How to Fall in Love

by Cecelia Ahern

  I stood on the altar and placed my reading on the stand. Amelia had asked me to read and had left it to me to choose a piece I found appropriate. It was going to take an act of will for me to say these words; they had very special meaning to me and I had never read them aloud before, only to myself and rarely with dry eyes, but I couldn’t think of a more appropriate time to read them. I smiled at Amelia, then looked over her shoulder, first at my family, then at Adam. I took a long shaky breath and directed my words at him.

  ‘Where would we be without tomorrows? What we’d have instead are todays. And if that was the case, with you, I’d hope for the longest day for today. I’d fill today with you, doing everything I’ve ever loved. I’d laugh, I’d talk, I’d listen and learn, I’d love, I’d love, I’d love. I’d make every day today and spend them all with you, and I’d never worry about tomorrow, when I wouldn’t be with you. And when that dreaded tomorrow comes for us, please know that I didn’t want to leave you, or be left behind, that every single moment spent with you were the best times in my life.’

  ‘Did you write that?’ Adam asked me as we sat at the function after the funeral with cups of milky tea and a plate of ham sandwiches in front of us. Neither of us ate.

  ‘No.’

  We left a long silence and I waited for him to ask me who did write it, and I prepared what I was going to say, but he surprised me by not asking.

  ‘I think I need to go see my dad,’ Adam said suddenly.

  It was enough for me.

  Adam’s father was staying at St Vincent’s private hospital. He had gone in for a short procedure for his liver disease one month previously and he was still there. Mr Basil happened to be the rudest individual anybody could ever possibly meet but, despite the fact that without him life in the wards would be easier for everyone involved, they were still using the best of modern medicine to try to keep him alive. His room was not one anybody chose to enter, thanks to the fear of being abused, verbally for everyone, and physically for the young – or as he called them, ‘ripe’ – nurses. For the unripe ones, he resorted to other types of physical abuse, even throwing his urine at one nurse who’d interrupted his phone call. He would only permit a handful of the female nursing staff to look after him, and they had allowed him to think he actually had a choice in the matter. He wanted to be surrounded by women because he believed they were better at getting the job done on account of their ability to multi-task, their innate coldness and no-nonsense minds, but mostly because, as the perceived inferior sex, they felt the need and the desire to prove themselves more than men. Men’s eyes wandered; he needed people who could concentrate on one thing at a time, and that thing was him. He wanted and needed to get better. He had a multi-billion international business to run and until they fixed him he would run it from the sparse room that had been transformed into Basil Confectionery’s nerve centre.

  As we followed the dinner lady, who pushed open the door to enter, I caught a glimpse of the old man and saw a full head of fine wispy grey curls and a long wispy grey beard, which extended only from the chin, not from the cheeks, and finished in a fine point as if it were an arrow pointing downward to the depths of hell. There was nothing soothing about this room, which he’d been sent to to heal. Instead there were three laptops, a fax machine, an iPad, more than enough BlackBerries and iPhones for the disintegrating figure in the bed and the two women in suits who huddled by his side. It wasn’t a room that hinted at the possibility of goodbye to the world; it was a room that was alive, busy, ready to create; kicking and screaming and raging against the dying light. This was a room whose occupant wasn’t finished with the world and would go down fighting if need be.

  ‘I heard they were giving out Bartholomew tubs on the plane,’ he snapped to the older woman. ‘A little tub of ice-cream for everyone, even in economy.’

  ‘Yes, they’ve done a deal with Aer Lingus. For one year, I believe.’

  ‘Why don’t they have Basil’s on the plane? It’s ludicrous that Bartholomew would get there and not us. Who’s responsible for this fuck-up? Is it you, Mary? Honestly, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your eye on the ball? You’re so busy with those damn horses I’m beginning to worry you’ve lost your ability to function.’

