It was completely quiet in the room.
‘Everybody has a story to tell,’ she said. ‘That is what links us all, that is what links all the names on the list. Constance was simply getting back to basics.’
Kitty looked around the room and saw Bob’s eyes shining with tears, his chin trembling as he struggled to compose himself as Constance’s story finally came to life, as the silenced Constance finally found her voice.
‘Constance’s story is titled One Hundred Names and I’m sorry, Pete, but I don’t have one story for you. Right now I have six stories.’
Kitty made her way over to the projector and placed Constance’s original list on the surface and flicked the switch. The names were revealed on the wall behind her.
‘These are the one hundred names, now, please, meet the people.’
She opened the door and all eyes turned in surprise to see Ambrose Nolan, Eva Wu, Archie Hamilton, Jedrek Vysotski, Bridget Murphy and Mary-Rose Godfrey all enter the room, looking around shyly, proudly, and with confusion all at the same time.
‘Everybody please meet name number two, also known as Ambrose Nolan. A fascinating woman who dedicates her life to capturing the essence of beauty.’
Ambrose looked down and her wild red hair covered more of her face than ever before.
‘Ambrose dedicates her life to celebrating butterflies; on her conservation site she helps to create new life but in her museum she also celebrates the life of those that have been and gone. I have heard her describe herself as a Small Tortoiseshell species of butterfly, but I liken her more to the Brown Hairstreak.’ Ambrose looked up at Kitty in surprise. Kitty smiled. ‘Few people have seen this elegant butterfly, but when they do, the female is so striking with its orange band that they never forget its beauty.’
Ambrose’s look of surprise slowly transformed to a faint smile of thanks and then she disappeared behind her hair again.
‘Please meet name number three, Eva Wu, a woman who was given a Pandora’s Box filled with hope at a time in her life when she felt like there was none, and because of that was blessed with the gift of bringing hope into other people’s lives.’ Eva’s eyes filled and she looked down. ‘Through her company, “Dedicated”, Eva Wu is more than a personal shopper. I liken her to an angel who spends a period of time in people’s lives, observing them with the keenest of eyes to make a journalist like me jealous, and gives them the greatest gift of all – not what people think that they want, but gifts that people never even know they need at all until they receive them and realise they were incomplete without.’
Birdie, knowing more than anyone in the room that there was truth to this, reached out and held Eva’s hand. She rubbed it warmly with her other.
‘Meet name number four, Jedrek Vysotski, a husband, father and courageous man, who wanted to prove to the world that he was able to achieve something, that he was worth something, that he could stand out from the crowd even when he felt the world was telling him he couldn’t.’
Jedrek proudly lifted his chin higher in the air and focused on the audience before him.
‘Jedrek and his friend Achar successfully completed a task that will ensure they are in Guinness World Records, where it will be forever in print that they are men of extraordinary dedication and talent. And for Jedrek, proof that he is a man of worth.
‘Meet name number six, Bridget “Birdie” Murphy, a woman with unfinished business who turned eighty-five years old and collected on a bet she’d made over sixty years ago with a man, with an entire town, who believed she would never live to see this day.’ Birdie smiled shyly at the audience before her. ‘Birdie is one of the sweetest, gentlest and most inspiring women I’ve ever met and has shared with me a story of true survival, survival that has been rewarded not just financially but most importantly by being fruitful, by being surrounded by people who she loves and who love her. There is nothing boring about that,’ Kitty said to Birdie, remembering Birdie’s embarrassment at having to relate her life story. ‘At eighteen years old, she took a bet and the bet paid off, and it’s a lesson we can all learn from.’
‘Meet name number seven, Mary-Rose Godfrey, carer and proposee, a girl who gives so much and for it, receives a proposal at least once a week.’ Mary-Rose laughed and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Mary-Rose’s mother sadly suffered a stroke and because of that Mary-Rose was introduced to the world of the sick. She goes to hospitals to do hair, make-up and sometimes nails,’ Kitty heard Mary-Rose laugh nervously, ‘and through these simple acts she is like a beacon of light to the people who ask for her. But what Mary-Rose doesn’t know is that it’s her and not what she does that lights up the room. It’s the conversation she brings, her mere presence, which has the ability to, albeit momentarily, heal people.
‘And finally, name number sixty-seven, Archie Hamilton. Archie’s beloved daughter, Rebecca, was murdered before her sixteenth birthday. Archie, probably doing what most fathers would do, protected his daughter by seeking out the man who took her life, and took the law into his own hands. For that he spent years in prison but emerged with an entirely new outlook on life. An outlook that is,’ she looked at Archie and smiled, ‘beyond fascinating and illuminating. Archie believed that God wasn’t listening when he needed Him most, he felt forgotten and left behind, and his saviour was to wake up one day to hear the voices of those in need as much as he once was, and have the ability to help answer their prayers.’
Archie’s jaw hardened as he tried hard not to let his emotions show.
