How to Fall in Love

by Cecelia Ahern

  He smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

  He looked fine.

  ‘Well, maybe you are right now, at this moment, but we both know how quickly that can change. Besides, you have so much work to do on yourself. This is only the beginning, you know. And you really need to agree to see a therapist.’

  ‘I agree,’ he said simply. He looked amused.

  ‘This isn’t funny, Adam. Just because Maria is coming to the party doesn’t mean anything for sure, not yet. I insist on staying with you until our deal is done.’

  ‘I got us connecting rooms.’ He smiled. ‘And thanks for the reminder.’

  I paused, embarrassed. ‘Oh. I wasn’t trying to panic you, I was only, you know, trying to prepare you for what might happen.’ And again it struck me that I was the one who needed to be prepared.

  When we arrived at the Morrison Hotel we were escorted straight up in the elevator to the top floor, where Adam had booked a two-bedroom penthouse suite.

  ‘The view you requested, sir,’ the concierge said proudly.

  I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and peered out. Our room overlooked the River Liffey, and right below our window was the Ha’penny Bridge, shining gloriously, lit up on this dark evening with green uplighters and its three decorative lamps shining out over the water. I looked at Adam, alarm bells ringing in my head, but I tried not to react.

  ‘Happy?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Our rooms aren’t connecting,’ I said cheekily.

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘They seem to be separated by a dining area, a kitchen and a living room.’ He looked at me, amused. ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  It was the most luxurious room I had ever been in, and I’d only ever been in two truly luxurious rooms, both courtesy of Adam.

  ‘It’s amazing.’ I nodded. Apart from the view.

  It was late by the time we got to the hotel and neither of us wanted to do anything other than order room service and watch TV on the enormous plasma, sitting on the enormous couch. I was more comfortable with Adam just sitting in and doing nothing than I had ever been with Barry. We were easy together. The icing on the cake was that I very much, very very much wanted to sleep with Adam. I’d had little desire to do so with Barry. I’d found his uncertainty sweet at first, but then as time went on it began to frustrate me; I wanted definite, manly, certain hands on my body and I was irritated by how unsatisfied I felt afterwards, with him panting beside me, breathless, while I hadn’t even begun. Of course in the beginning things had been different, but all too soon we became far too settled in our established routines and patterns. And we hadn’t even been married one year. I couldn’t imagine what we would have been like after thirty years.

  Whereas Adam … being with Adam made me feel alive. Adam intoxicated me with dizzying effects. Despite the enormous couch, we sat close to each other in the middle. I was like a schoolgirl with a crush. I felt myself freeze and get all giddy. He was close to me! When our elbows brushed, I felt on fire. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie. I was too happy, too light-headed, too sizzling and fizzling at that moment to be able to concentrate. I was also too aware of his proximity, his bare feet on the stool we both shared, his muscular body in tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt, reclining next to me, chilled out and oh so sexy at the same time.

  I was afraid to move my eyes from the TV, afraid to look at him in case it was obvious, in case it showed, in case he realised the woman whom he trusted to help him out of the depths of his despair was secretly dreaming about pulling down his trousers and taking him right there on the couch. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye: he was staring at the TV, totally absorbed, his hand moving mechanically from the popcorn bowl to his mouth. I looked quickly, saw the popcorn fall between his plump lips. I swallowed. Took another sip of my drink.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ he said suddenly, putting the bowl on the foot-rest. Then he left the room. The enormous couch seemed even more so now there was only me, and I felt like an idiot. I held my head in my hands, bounced my head repeatedly against my tucked-up knees and tried to remind myself that the man I was obsessing about had vowed to kill himself if he didn’t get his girlfriend back by his birthday. His girlfriend. His birthday was tomorrow. The last thing he was thinking about was having sex with me.

  I needed to get back into my role. I had seriously lost the plot. I put down the glass of champagne, feeling suddenly embarrassed, like I was the only girl at the party because the party was over and it had taken me until now to realise it. I straightened up, my cheeks blazing with the embarrassment of what I had been thinking, how selfish I had been – not to mention how dangerous it would have been, with Adam in his current state of mind.