  ‘Of course I spoke to Aer Lingus, Mr Basil, on many occasions, and have done so for years, but it is thought by them that Bartholomew are a more luxury brand, while we’re a family brand. Ours are available—’

  ‘Not ours, mine,’ he interrupted.

  She continued calmly as if he hadn’t spoken: ‘—to purchase from the inflight shopping, and I can tell you our exact revenue from this …’ She flicked through some papers.

  ‘Out!’ he suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs, and everyone jumped except the cool, calm Mary, who once again behaved as though she hadn’t heard him. ‘We’re having a meeting, you should have called first.’ How he’d seen us enter was beyond my comprehension, given we were trapped behind a trolley and I could barely see him.

  ‘Come on,’ Adam said, turning on his heel.

  ‘Wait.’ I reached out and grabbed his arm. I blocked the door and trapped him in the room. ‘We’re doing this today,’ I whispered.

  The dinner lady placed the tray on the table in front of Mr Basil.

  ‘What is this? It looks like shit.’

  The woman with the hairnet looked at him, bored, seemingly accustomed to the insults. ‘It’s shepherd’s pie, Mr Basil.’ She spoke in a thick Dublin accent, then changed her tone to a more sarcastic, superior one: ‘Accompanied by a side salad of lettuce and baby tomatoes, accompanied by a slice of bread and butter. For dessert you have jelly and ice cream, followed by your enema – so please do give Nurse Sue a call for that.’ She smiled sweetly for a nanosecond then her original scowl returned.

  ‘Shepherd’s shit, more like, and that side salad looks like grass. Do I look like a horse to you, Mags?’

  The dinner lady wasn’t wearing a name badge. Despite the insults, she might have felt mildly complimented by the fact he knew her name. Unless her name was Jennifer.

  ‘No, Mr Basil, you certainly don’t look like a horse. You look like a skinny, angry old man who needs his dinner. Now eat up.’

  ‘Yesterday’s dinner looked like food and tasted like shit. Maybe this shit will actually taste like food.’

  ‘And then hopefully today the enema will help you have a shit,’ she said, picking up the tray from earlier and carrying it out of the room, head held high.

  I thought I saw Mr Basil smile but the glimmer of possibility disappeared as quickly as it had come. His voice was gravelly, weak but authoritative. If he was this tough on his deathbed, I could only imagine what he had been like in the office. And as a father. I looked at Adam; his expression was unreadable. This visit was important, this was where I would have to appeal to Mr Basil’s paternal instincts, to see how forcing Adam to take over the company was damaging his son’s health. This was the basket in which I placed all of my eggs. Already I was concerned they’d decided to crush themselves on the way into the room.

  ‘Actually, come back here,’ the old man called.

  Mags halted.

  ‘Not you, the pair of them.’

  Mags patted my hand sympathetically as she passed and said gently, ‘He’s a right fucker.’

  Adam and I approached the bed. No loving words were shared between father and son, not even a greeting of any kind.

  ‘What do you have to do today?’ Mr Basil barked.

  Adam looked confused.

  ‘I heard you whispering: We’re doing this today.’ He mocked my previous whisper. ‘Don’t look so surprised, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing. It’s my liver that has me in here, and that’s not even what’s killing me. It’s the cancer – and I think the fucking food will kill me before that does!’ He pushed away his plate. ‘I don’t understand why they won’t just let me out of here to die. I’ve got things to do,’ he raised his voice again as a doctor ente
red to study his chart. There were two student doctors with her.

  ‘It looks like you’re doing plenty already,’ the doctor said. ‘The allowed number of guests per room is two.’ She glared at us all as if we were responsible for causing the cancer to grow at such a rapid rate. ‘I thought I told you to rest, Mr Basil.’

  ‘And I thought I told you to fuck off,’ he said.

  There was a long uncomfortable silence and I suddenly felt the urge to laugh.

  ‘You wait all day for a fucking doctor, then three of them come at once,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Is it the thousands I’m paying you every day to ignore me?’

