than I’d thought. I winked, he smiled, relief written all over his face. Funny how it was the job of the patient to make the visitors feel better. It was as though I was on stage and it was my turn to entertain. The walls of the hospital had rendered everyone speechless and awkward as though we had met that day for the very first time.

  “What happened?” I asked after sipping water through a straw from a cup that had been thrust at me by a nurse.

  They looked nervously at each other. Mum decided to do the honors.

  “A car hit you, honey, just as you were walking across the road from the school. He came around the corner…he was just a young lad only on his provisional license, his mother didn’t know he’d taken the car, bless her heart. Luckily Mr. Burton saw it all happen and could give the Gardaí an eyewitness report. He’s a good man is Mr. Burton,” she said as she smiled. “Gregory,” she added to me a bit more quietly.

  I smiled too.

  “He stayed with you all the way into the hospital.”

  “My head,” I whispered, the pain suddenly entering my body as though hearing the story had reminded it it needed to do its job.

  “Your left arm is broken.” Mum’s glossy lips glistened in the light as they opened and closed. “And your left leg.” Her voice shook lightly. “But apart from that, you’re very lucky.”

  It was only then I noticed my arm in a sling and my left leg in a cast and found it amusing that they thought I was lucky even after being hit by a car. I started to laugh but the pain stopped me.

  “Oh, yes, and you’ve a cracked rib,” my father added quickly, looking apologetic for the lack of warning.

  When they had left, Gregory rapped lightly on the door. He looked more gorgeous than ever with his tired, concerned eyes and messy hair that I could imagine he ruffled as he paced with worry. He always did that.

  “Hi.” He smiled walking in and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Hi,” I whispered back.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

  “Nah, it was only a mini. Stop looking for attention,” he said as a smile tickled the sides of his lips. “You’ve heard the bad news, I assume?”

  “That I have to do my final exams orally?” I lifted up the cast covering my left arm. “I think the guards will still accept me,” I said.

  “No,” he said seriously and took a seat on the bed. “We lost Henry in the ambulance. I think it’s the oxygen mask that took him out.”

  I started laughing but had to stop.

  “Oh, shit, sorry.” He immediately stopped joking around at seeing me in pain.

  “Thanks for staying with me.”

  “Thanks for staying with me,” he replied.

  “Well, I did promise.” I smiled. “And I’m not planning on disappearing anywhere anytime soon.”

  20

  Jack sat on the gravel surface beside what he assumed to be the now abandoned car. His overactive mind contemplated every possible scenario as to where Sandy Shortt was, why her car was in the middle of the trees in an old parking lot, why she hadn’t turned up for their meeting the previous day, and why she hadn’t returned to her car for the entire day. Nothing made sense to him anymore. He hadn’t moved from the car’s vicinity all day. A quick search of the surroundings showed no sign of her or of any other life for that matter. It was late now, the forest area was black, the only lights being those from distant ships out at sea and Glin Castle in the distance behind the tall pines. Jack could barely see past the end of his nose. The blackness of the night was thick and engulfing, yet he was afraid to leave in case he missed her, in case somebody towed the car away, which in turn would take away Donal and all possible traces of him.

  The file sat on the dashboard. The mobile phone beside it was the only immediate source of light, flashing every few seconds to signal a dying battery. If Sandy wasn’t going to arrive at her car anytime soon, Jack needed to get his hands on that phone to see her recent call list and, with luck, trace somebody from her phonebook who would help find her. If her battery went dead it was possible he wouldn’t be able to switch it back on without a PIN code.

  His own mobile phone rang again: Gloria looking for him, no doubt. It was eleven o’clock and he couldn’t bring himself to answer; he didn’t know what he could possibly say to her. He didn’t want to lie, so lately he had avoided conversation with her altogether, leaving the house before she woke, arriving home after she had fallen asleep. He knew his behavior would most definitely be upsetting her, sweet, patient Gloria, who never nagged as friends of his claimed their partners did. She always gave him the space he needed, and felt secure enough in herself to know that he wouldn’t betray her. But he was; he was betraying her patience now and perhaps even driving her away. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. All he knew was that Donal’s disappearance had brought an end to talks of family and marriage that had previously seemed so important to him, to them both. Right now he was putting their relationship aside and focusing on finding his missing brother. Somehow he felt that by finding Sandy, he would be one step closer to finding Donal, or perhaps that was just another excuse, another obsession to delay moving on with life, to delay confronting Gloria over a relationship he no longer knew how he felt about.

  He did the only thing he could think of. He picked up his phone and rang Graham Turner, the guard Jack and his family had been dealing with during the search for Donal.

  “Hello?” Graham answered. The background was noisy with shouts, chatter, and laughter. Pub noises.

