Thanks for the Memories

by Cecelia Ahern

  I sit at the kitchen table, and Dad immediately busies himself, filling the kettle as he does for everyone who enters his domain.

  “So how did the Monday Club go last night? I bet Donal McCarthy couldn’t believe your story. What was his face like?” I lean in, excited to hear and to change the topic.

  “He wasn’t there,” Dad says, turning his back to me as he takes out a cup and saucer for himself and a mug for me.

  “What? Why not? And you with your big story to tell him! The cheek of him. Well, you’ll have next week, won’t you?”

  He turns around slowly. “He died over the weekend. His funeral’s tomorrow. Instead we spent the night talking about him and all the old stories that he told a hundred times.”

  “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry.”

  “Ah, well. If he hadn’t have gone over the weekend, he would have dropped dead when he’d heard I met Michael Aspel. Maybe it was just as well.” He smiles sadly. “Ah, he wasn’t such a bad man. We had a good laugh even if we did enjoy getting a rise out of each other.”

  I feel for Dad. It is such a trivial thing compared to the loss of a friend, but he had been so excited to share his stories with his great rival.

  We both sit in silence.

  “You’ll keep the rosebush, won’t you?” Dad asks finally.

  I know immediately what he’s talking about. “Of course I will. I thought that it’d look good in your garden.”

  He looks out the window and studies his garden, most likely deciding where he’ll plant it.

  “You have to be careful moving it, Gracie. Too much shock causes a serious, possibly a grave, decline.”

  I smile sadly. “That’s a bit dramatic, but I’ll be fine, Dad. Thanks for caring.”

  He turns his back again. “I was talking about the roses.”

  My phone rings at that moment, vibrates along the table and almost hops off the edge.

  “Hello?”

  “Joyce, it’s Thomas. I just saw your young man off at the airport.”

  “Oh, thank you so much. Did he get the envelope?”

  “Uh, yeah. About that: I gave it to him all right, but I’ve just looked in the backseat of the car, and it’s still there.”

  “What?” I jump up from the kitchen chair. “Go back, go back! Turn the car around! You have to give it to him. He’s forgotten it!”

  “Thing is, he wasn’t too sure on whether he wanted to open it or not.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know, love! I gave it to him when he got back into the car and before we got to the airport, just like you asked. He seemed very down, and so I thought it’d cheer him up a bit.”

  “Down? Why? What was wrong with him?”

  “Joyce, love, I don’t know. All I know is he got into the car a bit upset, so I gave him the envelope and he sat there looking at it and I asked him if he was going to open it and he said maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I repeat. Had I done something to upset him? Had Kate said something? “He was upset when he came out of the gallery?”

  “No, not the gallery. We stopped off at the blood donor clinic on D’Olier Street before heading to the airport.”

  “He was donating blood?”

  “No, he said he had to meet somebody.”

  Oh, my God, maybe he’d discovered it was me who’d received his blood and he wasn’t interested.

  “Thomas, do you know if he opened it?”

  “Did you seal it?”

  “No.”

  “Then there’s no way of my knowing. I didn’t see him open it. I’m sorry. Do you want me to drop it at your house on the way back from the airport?”

  “Please.”

  An hour later I meet Thomas at the door, and he gives me the envelope. I can feel the contents still inside, and my heart falls. Why didn’t Justin open it and take it with him?

  “Here, Dad.” I slide the envelope across the kitchen table. “A present for you.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Front-row seats to the opera for next weekend,” I say sadly, leaning my chin on my hand. “It was a gift for somebody else, but he clearly doesn’t want to go.”

  “The opera.” Dad makes a funny face. “It’s far from operas I was raised.” He opens the envelope anyway as I get up to make some more coffee.

  “Oh, I think I’ll pass on this opera thing, love, but thanks anyway.”

  I spin round. “Oh, Dad, why? You liked the ballet, and you didn’t think that you would.”