Kitty turned away from her emotional group of friends and looked back at her colleagues, some who were deeply moved by her words, by their stories.
‘What I’ve told you about them here is merely an introduction to who these people are. There is so much more for me to say about them, and so much more for you to learn about them. Pete, there are so many fascinating, amazing people out there with stories to tell that they don’t even know are interesting. The stories are endless; we have an entire telephone directory of inspiration. You’ve seen the one hundred names, you’ve seen the people, now I propose that you read their stories in Constance’s final piece: one story dedicated to each name on her list, each month, in a feature titled One Hundred Names. And when that list runs out we randomly select one hundred more.’
Kitty was finished talking and she held her breath for a reaction. There was complete silence. She looked at the others standing alongside her, not knowing what to say. Mary-Rose’s eyes widened, Eva’s cheeks pinked, Birdie reached out to a chair to steady herself.
Suddenly Bob stood up, and started clapping, slowly at first, then it built, and Kitty saw the tears in his eyes and gradually the others began to join in, applauding, Rebecca with excitement and the others with appreciation and even admiration. Kitty looked at Pete and he was smiling, a small smile that was gradually building. He looked along the line of people she had brought into the room and then his eyes rested on Kitty. He smiled at her, nodded at her reassuringly so that she knew she’d done it, she knew she’d pulled it off. Then he joined in, clapping along with the others.
Kitty had never in her whole life felt prouder. She put an arm around Mary-Rose, who was beside her, and instinctively they all grouped together in a circle, the little team that they had become, the friends she had made and who she knew she would remain in contact with, and they hugged collectively as they listened to the applause.
The St Margaret’s Nursing Home bus pulled up to the famous meeting spot dubbed ‘under the clock at Clerys’ where they had all met at the start of their journey. Not yet ready to say goodbye, they remained in their seats in a hushed silence. Each took a moment to gather his or her thoughts, to revel in the experience they had just had, most likely the last that they would share together. Archie was the first to stand. He looked around at the others, the quiet still enveloping them all. He nodded to them, and made his way to the front of the bus. Then they all followed.
Despite their promising to meet again – so
me had swapped phone numbers, some had even already made dates – Kitty knew that realistically it would be a hard task to bring them all together again, to get every single person back in the same room, or on the same bus. But as she watched them from her window seat all go their separate ways, she knew in her heart of hearts that she would do everything in her power to try. She had ninety-four more people to meet and ninety-four more friends to make, but she knew that this bunch would always be extra special to her, for they had helped change her life, had, in a way, saved her. She would reunite them again. One day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘This better be good, Archie. I have an article to write, remember?’ Kitty said, as she met him outside the Brick Alley Café on Sunday morning. He had called her late the previous night after they’d all eventually got home and had a day to think about all that they’d seen, done and achieved. Steve had finally left Kitty’s flat to give her time to settle down to write her article, when Archie had called her and requested they meet urgently. She had no idea what to expect but she was ready for anything now.
‘It’s good, trust me,’ he said, smiling.
‘Where’s Regina?’
‘It’s Sunday morning, where do you think?’
‘Ah, church,’ she guessed. ‘And you don’t want to be there?’
He shook his head.
‘Changed your mind about helping people?’
‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘I’ve decided to help some people. Which is why I called you here.’
‘Me? I don’t pray,’ she laughed nervously.
‘I’m not too sure about that, Kitty,’ he said softly. ‘There was one thing coming through loud and clear to me.’
Kitty swallowed, completely uncertain as to where this was going.
‘There’s someone in there who wants to talk to you,’ Archie said, turning to face the café.
‘Who?’ Her heart drummed maniacally in her chest.
‘Take a look.’
She looked through the glass and there, sitting on the stool facing the wall with the blackboard saying ‘Every table has a story to tell’, was a man whose back was turned. Instinctively, as if he knew they were looking at him, he looked around and Kitty gasped.
Colin Maguire.
‘Archie,’ she whispered, suddenly terrified. ‘What have you done?’
‘All you want is for him to forgive you, am I right?’ he asked gently.
She swallowed and nodded.
‘I contacted him yesterday. He was happy to hear from me, said he’d wanted to see you too.’
‘He did, so he can kill me,’ she said, voice shaking.
‘No. I think he wants closure too, Kitty. Go on in. You’ve nothing to lose.’
Kitty looked at Archie, unsure whether to hit him or thank him, but knew that what he’d done had been from the goodness of his heart.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the café. Colin Maguire turned round and stood up from his stool.
And she walked towards him, hoping, and above all, praying, for his forgiveness.
Behind the scenes writing One Hundred Names
How did you come up with the title for this book? Inspiration is so hard to pin down, but can you remember anything specific that caught your imagination and helped fire you up to write the story of Kitty and her list of one hundred names?