  Walking on tiptoe, I made my way to his bedroom and pressed my ear up against the door. I expected to hear the usual sobs, but all I could hear was the water falling in uneven patterns as his body moved around beneath the flow, sending it splashing in different directions. No tears. I smiled. He was ready. I needed Maria not to ruin it for him. I padded across the luxurious carpet to my bedroom, undressed for bed, and dialled Amelia’s number. I had been so overwhelmed by my own life over the past few days I hadn’t even thought to call her and see how she was doing. The phone rang and rang and finally a breathless Amelia picked up.

  ‘What were you doing, a marathon?’ I joked tiredly, trying to pep myself up for her.

  ‘No, sorry I was, er … uh,’ she giggled. ‘Sorry. Are you okay? I mean, how are you?’

  I frowned, listened closely to the background.

  ‘Hello?’ she asked again. I heard whispering.

  ‘Who are you with?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you.’ I smiled.

  ‘Er … Bobby. You know. He’s helping with the uh, search.’

  I heard a snort in the background.

  ‘Are you in Kenmare?’

  ‘No. We abandoned that idea for now, we kind of got side-tracked with something else here, you see.’ She giggled again. ‘Christine, you know I can’t talk right now.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m getting that. I wanted to see if you’re okay, that’s all.’

  Amelia’s voice became clearer then. ‘You know, the weird thing is, I am. I really, truly am.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How about you? I know tomorrow’s the … birthday party. How is Adam? How’s it all going?’

  ‘Yeah, good,’ I replied, and heard the tremble in my voice. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.’

  I hung up and held my head in my hands. When I looked up I saw Adam at the door, the door I always left open to listen out for him during the night. He was dripping wet, the towel wrapped low around his waist. Water dripped from his nose and chin as though he’d literally rushed from the shower without so much as a wipe down. He absent-mindedly wiped it away, pushed back his hair, smoothed it down with his two hands. As he did so, he further revealed his muscular body. I was staring unashamedly, feeling that his suddenly arriving at my door half-naked gave me licence.

  I tried to think what to say. Are you okay? Or Can I help you? No, too shop-assistant-like. So I didn’t say anything, I stood in my underwear, looking at him and being looked at. Then suddenly, very suddenly, for the first time in two weeks he stepped over the threshold, from his world into my world, and he was in my room and he was coming towards me, and my face was in his hands and he was looking down at me and the shower water from his hair was dripping on to my skin, his lips were on mine and he held me there, long and beautiful, a gentle brushing of his lips against mine for the longest time. I was afraid he was going to pull away then, that he’d decided this was all a mistake, but instead he parted my lips with his bottom lip and pushed his tongue inside my mouth. Finally believing he wasn’t going away, I lifted my hands to his body and moved closer. I felt dizzy, everything rushing around inside me like a panicked messenger trying to share the news. I literally melted and came alive at the same time, a bi
zarre state of affairs. I led him to the bed, and as we lay down he ended our kiss and opened his eyes. He smiled at me, I smiled back and we continued.

  We continued two more times.

  While Adam was sleeping beneath me, his arms wrapped around my body, my head rising and falling on his chest, I felt contented and sleepy. Something about his heartbeat, his breathing, him living, had helped me to relax most nights that we shared the same room. It was one fix that my How to Quiet Your Mind and Get Some Sleep book had failed to mention: Fall in love with a beautiful man and listen to his heartbeat. He helped me to relax and I drifted off.