  “Yes, but I went to that with you. I wouldn’t go to this on my own.”

  “You don’t have to. There are two tickets.”

  “No, there aren’t.”

  “Yes, there definitely are. Look again.”

  He turns the envelope upside down and shakes it. A loose piece of paper falls out and flutters to the table.

  My heart skips a beat.

  Dad props his glasses on the tip of his nose and peers down at the note. “‘Accompany me,’” he says slowly. “Ah, love, that’s awful nice of you—”

  “Show me that.” I grab it from his hands disbelievingly and read it for myself. Then I read it again. And again and again.

  Accompany me? Justin.

  Chapter 36

  HE WANTS TO MEET ME,” I tell Kate nervously as I twirl a string from my shirt around my finger.

  “You’re going to cut off your circulation, be careful,” Kate responds in a motherly fashion.

  “Kate! Did you not hear me? I said he wants to meet me!”

  “And so he should. Did you not think that this would eventually happen? Really, Joyce, you’ve been taunting the man for weeks. And if he did save your life, as you’re insisting he did, wouldn’t he want to meet the person whose life he saved? Boost his male ego? Come on, it’s the equivalent to a white horse and a shiny suit of armor.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is in his male eyes. His male wandering eyes,” she spits out aggressively.

  My eyes narrow as I study her closely. “Is everything okay? You’re beginning to sound like Frankie.”

  “Stop biting your lip, it’s starting to bleed. Yes, everything’s great. Just hunky-dory.”

  “Okay, here I am.” Frankie breezes through the door and joins us on the bleachers.

  We are seated on a split-level viewing balcony at Kate’s local swimming pool. Below us Eric and Jayda splash noisily in their swimming class. Sam sits beside us in his stroller, looking around.

  “Does this one do anything?” Frankie watches him suspiciously.

  Kate ignores her.

  “Issue number one for discussion today: Why do we have to constantly meet in these places with all these things crawling around?” She looks around at all the toddlers. “What happened to cool bars, new restaurants, and shop openings? Remember how we used to go out and have fun?”

  “I have plenty of fucking fun,” Kate says a little too defensively. “I’m just one great big ball of fucking fun,” she repeats and looks away.

  Frankie doesn’t hear the unusual tone in Kate’s voice, or hears it and decides to push anyway. “Yes, at dinner parties for other couples who also haven’t been out for months. That’s not so fun.”

  “You’ll understand when you have kids.”

  “I don’t plan to have any.” She pauses. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, she’s ‘hunky-dory,’” I say to Frankie, using my fingers as quotation marks.

  “Oh, I see,” Frankie says slowly and mouths “Christian” at me.

  I shrug.

  “Is there anything you want to get off your chest, Kate?” Frankie asks.

  “Actually, yes.” Kate turns to her with fire in her eyes. “I’m tired of your little comments about my life. If you’re not happy here or in my company, then piss off somewhere else, but just know that it’ll be without me.” She turns away then, her cheeks flushed with anger.

  Frankie is silent for a moment as she observes her friend. “Okay,” she says pe
rkily and turns to me. “My car is parked outside; we can check out the new bar down the road.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” I protest.

  “Ever since you left your husband and your life has fallen apart, you’ve been no fun,” she says to me sulkily. “And as for you, Kate, ever since you got that new Swedish nanny and your husband’s been eyeing her up, you’ve been absolutely miserable. As for me, I’m tired of hopping from one night of meaningless sex with handsome strangers to another, and having to eat microwave dinners alone every evening. There, I’ve said it.”

  My mouth falls open. So does Kate’s. I can tell we are both trying our best to be angry with Frankie, but her comments are so spot-on, it’s actually quite humorous. She nudges me with her elbow and chuckles mischievously in my ear. The corners of Kate’s lips begin to twitch too.

  “I should have got a manny,” Kate finally says.

  “Nah, I still wouldn’t trust Christian,” Frankie responds. “You’re being paranoid, Kate,” she assures her seriously. “I’ve been around you guys, I’ve seen him. He adores you, and she is not attractive at all.”