I was half paying attention to the television one day, the MTV awards were on, and actress Jennifer Lawrence appeared on the television to talk about her upcoming movie – which I heard as One Hundred Names. As soon as I heard this, I stopped what I was doing and looked up to see what the movie was about. Something about the title excited me, it made me want to hear more, it made my mind go wild trying to figure out who the one hundred people could be and how they were linked and what the story might be. So my mind was incredibly active as I was watching the trailer, and as usual whenever I heard a good title or idea, I was feeling jealous I hadn’t thought of it. Then I realized it wasn’t called One Hundred Names at all, it was The Hunger Games! I was so delighted that I’d got it wrong because it meant that I could use the title for myself. The idea very quickly formulated in the seconds it took from mishearing the name to realising I was wrong. It’s incredible how ideas come, and what triggers them, and this is a perfect example of how something totally unrelated can spark off an idea. When I get an idea I become so excited, my adrenalin is pumping and I need to find a pen and paper straight away to write it down before I lose it, as it flows and develops so rapidly in my head. I remember not having a pen and paper near me so I emailed myself the idea on my Blackberry.
Instantly I created two very different characters to tell the story. One was a detective who found a list of names and had to solve a crime, the other was a young journalist who found a list of names and had to write a story. I went with the journalist who had to write a story. I could relate to her.
Did you plan the plot for this novel in detail before you started? Did you know how the book would end before you started writing the first line?
It was September/October 2011 and I was just about to begin publicity for my novel The Time of My Life so I didn’t – couldn’t – think the idea through any more in major detail. Over the next few months I just let it bubble away so that it could grow and take on a life that would be three dimensional and exciting, something that would be worthy of a novel. During those months I travelled to Australia, Spain, Germany, the UK, and all around Ireland, but I was thinking about the idea the entire time. I felt sure it was going to be my next novel and I was excited. But I was nervous. I knew that the idea was a good one, possibly one of my best, but I felt it was too adventurous. To have to come up with one hundred characters, plus the main characters, was much too big for me. It would be close to impossible to write, not to mention confusing for the readers. I toyed with changing it to Ten Names or another more manageable number but I wasn’t happy with that idea. It had to be One Hundred Names or nothing at all. So I kept pushing myself away from the idea and trying to think of something else for my next novel.
I love getting ideas, I thrive on ideas, other people’s and my own, and the terrifying thing for a writer is to not have the idea. This time I had too many ideas. I had so many characters and storylines in my head that had been developed over the years. I had to begin work on a new book in January and I couldn’t decide which one I was going to write. This was unusual for me because it has always been very clear to me over the years what I should write. It would be the story that would take over my mind and refuse to leave me alone until it was written. It would be the story where I would hear the character’s voice in my head and they would become so real I would be compelled to tell their story. It would be the story where the first few sentences would already be forming in my head, just begging to be written. It was the One Hundred Names idea which wouldn’t leave me alone but I had a problem; I had the great idea, but I didn’t have the characters.
I wasn’t ready to write my novel and I only had six months to the deadline. I’ll be honest, I wondered if there would be a book at all by June. January came and I still couldn’t begin the novel, so I began writing a novella called Herman Banks and the Ghostwriter. That took me a month to write and while I was concentrating on that – a very different project for me that funnily enough is exactly what I needed to help me work out what I was going to do next – somewhere the wheels were in motion for my next novel. Some people ask me what they should do when they draw a blank, when they get writer’s block. I used to tell them I’d take a break, I’d empty the dishwasher, do the washing, busy myself so that I was actively doing something but all the while my brain would be still mulling it over. It’s the equivalent of giving someone peace and quiet while they try to remember something. Writing Herman Banks and the Ghostwriter was my equivalent. I had to give my mind some peace and quiet. Ironically, Herman Banks and the Ghostwriter is a story about a man with writer’s block and the lengths he’d go to in order to write a
novel.
That’s when I had my eureka moment.
I had an idea but no characters. On the other hand I had lots of characters and stories that I’d been working on for years but which had never been developed enough to become novels of their own. A-ha.
I had six characters that I had been thinking about for years, characters that I had wanted to write as short stories, or develop as television shows, or write as novels. I was so familiar with them and their stories I suddenly realized this is what they were for. I would focus on them.
They were my one hundred names.
I started writing in February 2012 and I finished in April 2012. I have never written a book so quickly in my life. PS I Love You had been written, obsessively, through hibernation, in three months and I thought I would never achieve that again. But it happened and I think the reason it could happen was that I had spent years living with all of these characters, I understood them so much already, it was just a matter of writing them down.
What was so unusual for me was placing them together in the same story. There is a scene where Kitty introduces the characters to each other, which is unusual for her because she is seeing them together for the first time. Different people from her life all come together in one room. I felt as she felt, they were all from different stories in my mind, from different notebooks, created years apart, and here I was introducing them to each other. It almost felt like they were reaching out of one notebook to shake the hand of a character in another. It was kind of magical. It would be like putting all of my previous characters from novels in a room together. What would happen if I put Holly, Rosie, Elizabeth, Sandy, Joyce, Lou, Tamara and Lucy all in a room together? It would be bizarre – but special – and that’s how it felt for me.
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