The Marble Collector

by Cecelia Ahern

  This change does two things to me. It makes me feel hope and it makes me feel hopeless. Hope that I’ll get there, hopeless that I can’t get there now.

  My mouth is dry and I need water. I look around for my glass of water which is usually on my bedside locker, on the right side so that they make me practise moving my right arm. Where there is usually just my glass, I see a marble. A large, beautiful royal blue marble. It is lit up by the morning light coming through the window and it takes my breath away. It is a sight to behold, its beauty, its elegance, its perfection, such a rarity.

  It is a sphere of the world. Within its royal blue ocean there lies a map of the earth, created to perfect proportions. The land, mountains, in browns, sandy and honey colours, every continent, country accounted for, every island. There are even wispy white clouds in the northern hemisphere. The entire world has been captured inside this marble. I reach over with my left hand to pick it up, I will not risk using my weakened right side, not at such a moment, for such a task. I turn it around, inspecting every inch. The islands intact, the ocean seems to glow from the inside. There is not a scratch, not a scuff. It is perfect. What a marvel, what a marble. Larger than usual, it is 3.5 inches in diameter, I let it sit in the palm of my hand, it’s big and bold. I sit up, pull myself up, heart pounding at the discovery, I must get my glasses to see. They are on the bedside locker to my left, easier to reach for. I see, once they are on, that there is a note. I place the marble on my lap carefully and reach for the note with my left hand, a strain to reach so far and I must be careful not to knock the marble to the floor, which would be catastrophic.

  I reach for it and settle back to read.

  Dad,

  You have the world in the palm of your hand.

  Lots of love,

  Sabrina

  X

  As the tears roll down my cheeks and I stare at it for what feels like an endless time, I believe her. I can do this. I can take my life back again. Sleep starts to call me again. Tired eyes, I take off my glasses and make sure the marble is safe. It reminds me of a marble I saw while on honeymoon, one I really wished to buy but couldn’t afford. I suddenly have an image of Gina on honeymoon, of her face, young and innocent in a hotel room in Venice, freckles across her nose and cheeks, not a stitch of make-up, moments before we made love for the first time. That image of her is in my mind forever, a look of love, of innocence. I have an overwhelming urge along with that memory to give her this marble, to give her the world. I should have done it then, but I will do it now, I will give her the part of me I held back for so long.

  Sabrina will understand, as will Cat, as will Gina’s husband Robert. In time Gina can pass it on to Sabrina or to the boys when they’re older. It can be like an heirloom, passing the world on to the next generation.

  And to Cat, I will give my full heart.

  I arrive home at five a.m. It’s been a long day and night. I yearn to fall into bed for at least a few hours before Aidan and the kids return.

  I’m not sure about Amy’s moon theories, but there’s a comforting one that I heard while in the waiting room at Mickey’s yesterday. A new moon is a symbolic portal for new beginnings, believed by some to be the time to set up intentions for things you’d like to create, develop and cultivate. In other words, make new. Make new memories.

  I think of myself as a little girl during the night of a full moon, wide awake, alert, head constantly thinking and planning, unable to rest, as though a beacon was sending messages. Was it the moon that made me do this? I don’t know. I should probably not cancel my therapy sessions though. The real conversation has just begun.

  It’s bright as I walk up the path to my door, I see Mrs O’Grady my neighbour peeking out at me through lace curtains as I do the walk of shame. As I slide the key in the lock I don’t feel like a different woman, but the same woman, slightly changed. For the better.

  I dream of kicking off my shoes, stripping off my clothes and falling into bed, having a few hours until the kids come home, but the door opens before I have the chance to turn the key, and it is then I notice Aidan’s car parked outside.

  Aidan greets me, an exhausted handsome mess of a man whose expression makes me laugh instantly.

  ‘Mummy!’ the boys run to me, throwing themselves at me and grabbing a limb each. They squeeze me tight, as though they haven’t seen me for a week instead of less than twenty-four hours.