  “Graham, it’s Jack,” Jack shouted in the silent wooded area.

  “Hello?” Graham shouted again.

  “It’s Jack.” He raised his voice even higher, startling whatever animals had taken refuge in the nearby trees.

  “Hold on, I’m going outside,” Graham shouted. The voices and noise grew louder as the phone was carried through the pub. Finally there was silence. “Hello?” Graham said more quietly.

  “Graham, it’s Jack.” He kept his voice down now. “Sorry to call you so late.”

  “No problem, is everything OK?” Graham asked with concern, used to Jack’s late-night calls over the past year.

  “Yeah, things are OK,” Jack lied.

  “Any news on Donal?”

  “No, no news. Actually I was calling you about something else.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  How on earth was he going to explain this? “I’m just a bit worried about someone. I was due to meet them yesterday morning in Glin but they didn’t show up.”

  Silence.

  “I see.”

  “A message on my answering machine was left before leaving Dublin to let me know they were on their way down but they never showed and the car is parked down by the Estuary.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m just starting to get worried, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re bound to under the circumstances.”

  That one statement suddenly made Jack feel like a raving par
anoid lunatic. Maybe he was.

  “I know it sounds like nothing but I think it’s something, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course,” Graham said hurriedly. “Sorry, hold on one minute.” The phone was covered as voices became muffled. “Yeah, another pint. Cheers, Damian. I’ll be in as soon as I finish my smoke,” he said, and then came back on the line. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Look, I know it’s late and you’re out. I apologize for calling.” Jack held his head in his hands, feeling like a fool. His story had sounded stupid and his concern for Sandy unnecessary as soon as he had expressed them but he knew deep down that things weren’t right.

  “Don’t worry about it. What do you want me to do? What’s the guy’s name and I’ll ask around?”

  “Sandy Shortt.”

  “Sandy Shortt.” Yep, the guy was a woman.

  “Yeah.”

  “Right.”

  “And you were to meet her…?”

  “In Glin yesterday. We passed each other at Lloyds station, you know, the one on-”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  “Yeah, well, we met there at about five thirty A.M. but she didn’t show up later that morning.”

  “She didn’t say where she was going when you met her?”

  “No, we hardly spoke.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Very tall, curly black hair…” He trailed off, realizing he had no idea what Sandy Shortt looked like, he had no reason to believe that the woman he had passed at the petrol station even was Sandy Shortt. The only proof he had was a file on the dashboard with Donal’s name on it. The driver could have been anyone. He had allowed all the pieces to fit together nicely without even questioning its sense, which right now seemed liked none at all.

  “Jack?” Graham was calling him.

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s tall with curly black hair. Know anything else? Her age or where she’s from or anything?”

  “No, I don’t know, Graham. I’m not even sure what she looks like. We only ever spoke over the phone, I don’t even know if that was her at the station.” He suddenly had a thought. “She used to be a garda. In Dublin. She quit four years ago. That’s all I know.” He gave up.

  “OK. Right, well, I’ll make a few phone calls and get back to you.”

  “Thanks.” Jack felt humiliated, his story was full of holes. “You’ll keep this between us, won’t you?” he asked quietly.

  “Will do. All well with Gloria?” The tone was accusing. Or maybe it wasn’t, it was possible Jack was misjudging everything these days.

  “Great, yeah.”

  “Good. Send her my regards. You’ve got a saint there, Jack.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he replied defensively.

  Silence. Then pub atmosphere.

  “I’ll get back to you, Jack,” Graham shouted. The line went dead.

  Jack thumped his head, feeling like an idiot.

  At midnight, as he ran a finger up and down the side of the cold metal car as he paced, his phone rang. He had already texted Gloria to let her know he would be home late, and so he knew it wasn’t her when he answered.

  “Jack, it’s Graham here.” His tone was gentler than before. “Listen, I made a few calls, asked around the lads to see if any of them knew a Sandy Shortt.”

  “Go on.” His heart thumped.

  “You should have told me, Jack,” Graham said softly.

  Jack nodded in the darkness, though Graham couldn’t see him. Graham continued, “Seems you shouldn’t worry about her. A good few of the lads knew her.” He laughed, and stopped himself. “They said she disappears all the time without letting anyone know. She’s a hermit, keeps to herself and comes and goes as she pleases but always comes back within a week or so. I wouldn’t worry about her, Jack. This seems to be in keeping with her usual behavior.”

  “But what about her car?”

  “A 1991 red Ford Fiesta?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s hers, all right. Don’t worry about it; she’s probably around the area checking out the place. The lads say she’s a keen jogger, so she probably parked there and went for a run earlier, or maybe the car wouldn’t start or something simple as that. Anyway, it’s been a little over twenty-four hours since you were supposed to meet. There’s no need to panic.”