  “You think?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nods, but when Kate looks away, she mouths “Gorgeous” to me.

  “Did you mean all that stuff you said about your life?” Kate says, brightening up now.

  “No.” Frankie throws her head back and laughs. “I love meaningless sex. I need to do something about the microwave dinners, though. My doctor says I need more iron. Okay”—she claps her hands, causing Sam to jump with fright—“what’s on the agenda for this meeting?”

  “Justin wants to meet Joyce,” Kate explains, then snaps at me, “Stop biting your lip.”

  I stop.

  “Ooh, great,” Frankie says excitedly. “So what’s the problem?” She sees my look of terror.

  “He’s going to realize that I’m me.”

  “As opposed to you being…?”

  “Someone else.” I bite my lip again.

  “This is really reminding me of the old days. You are thirty-three years old, Joyce, why are you acting like a teenager?”

  “Because she’s in love,” Kate says, bored, turning to face the swimming pool and clapping for her coughing daughter, Jayda, whose face is half underwater.

  “She can’t be in love.” Frankie rolls her nose up in disgust.

  “Is that normal, what’s she doing out there, you think?” Kate, beginning to get worried about Jayda, tries to get our attention.

  “Of course it’s not normal,” Frankie responds. “She hardly knows the guy.”

  “Girls, um, stop for a minute,” Kate tries to butt in.

  “I know more about him than any other person will ever know,” I defend myself. “Apart from himself.”

  “Uh, lifeguard.” Kate gives up on us and calls to the woman sitting below us. “Is my daughter okay?”

  “Are you in love?” Frankie looks at me seriously.

  I turn to hide my smile, just as the lifeguard crashes into the water to save Jayda.

  “You’ll have to take us over to Ireland with you,” Doris says with excitement, placing a vase on the kitchen windowsill. The place is almost done now, and she’s arranging the finishing touches. “We need to be nearby just in case something happens. They could be a murderer or a serial stalker who dates people and then kills them. I saw something like that on Oprah.”

  Al begins hammering nails into the wall, and Justin joins in with the rhythm, gently and repeatedly bashing his head against the kitchen table in response.

  “I am not taking you both to the opera with me,” Justin says.

  “You took me along on a date when you and Delilah Jackson went out.” Al stops hammering and turns to him. “Why should this be any different?”

  “Al, I was twelve years old.”

  “Still—” He shrugs, returning to his hammering.

  “What if she’s a celebrity?” Doris says excitedly. “Oh, my God, she could be! I think she is! Jennifer Aniston could be sitting in the front row of the opera, and there could be a place free beside her. Oh, my God, what if it is?” She turns to Al with wide eyes. “Justin, you have to tell her I’m her biggest fan.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a minute, you’re starting to hyperventilate. How on earth have you come to that conclusion? We don’t even know if it’s a woman.” Justin sighs.

  “Yeah, Doris,” Al joins in. “It’s probably just a normal person.”

  “Yeah”—Justin imitates his brother’s tone—“because celebrities aren’t normal people, they’re really underworld beasts that grow horns and have three legs.”

  “We’re going to Dublin tomorrow,” Doris says with an air of finality. “It’s your brother’s birthday, and a weekend in Dublin—in a very nice hotel like the Shelbourne Hotel—would be a perfect birthday present for him, from you.”

  “I can’t afford the Shelbourne Hotel, Doris.”

  “Well, we’ll need a place that’s close to a hospital in case he has a heart attack. In any case, we’re all going!” She claps her hands excitedly.

  Chapter 37

  I’M ON MY WAY IN TO the city to meet Kate and Frankie for help on what to wear to tonight’s opera when my phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Joyce, it’s Steven.”

  My boss.

  “I just received another phone call.”

  “That’s really great, but you don’t have to call me every time that happens.”

  “It’s another complaint, Joyce.”