  I hug them tightly while Aidan looks at me, exhausted, but concerned.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asks, when they give up on their cuddles and instead drag me down the hall to show me something so incredibly exciting that they have found. They bring me to the containers of marbles all laid out on the floor, I’d left them there before rushing out the door to Mickey’s office yesterday morning.

  ‘I was teaching them how to play,’ Aidan says, guiding me away from them. ‘I hope that’s okay, they know to be careful with them. Although all I wanted to do is ram them down their throats – they’ve been a nightmare,’ he groans, wrapping his arms around me, and pretends to cry. ‘Alfie has not slept. At. All. Charlie pissed on the sleeping bags and Fergus wanted to eat a frog he caught for breakfast at four. We had to come home. Mind me,’ he whimpers.

  I laugh, hugging him tight. ‘Aidan …’ I say, a warning tone for what’s about to come.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies, still in place, but his body stiffens.

  ‘You know the way you said not to let another man kiss me …?’

  ‘What?’ he pulls back, his face contorted.

  ‘Dad! Mum! Alfie swallowed a marble!’

  We both run.

  An hour later I kick off my shoes, peel off my clothes and fall into bed. I feel Aidan’s lips on my neck, and I’ve barely closed my eyes when the doorbell rings.

  ‘That’s probably your lover,’ he says grumpily, turning over and leaving me to answer it.

  I groan, pull on my dressing gown and drag myself to the door. A blonde woman smiles nervously at me. I recognise her and try to place her. I recognise her from the hospital. I speak to her in the canteen, in the halls, in the garden, when we’re waiting for our loved ones. And then it all falls into place. Our loved one was the same person all along. I smile, feeling a major weight lift from my shoulders. I hadn’t been completely in the dark. I know her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, apologetic. ‘I know it’s a Saturday morning and I didn’t want to disturb you and the children. I’ve been awake most of the night waiting for day to come, this was as long as I could wait. I just have to give you this.’

  I turn my attention to the large bag she’s holding out with two hands. She hands it to me and I take it. It’s heavy.

  ‘It’s part of your dad’s marble collection,’ she says, and I stop breathing. ‘I took them from him before he had his stroke, before he sold the apartment, for safekeeping. He sent me out to sell them. I pretended to him that I did. The money I gave him was a loan from his brother Joe.’ She looks haunted by that admission. ‘I felt it was important to keep them safe, they are so precious to him.’ She looks at them as though she’s unsure of letting them go. ‘But you should have them. The collection should be complete, just in case he asks for them again.’

  I look at the bag in total surprise that they’re here, in my arms.

  ‘I haven’t even told you who I am,’ she says shakily.

  ‘Are you Cat?’ I ask, and her face freezes in shock. ‘Please, come in,’ I say, grinning and opening the door wide.

  We sit up at the breakfast counter as I carefully open the bag. I want to cry with happiness. An Akro Agate Company, Original Salesman’s Sample Case from 1930 and the World’s Best Moons original box of twenty-five marbles. I run my hands over them, unable to believe that they are here, that after a day of searching for them, they eventually found their own way home.

  I’m lying on the floor of Aunty Sheila’s living room. Around me, Hamish, Angus and Duncan are in sleeping bags, fast asleep. My hand throbs f
rom where Father Murphy walloped me today and I can’t help it, I start to cry. I miss Daddy, I miss the farm in Scotland, I miss my friend Freddy, I miss the way Mammy used to be, I don’t like these new smells, I don’t like sleeping on the floor, I don’t like Aunty Sheila’s food, I don’t like school, and I particularly don’t like Father Fuckface. My right hand is so swollen I can barely close it and every time I close my eyes I see the cold dark room he locked me in today and I feel panic, like I can’t breathe.

  ‘Hey!’ I hear someone whisper and I freeze and stop crying immediately, afraid that one of my brothers has heard and will tease me.