  When I closed my eyes I was at the apartment complex with Detective Maguire, only this time the apartment complex was a rundown Avalon Manor, in Tipperary. There was yellow crime-scene tape around the building and Simon was on the roof. Detective Maguire was getting a ladder for me to climb, but I was protesting that I couldn’t climb it because I was wearing a dress and it was windy. In the end though I climbed the ladder, my dress blowing up around my waist and everyone below me laughing. I had forgotten to put my underwear on because I had just had sex with Adam, which is what I told them. Maria was there and they all agreed I should be arrested for being so inappropriate. Everybody agreed, even Leo Arnold, who was standing beside Maria. Detective Maguire told them all that he would arrest me, but first I must save Simon. He began calling up to me on the ladder, negotiating a deal: if I saved Simon, he wouldn’t arrest me. But he was laughing while he said it, jeering at me. Nevertheless I agreed and we made the pact. I climbed and climbed the ladder, not getting anywhere, everyone laughing beneath me as my skirt continued to billow out for all to see. Suddenly the ladder began to tilt backward, away from the house. I looked up and saw Simon on the edge of the roof; he was crying, looking at me with the exact look he’d had on his face that night. I could see the blame in his face, that if I didn’t get to him he’d die. Maguire, Maria and Leo were roaring with laughter. The ladder was in limbo, hovering, going across to Simon and then changing its mind and moving backward again, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Then Adam was there, mortified by me and my obvious failure, wishing he’d never met me. He was telling everybody this, and it was the last thing I heard before the ladder began to tilt back completely and I started plummeting backwards to the ground.

  I woke up with a start. I looked at the clock and saw I’d only been asleep for twenty minutes.

  ‘Okay?’ Adam grumbled.

  ‘Mmm.’

  His arms were wrapped around me tightly, his chest rose and fell, and I drifted off again. I was back in the apartment block, the real one this time, only it was fully furnished and people were living there, every single apartment teeming with sounds of life, the way it was meant to be. Simon was standing before me with a banana in his hand, which he’d taken from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. He was telling me that it was a gun.

  I started to speak, but I spoke too fast and my words blurred together, and didn’t make any sense. Somehow he understood though. When I was finished my nonsensical talk, he put the gun down on the counter. I sighed with relief. I looked around for Detective Maguire, but there was no one there, so I waited for the gardaí to take over; I’d done the job, I was finished, I’d talked him down! But nobody came. Where was everybody? I was so relieved yet at the same time anxious, my heart was beating wildly in my chest. He was looking lost, exhausted from the experience. I knew I should say something, fill the silence.

  ‘Now you can go home, Simon, home to your girls.’

  I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it. The whole time he had been telling me that this apartment was his home, that they had tried to take him away from his home, and all he wanted to do was return with his family, to the home he’d saved for, the home he’d bought with his wife, the home he planned to live in with his children – their first home together as a family. The room suddenly emptied, became grey and unlived in, and I realised we were standing in his home. I had said the wrong thing. He looked up at me, and I knew instantly I’d made a mistake.

  He picked up the banana, which had become a gun.

  ‘This is my home.’ He pulled the trigger.

  I woke up, his words ringing in my ears. My heart was pounding in my chest, Adam was no longer beneath me, he was beside me in bed, the clock read four a.m. I sat up, hot and sticky from the dream, panic and dread twisting through my body at the memory of what had happened. I reached for the notepad beside the bed and wrote, Had to go. Will explain. See you later.

  I pondered adding a X, but decided against it. I didn’t want to come across as too attached, too presumptuous. By then I had wasted enough time and didn’t have time to ponder it any more. I would be back before he woke up, hopefully. I got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and I was soon in reception waiting for a taxi. Twenty minutes later I was at the hospital.

  I burst into the ward and, from the look on my face, security knew to let me through. Thankfully, Angela was on duty.

  ‘Christine, what’s wrong?’

  ‘It was my fault,’ I said, tears coming to my eyes.

  ‘It’s not your fault, I told you that.’

  ‘I have to tell him. I remember now. I have to say sorry.’ I tried to push past Angela, but she held me back.

  ‘Now you’re not going anywhere until you calm down, do you hear me?’ Her voice was firm. A nurse stepped out from the station to see if everything was okay and, not wanting to make a scene, I immediately forced myself to calm down.