  “I thought the first twenty-four hours were supposed to be the most important,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

  “In missing-persons cases they are, Jack, but this Sandy Shortt isn’t missing. She likes to disappear all the time. I was told that most of the time even her family doesn’t know where she is. They called the guards on three occasions years ago but they don’t bother anymore. She comes back.”

  Jack was silent.

  “There’s not much I can do. There’s nothing to go on, nothing to suggest she’s in any danger. She’ll probably call you in a few days. According to her ex-colleagues, that’s the way she works.”

  “I know, I know.” Jack rubbed his eyes wearily.

  “As a word of advice, be careful of those kinds of people. Agencies like Sandy Shortt’s are just out to make money, you know? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s done a runner. There’s nothing that they can do that we haven’t already done. There aren’t any more places to search that we haven’t already searched.”

  Sandy hadn’t asked for a cent, knowing that Jack hadn’t got a cent to give.

  “I had to do something.” That was all he could reply. He didn’t like how Graham was referring to Sandy. He didn’t believe she was crooked, he didn’t believe she had gone wandering off on an investigation without her phone, her file, her diary, and her car, or was still jogging at midnight. Nothing Graham said made sense, yet nothing Jack said aloud seemed to make sense either. He was going entirely by instinct alone, instinct that had been affected by Donal’s disappearance and a week of nightly phone calls to a woman he had never met.

  “I understand,” Graham responded. “I’d probably do the same myself if I was in your shoes.”

  “What about my stuff that’s locked in her car?” Jack bluffed.

  “What stuff?”

  “I sent her Donal’s file and a few other things, I can see them sitting in the car. If she’s going to take my money and run, I’d at least like my things back.”

  “I can’t help you out in that area, Jack, but I wouldn’t be asking any questions if by morning your belongings are back in your possession.”

  “Thanks, Graham.”

  “Anything at all to help.”

  A few hours later, as the sun was rising over the Estuary, casting orange hues on black ripples, Jack found himself sitting in Sandy’s car, leafing through Donal’s file and through all the pages of Garda reports that only Sandy had been able to retrieve through her contacts. Her diary revealed a plan to go to Limerick city the following day to visit one of Donal’s friends, Alan O’Connor, who had been out with Donal the night of his disappearance. Hope returned at the possibility of meeting her there. The cramped car smelled sickeningly sweet of the vanilla-fragrance air freshener that hung from the dashboard mirror, mixed with the tinge of stale coffee from the Styrofoam cup balanced below it. There was nothing about the car that gave him any more clues as to the type of person Sandy was. There were no wrappers left behind, no CDs or cassettes revealing her taste in music. Just an old, cold car with work and cold coffee left behind.

  It had no heart; she had taken that part with her.

  21

  I awoke, I wasn’t sure how many hours later, to see a little girl with wild, black frizzy hair perched next to me on the arm of the couch, watching me with the same intense black eyes as her grandfather’s.

  I jumped.

  She smiled. Dimples dented her yellow skin and her eyes softened to a dark brown.

  “Hi,” she chirped.

  I looked around the room that was now almost pitch-black save for the orange light creeping under the kitchen door, lighting the flo
or just enough for me to be able to make out my surroundings and the little girl half-lit before me. The sky outside the window over the sink was black. Stars, the same stars I never paid the slightest bit of notice to at home, hung above like Christmas lights decorating a toy village.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say hi?” the little voice again chirped happily.

  I sighed; I had never had time for children and had even despised being one myself.

  “Hi,” I said with disinterest.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Excruciating.” I yawned and stretched.

  She hopped off the arm of the sofa and bounced onto the end, joining me but crushing my feet in the process.

  “Ouch,” I moaned, tucking my legs closer to my body.

  “That can’t have hurt.” She lowered her head and viewed me doubtingly.

  “How old are you, one hundred and ninety?” I asked, pulling my blanket around me tighter as though it would protect me from her.

  “If I was a hundred and ninety, I’d be dead.” She rolled her eyes.

  “And what a shame that would be.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  I thought about that. “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you sat on my feet.”

  “You didn’t like me before I sat on your feet.”

  “True.”

  “Most people think I’m cute.” She sighed.

  “Really?” I asked in mock surprise. “I don’t get that impression.”

  “Why not?” She didn’t seem to be insulted, just more interested.

  “Because you’re three feet tall and you have no front teeth.” I closed my eyes, wishing she’d go away, and rested my head against the back of the couch. The throbbing in my head had dissipated but the chirping at the end of the couch would no doubt bring it back in full force.

  “I won’t be like this forever, you know,” she said, trying to please me.

  “I hope so for your case.”

  “Me too,” she said with a sigh and rested her head on the back of the couch, imitating me.