  ‘Psst!’

  I look around and see Hamish sitting up.

  ‘Are you crying?’ he whispers.

  ‘No,’ I sniffle, but it’s obvious.

  He shuffles over on his bum, moving his sleeping bag closer to mine so that we are side by side. He gives Angus’s head a kick and Angus groans and rolls over to make room for his feet. At eleven years old Hamish always gets what he wants from us and he always does it so easily. He’s my hero and when I grow up I want to be just like him.

  He puts his finger on my cheek and wipes my skin. Then he tastes his finger. ‘You are fuckin’ crying.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I whimper.

  ‘You miss Da?’ he asks, lying down beside me.

  I nod. That’s not all of the reason, but it’s part of it.

  ‘Me too.’

  He’s quiet for a while and I don’t know if he’s fallen back asleep.

  ‘Remember the way he used to do the longest burp?’ he whispers suddenly.

  I smile. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And he belched the entire happy birthday song on Duncan’s birthday?’

  I laugh this time.

  ‘See? That’s better. We can’t forget things like that, Fergus, okay?’ he says, full of intensity like he really means it, and I nod, very serious indeed. ‘We have to remember Da the way he was, when he was happy, the good things he did, and not … not anything else.’

  Hamish was the one who found Da hanging from a beam in our barn. He wouldn’t tell us exactly what he saw, none of the gory details, and when Angus tried to make him, he punched him in the face and almost broke his nose, so none of us asked again.

  ‘Me and you, we’ll remind each other of stuff like that. I don’t sleep either most nights, so you and me can talk.’

  I like the sound of that, just me and Hamish, having him all to myself.

  ‘It’s a deal,’ he says. ‘Shake on it.’ He grabs my hand, my sore one, and I whine and cry out like Aunty Sheila’s dog when you step on its paw. ‘What the fuck happened?’

  I tell him about Father Murphy and the dark room and I cry again. He’s angry about it and puts his arm around my shoulders. I know I won’t tell the others this, he would flush my head down the bog if I did that and I like him holding me this way. I don’t tell him about me pissing myself though. When I came home, I didn’t tell anyone about what Father Murphy had done to me. I would have, but Aunty Sheila noticed it and helped clean my hand and bandage it up, and she said not to bother Mammy with it because she’s upset enough. Everyone’s upset, so I didn’t tell anyone else.

  ‘What have you got there?’ he asks, as my marbles clink in my other hand.

  ‘They’re bloodies,’ I say proudly, showing him. I sleep with them that night because I like the feel of them in my hand. ‘A nice priest gave them to me when I was in the dark room.’

  ‘For keeps?’ Hamish asks, studying them.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Bloodies?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah, they’re red, like blood,’ I explain. I don’t know much more about them, but I want to.

  ‘Like you and me,’ he says, clinking them around in his hand. ‘Blood brothers, bloodies.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I grin in the dark.

  ‘You bring them into school with you tomorrow,’ he says, giving them back to me and settling down in his sleeping bag again.

  Angus tells us to shut the fuck up and Hamish kicks him in the head, but we’re silent until his breathing tells us he’s fallen asleep again.

  Hamish whispers in my ear: ‘Put them bloodies in your pocket tomorrow. Keep them there, don’t tell anyone else, none of the lads, or the Brothers will hear and they’ll take them from you. And if he locks you in that room again, you’ll have them. While everyone’s working and getting their heads slapped off them, you’ll be in there, playing. Do you hear?’

  I nod.

  ‘That thought will help me tomorrow, thinking you’re in there having a blast, pulling the wool over their eyes. You can’t cross a Boggs,’ he says.

  I smile.

  ‘And the more they put you in there, the greater you’ll be. Fergus Boggs, the best marble player in Ireland, maybe even the whole world. And I’ll be your agent. The Boggs Brothers, partners in marble crime.’

  I giggle. He does too.