  I sat at Simon’s bedside, fidgeting. He had been taken off the life-support unit while I was in Tipperary, but he was still in intensive care. He was breathing unassisted though he still hadn’t opened his eyes or fully regained consciousness. My fingers trembled as the words I uttered on the night of his shooting – which I’d forgotten, had somehow blocked out – came reverberating around my head, taunting me, blaming me, pointing the finger at me accusingly.

  ‘Simon, I’m here to apologise. I’ve remembered what I said. You probably remembered all along and wanted to scream it at me, but now I know,’ I sniffled. ‘You had put the gun down. You let me call the guards. You looked different, relieved, and then I was so relieved, so happy to have prevented you from shooting yourself, but I didn’t know what to do. It was probably only five seconds, but it felt so long. I was afraid you would pick up the gun again.’ I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears rolled down my cheeks and I put myself back in the room from over a month ago. ‘“Well done, Simon,”’ I repeated. ‘“The guards are on their way. They’re going to bring you home, to your wife and girls.” And you suddenly looked different. It was because of what I’d said, wasn’t it? Home. I said go home, but you’d spent the entire time telling me this was your home, the one you’d been forced to leave. I did listen to you, Simon, I completely understood, I … slipped up, at the end. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.’

  I wanted to take his hand but felt any contact would be an intrusion. I wasn’t a friend, I wasn’t family, I was the woman who had failed to save him from himself.

  ‘It would be wrong of me, selfish of me to suggest that there was a reason for you doing what you did, that any good at all could possibly have come from what you’ve done, but when I lost you I became so desperate to never make the same mistake again that I went beyond, have been going way beyond, in my efforts to save another man’s life. And if I hadn’t failed with you, then I may not have succeeded with him. I want you to know that.’ I thought of Adam and the night we had shared together and I smiled briefly.

  I sat with him in a long silence. Suddenly there was a loud beeping from a machine beside the bed. I froze at first and then jumped up. At the same time Angela came rushing into the room, and jumped into action.

  ‘I was only talking to him,’ I said, panicked. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘You didn’t do anything,’ she said quickly. She rushed to the door, fired a list of orders to another nurse on duty, then looked at me. ‘You didn’t do anyt
hing. Stop blaming yourself. I’m glad you were with him. Now go.’

  The room became a flurry of activity and I left.

  Simon Conway was pronounced dead that night.

  24

  How to Wallow in Your Despair in One Easy Way

  I arrived back at the Morrison Hotel suite at five thirty a.m., exhausted and completely drained. I wanted to climb back into bed beside Adam’s warm strong body, feel secure, have him recharge me with love and joy, belief and goodness again. This was what I’d expected to do, but when I walked into the suite, he was already up.

  The sight of him made me smile and my heart lift, seeing him medicine enough for me, but then I saw the look on his face as I walked into the room and my smile disappeared. Warning bells rang. I knew regret when I saw it, I’d been looking at it in the mirror every day since I married Barry. I readied myself, steeled my heart, built up my wall around myself in preparation for the attack. The ice queen defences were engaged.

  ‘You’ve been crying,’ he said.

  I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror and I was a mess. The clothes I’d thrown on were a mismatch, my hair hadn’t been brushed, I wasn’t wearing make-up, my nose was red, my skin blotchy. I didn’t exactly look a sight to win him over. I was about to tell him about Simon when it began.

  It began with a look and I knew, I knew it before he even said the words, immediately feeling like a piece of filth who had taken advantage of a sick man, and I wanted the moment to be over already so I could collect my bag and do the walk of shame back to Clontarf. Had I learned nothing from the Simon Conway experience? What had I done to Adam? He looked a mess; had I undone all the good work he had done on himself, made him confused and disgusted with himself, disoriented enough to send him straight back to the bridge beneath our window? How could I leave him now? In this state? Even when he asked me to leave?

  ‘It’s not … we shouldn’t have … I shouldn’t have …’ he tried to start it off. ‘I take full responsibility,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry, Christine. I shouldn’t have … come to you last night.’