  ‘Mr Basil, may I remind you to curb your tongue. If you’re feeling more irritable than usual, perhaps we can take a look at your medication.’

  He waved a pale thin hand dismissively, almost in surrender.

  ‘A few minutes for you all and then I must insist on Mr Basil being alone,’ she said firmly. ‘We can talk then.’ She turned and left with her merry men scuttling along behind her.

  ‘I might see her again next week, whereupon she’ll visit my bed and once again tell me diddly squat. Who are you?’ he demanded, glaring at me.

  Everyone turned their heads in my direction.

  ‘I’m Christine Rose.’ I held out my hand.

  Mr Basil looked at it, lifted his hand, from which a tube protruded, and addressed Adam as he shook my hand limply: ‘Does Maria know about her? I never took you for a two-timer, you always seemed such a pussy. Pussy-whipped. Rose – what kind of name is that?’ He turned to me again.

  ‘We think it’s originally Rosenburg.’

  He sized me up, then his eyes returned to Adam. ‘I like Maria. I don’t like many people, but I like her. And Mags, the dinner lady. Maria’s smart. Once she gets her act together she’ll go far. I don’t think much of that shitty business – Red Lips. It sounds like porno.’

  I couldn’t help myself: I laughed, out loud.

  Mr Basil appeared surprised, then continued, watching me as he spoke. ‘When she comes to her senses and stops making cartoons—’

  ‘Animation—’ I interrupted, feeling I owed it to Maria after enjoying her annihilation a little too much.

  ‘I don’t give a shit what – then she’ll do well. She’ll be helpful to you when you’re in charge, because God knows you couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery.’

  ‘Then why do you want him to take over the company?’ I asked, and all heads swivelled to me.

  Everyone, especially Mr Basil, seemed surprised, not that he’d dream of letting on. His authority must never be allowed to slip for a moment, no one else could be permitted to take the lead.

  ‘Was that supposed to be a secret?’ I muttered to Adam.

  He shook his head, looking at me with wary eyes.

  ‘What then?’ I looked around, unsure what I’d done. The woman named Mary took a step back from the bed, the younger woman in grey followed suit.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, Mr Basil. We’ll be outside if you need us.’

  He ignored her. Mary seemed to waver between leaving and staying.

  ‘Tell me, how do you know my son?’

  ‘We’re friends,’ Adam jumped in.

  ‘Ah, he speaks!’ his father said. ‘Tell me, Adam, the office haven’t seen you since Sunday. Apparently you were in Dublin to see me, but I’d have noticed if you’d come here and you didn’t. If you’re going to spend your time whoring around, then do it on—’

  ‘He wasn’t whoring—’

  ‘—your own time. I don’t like to be interrupted, thank you, Ms Rose.’

  ‘There’s an issue I’d like to discuss in private with you,’ I said. ‘Adam, you can leave too, if you like.’

  Mr Basil looked at the two women by his bedside. They appeared anxious to get out of the room, and for that he was going to force them to stay. ‘I trust Mary more than I trust myself. She’s been with us since the day I took over forty years ago, and has known my son since he was in nappies, which was a phase that lasted longer than everyone hoped. Anything you have to say can be said in front of Mary. The other girl I’m not so sure of, but Mary thinks highly of her so I’m giving her a chance. Now cut the shit and tell me what you’re here for.’

  The younger woman beside Mary lowered her head, embarrassed. I pulled over a chair and sat down. How to Break Sensitive News to a Dying Old Man. This particular man didn’t seem to deserve any sensitivity, given that he had none for anyone else. Well, if Adam wasn’t going to speak to him directly, I was. I’d sort this out once and for all. I came from a world of honesty and forthrightness, I wasn’t dramatic and certainly did not point out issues I had with people unless it was vital and unless it would improve the relationship, and I was grading Adam’s situation as vital. If a person’s behaviour has a negative effect on your life, you have to communicate with them, share the problem, discuss it, come to a conclusion. Communication is key in these situations, and clearly it was non-existent between this father and son. I sensed Adam was too afraid to stand up to his imposing father and so I would have to do it for him.