  ‘Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

  I can tell even he’s excited by it.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’ll just be our secret, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Every night you can tell me what you learned.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise, Hamish.’

  ‘Good lad.’ He ruffles my hair. ‘We’ll be okay here,’ he says to me. ‘Won’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, Hamish,’ I reply.

  He holds my sore hand, gentler this time, and we fall asleep together.

  Partners in marble crime. Bloodies forever.

  On Monday morning I return to work.

  ‘Good weekend?’ Eric asks, studying me, and I know he’s assessing my mental stability after the mug-throwing incident.

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I smile. ‘Everything is fine.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, studying me, blue eyes luminous from his orange fake tan. ‘You know I checked that phrase for you. The one about feeling antsy.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘It can also mean sexually aroused.’

  I laugh and shake my head as he chuckles his way back into the office.

  ‘Eric,’ I call. ‘I’m going to start teaching my dad how to swim next week. And I was thinking of trying something different here. Aqua aerobics classes. Once a week. What do you think?’

  He grins. ‘I think that’s a great idea, Sabrina. Can’t wait to see Mary Kelly and Mr Daly do the samba in the water.’ He gives a sexy little hip roll, which makes me laugh.

  Grinning happily, I sit on the stool and watch the empty pool, the pool rules sign glaring down on us all like a crucifix in a church. A reminder. A warning. A symbol. Don’t do this, don’t do that. No this, no that. So negative on the surface, and yet, a guide. Take heed and you’ll be grand. Everything will be fine.

  Mary Kelly is in hospital recovering from her heart attack, in a stable condition thankfully. I’m feeling anything but empty though, I feel rejuvenated, with fire inside, like I could look at nothing all day and still be okay, which is what will happen.

  Mr Daly arrives in his tight green swim shorts, like an extra layer of skin, tucking tiny wisps of hair he has left into his too tight rubber hat.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Daly,’ I say.

  He shuffles by me grumpily, ignoring me. He grips the rail and slowly descends into the water. He steals a glimpse at me to see if I’m looking. I look away, wanting this to happen straight away. He lowers his goggles over his eyes, grips the metal bars of the ladder and goes under.

  I walk over to the ladder, reach into the water and pull him up.

  ‘You’re okay,’ I say to him, lifting him out of the water, helping him up the ladder and sitting him on the edge of the pool. ‘Here,’ I hand him a cup of water which he downs, with trembling hands, his eyes red, his body shaking. He sits for a while, staring into space, in silence, me beside him, arm around him rubbing his back, while he calms. He’s not used to me sitting with him after. I gave up on that some time last year wh
en I could tell it wasn’t going to stop him. All I had to do was save him and take my seat again. He gives me a sidelong look, checking me out suspiciously. I continue rubbing his back, comfortingly, feeling skin and bone, and a beating heart.

  ‘You left early on Friday,’ he says suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ I say gently, touched that he noticed. ‘I did.’

  ‘Thought you mightn’t be coming back.’

  ‘What? And miss all this?’

  He bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself from smiling. He hands the cup back to me, gets back into the pool and he swims a length.

  The year that changed my life. For Jasmine, losing her job felt like losing everything.

  The year I found home. With a life built around her career and her beloved sister Heather, suddenly her world becomes the house and garden she has hardly seen and the neighbours she has yet to meet.

  The year I met you. But being fired is just the beginning for Jasmine. In the year that unfolds she learns more about herself than she could ever imagine – and more about other people than she ever dreamed. Sometimes friendship is found in the most unexpected of places.

  Click here to buy now

  I’d like to thank all the people who shared their marble memories with me: in all of my twelve novels, I don’t think I’ve ever received quite the reaction when I’ve shared the topic I’m writing about. Personal stories just tumbled out of people, and whether those stories were big or small, each of them reinforced my belief that marble memories go hand in hand with key moments in adolescence. All of these shared memories encouraged me along the way.