  “From who and about what?”

  “That couple you showed the new cottage to yesterday?”

  “Yes?”

  “They’ve pulled out.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” I say, lacking all sincerity. “Did they say why?”

  “Yes, in fact they did. It seems a certain person in our company advised them that to properly re-create the look of the period cottage, they should demand that the builders carry out excess work. Guess what? The builders weren’t entirely interested in their list, which included”—I hear paper rustling—“‘Exposed beams, exposed brickwork, a log-burning stove, open fires…’ The list goes on. So now they’ve backed out.”

  “It sounds reasonable enough to me. The builders were recreating period cottages without any period features. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Who cares? Joyce, you were only supposed to let them in to measure for their couch. Douglas had sold this place to them already when you were…out.”

  “Evidently, he hadn’t.”

  “Joyce, I need you to stop turning our clients away. Do you need to be reminded that your job is to sell, and if you’re not doing that, then…”

  “Then what?” I say haughtily, my head getting hot.

  “Then nothing.” He softens. “I know you’ve had a difficult time…,” he begins awkwardly.

  “That time is over and has nothing to do with my ability to sell a house,” I snap.

  “Then sell one,” he finishes.

  “Fine.” I snap my phone shut and glare out the bus window at the city. A week back at work, and already I need a break.

  “Doris, is this really necessary?” Justin moans from the bathroom.

  “Yes!” she calls. “This is what we’re here for. We have to make sure you’re going to look right tonight. Hurry up, you take longer than a woman to get ready.”

  Doris and Al are sitting on their bed in a Dublin hotel—not the Shelbourne, much to Doris’s dismay. It is more of a Holiday Inn, but it’s central to the city and to the stores, and that’s good enough for her. As soon as they’d landed earlier that morning, Justin had been set to show them around all the sites, the museums, churches, and castles, but Doris and Al had other things on their minds. Shopping. The Viking tour was as cultured as they got, and Doris howled when water sprayed her in the face as they entered the river Liffey. They’d ended up rushing to the nearest restroom as soon as they could so that Al could wash the mascara o
ut of her eye.

  There were only hours to go until the opera, until Justin would finally discover the identity of this mystery person. He was filled with anxiety, excitement, and nerves at the thought of it. It would be a pleasant evening or one of sheer torture, depending on his luck. He had to figure out an escape plan if his worst-case scenario was to play out.

  “Oh, hurry up, Justin,” Doris howls again just as he fixes his tie and exits the bathroom.

  “Work it, work it, work it!” Doris whoops as he strolls up and down the room in his best suit. He pauses in front of them and fidgets awkwardly, feeling like a little boy in his communion suit.

  He is greeted by silence. Al, who has been shoveling popcorn into his mouth at a serious speed, also stops.

  “What?” Justin says nervously. “Something wrong? Something on my face? Is there a stain?” He looks down, studying himself.

  Doris shakes her head. “Ha-ha, very funny. Now seriously, stop wasting time and show us the real suit.”

  “Doris!” Justin exclaims. “This is the real suit!”

  “Your best one?” she drawls, looking him up and down.

  “I think I recognize that from our wedding.” Al’s eyes narrow.

  Doris stands up and picks up her handbag. “Take it off,” she says calmly.

  “What? Why?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Just take it off. Now.”

  “These are too formal, Kate.” I turn my nose up at the dresses she has chosen at the store. “It’s not a ball, I just need something…”

  “Sexy,” Frankie says, waving a little dress in front of me.

  “It’s an opera, not a nightclub.” Kate whips it away from her. “Okay, wow, look at this one. Not formal, not slutty.”

  “Yes, you could be a nun,” Frankie says sarcastically.

  They both turn away and continue to root through the hangers. “Aha! I got it,” Frankie announces.

  “No, I’ve found the perfect one.”

  They both spin round with the same dresses in their hands, Kate holding one in red, Frankie holding another in black. I chew on my lip.