  I spoke firmly and looked the old man directly in the eye. ‘I’m aware that you’re going to die very soon and you want Adam to take over the company so that control doesn’t revert to your nephew. We’re here to talk about that.’

  Adam sighed and closed his eyes.

  ‘Shut up,’ Mr Basil snapped at him, even though he hadn’t spoken. ‘Mary, Patricia – outside, please.’ He didn’t even watch as they left, he kept his eyes on me.

  I gave Adam a reassuring smile but he was unreadable, his jaw rigid.

  Mr Basil looked at me as if I was the last person he wanted to have to talk to. ‘Ms Rose, you have your facts wrong. I don’t want Adam to take over the company. Lavinia is next in line, and was always intended to inherit. She’s far more able for the job than he is, believe you me, but she’s in Boston.’

  ‘Yes, I hear she stole millions from her friends and family,’ I said, putting him in his place. ‘Here’s the thing: Adam doesn’t want the job.’

  I left a long silence. He waited for more but nothing came. That was it, I was finished. He didn’t deserve pandering and polite explanations.

  ‘Do you think I didn’t know that?’ He looked from me to Adam. ‘Is this supposed to be some elaborate reveal?’

  I frowned. This wasn’t going the way I planned.

  Mr Basil started laughing, but even his laugh was joyless.

  ‘His lack of interest in anything I do has made it patently obvious. He’s been fannying around with helicopters since he could talk, and he’s spent the last ten years messing around with the coast guard. I don’t care if he doesn’t want the job, I don’t care if it makes him deeply unhappy. It does not change what must be. A Basil must be in charge of this company. A Basil always has and always will be in charge of this company. And it cannot be Nigel Basil – it must not be. Over my dead body.’ He seemed unaware of the irony. ‘My grandfather, my father and I have fought hard to keep this company in our hands through good times and bad since it was founded, and no bossy little bitch with too much mouth and too little understanding is going to change that.’

  My mouth fell open. I heard another of my eggs crack under the pressure.

  ‘Father, that’s enough,’ Adam said firmly. ‘Don’t speak to her like that. She’s not trying to change anything, she’s only telling you what she thinks you don’t know. She wants to help.’

  ‘And why are you communicating the message on my son’s behalf?’ He looked at Adam. ‘Son, it’s time you grew a set of balls. Don’t let other people do your dirty work.’ And then his tone turned nasty. Not comedy nasty as it had previously been, but bitter nasty, pure vitriol emanating from his eyes and mouth, which was twisted in a sneer. ‘Did he tell you he doesn’t receive a penny, no inheritance whatsoever, until he’s done ten years with the company? Whether I’m dead or alive, he gets nothing. I think that mig
ht persuade him.’

  Adam was staring at the wall, his face set.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ I said, now thoroughly riled by this vile old man. ‘But I really don’t think money is an issue for Adam. Mr Basil, if your company matters to you more than your own son’s wellbeing, shouldn’t you at least consider what is best for the company? I realise it’s a family company and it’s been there for generations; you’ve put your entire life into it, blood, sweat and tears – now you need to find someone who will go on doing that in your absence. The company will not flourish in Adam’s hands because he’s not driven by the same desire you are. If you really care about your legacy, find someone who will love it and nurture it as you have.’

  He looked at me, his expression contemptuous, his eyes cold, then turned to Adam. I expected to hear spite but was surprised by his calm tone. ‘Maria will help you, Adam. When there are decisions to be made that you don’t know how to make, sound them out with her. Back when I started out, do you think a day went by that I didn’t ask your mother her opinion? And you’ll have Mary – she’s my right-hand man. You think you’ll have to do it alone? You won’t.’ He stopped, suddenly exhausted. ‘You can’t let Nigel step in, you know you can’t.’