Postscript

by Cecelia Ahern

  ‘My husband had one.’

  ‘It will be my third. The surgeon has suggested there may be left-sided paralysis.’

  ‘They have to give you the worst-case scenario.’

  ‘I know. But I want to have all the messages ready, just in case. I’ve written the letter for Claire, and we’ve dozens of videos, you’ll have them all ready, won’t you?’ His legs bounce nervously beneath the steering wheel.

  ‘I’ve been sending them to the email address we set up for Casper and Eve,’ I say calmly, trying for my tone to be an influence.

  ‘My letter will tell Claire what to do for the kids,’ he says.

  I nod. I hope Claire will think it’s a good idea, otherwise she will be burdened for the rest of her life delivering emails to her growing children. I wonder if I should ask him this, but instead I ask, ‘Paul, should you even be driving?’

  He’s irritated by this question.

  ‘I ask only out of concern.’ For almost four years my days revolved around what Paul is experiencing. I know about the double vision, the seizures, the immobilisation. Gerry’s licence had been suspended.

  ‘After next week, I won’t be. After next week, I won’t be doing a lot of things. Thanks for your help, Holly.’

  It’s blunt and I know it’s my cue to get out of the car.

  A tap on my window gives me a fright.

  Paul looks up and curses.

  I look out and see a young woman, around my age, with a yoga mat bag over her shoulder, glaring angrily through the window.

  ‘Shit,’ I whisper. I look at Paul, who’s white in the face. ‘Is that Claire?’

  He paints on a wide grin and gets out of the car.

  ‘Paul,’ I hiss, my heart pounding with nerves.

  ‘Just go with what I say.’ He smiles at me through gritted smiling teeth.

  Claire backs away from my window.

  ‘Hi honey,’ I hear him say warmly, oozing with charm and in my opinion lies.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I whisper to myself before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

  Claire won’t embrace her husband, her body language is cold.

  ‘What the hell are you two doing?’ She looks at me. ‘Who the hell are you? What are you doing with my husband?’

  ‘This is Holly, honey,’ he says in a warning tone. ‘Look at me. This is Holly. She’s a friend of Joy’s, she’s a member of the book club.’

  Claire looks me up and down, and I can’t look her in the eye. This situation is awful, it’s what I feared. I even hate me. If I had found Gerry sitting in a car with another woman, a week before a big operation, after giving my life to his care, I’d have wanted to strangle them both. This is not good.

  ‘You said you were getting toys for the kids in Smyths,’ Claire says. ‘You’re not even supposed to be driving, but I let you go. I’ve been so worried, I’ve been calling you. I have a class now, I had to call Mum to mind the kids. Jesus, Paul what are you doing? And why have you got your dad’s old car?’

  The frustration is steaming from her. I’m on her side.

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot about your class. I’ll go straight home and mind the kids, your mum can go home. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have driven. I met Holly in Smyths, I didn’t feel well and I asked if she’d mind driving me home. Nothing serious, just a headache and a little dizzy, but I didn’t trust myself to get behind the wheel so I was showing her how it works, that’s all.’

  He speaks too fast, it’s hard to believe but also difficult to interrupt and argue with. Claire looks at me. I take a step away, ready to leave.

  ‘She was helping me out, that’s all.’ Paul looks at me. ‘Doing me a huge favour. Isn’t that right?’

  I look at him. ‘Yeah.’

  There’s no way that Paul is out of the woods yet but I’m not sticking around for it. I will not be made a liar, or a cheat.

  ‘It was nice to meet you, Claire,’ I say apologetically, feeling self-conscious about my tone, my words, my expression, my stance. ‘Make sure you get home safely, Paul,’ I say stonily.

  I signed up to this to help, not to be the lie, not to be the punching bag. Even if that does help him, each hit bruises me.

  By the end of my work day, I feel like I’ve reached the point of exhaustion as I sit at the table with Ginika. We’re blending, running all the sounds together to make the word. I set up a sun umbrella so we could sit outside with bees dancing noisily around us feasting themselves on Richard’s colourful additions. The garden furniture has been dusted off, sanded and varnished, in time for the two-week heatwave that’s upon us. Denise is on a blanket with Jewel, rolling around, singing and laughing, pointing out birds and bees and flowers, while Jewel’s tiny pudgy forefinger is in constant pointing mode.

  Her favourite word is ‘wow’ and right now, the whole world is wow.

  ‘Look, Jewel, an aeroplane!’ Denise says, lying on her back and pointing up at the sky, at the lone airplane streaking across the blue sky, leaving a trail of white behind it.

  ‘Wow,’ says Jewel, ready with her pointing finger.

  While Denise opens Jewel’s eyes to the world around her, I am grateful for the equally attentive Ginika, who has been seriously keeping her side of the bargain. Whatever reckless kind of student she claims to have been in school, she certainly isn’t that now. Dedicated, punctual, prepared, she is pouring her heart and soul into her literacy like her life depends on it.

  ‘S-h—’

  ‘Those two letters go together, sound them together.’ I put my finger over my lips to give her a hint.

  ‘Sh,’ she says, and I grin, happily, proudly.

  ‘Sh-i-t.’ She sounds them out separately. She frowns and says it again. ‘Shit,’ she says suddenly, realising, then looks up at me. ‘Shit.’

  I grin.

  ‘I wish my school had been more like this,’ she says, laughing.

  ‘Next word.’

  ‘F-u-ck. Fuck. Fuck!’ she laughs.

  ‘Next one.’

  ‘P-ai-n. Pain.’

  ‘Yes!’ I punch the air. ‘A and I go together, you didn’t separate their sounds.’ I hold my hand up for a high-five.

  She rolls her eyes and gives me a weak high-five, embarrassed by the praise. ‘You are such a dork. Shit, Fuck and Pain,’ she reads. ‘What kind of shitty mood are you in?’

  ‘Some words have an irregular spelling and can’t be read by blending,’ I continue, ignoring her question.

  Ginika tuts.

  ‘I know, there’s always something to throw at us just as we’re getting the hang of it.’

  ‘Like cancer.’

  ‘Ginika!’

  She laughs wickedly.

  ‘Unfortunately, many of these words are common words and we call these tricky words.’

  Ginika rolls her eyes. She rolls up her sleeves. ‘Right. Let me at the bastards.’

  I smile. ‘For example. This word,’ I write it down. ‘Normally we would read this as …’

  ‘L-a-u-g-h,’ Ginika sounds it out with the g and h sound. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I smile.

  ‘I got it right?’

  ‘You got it right and wrong. It’s a tricky word so it’s actually pronounced laugh. The GH has an f sound.’

  ‘Ah for fuck’s sake, then why don’t they give it an “f”? How’s anybody supposed to learn this stuff?’ She tosses her pencil up in the air and it lands on the table. The pointed lead dents the fresh varnish. I pretend her outburst never happened; it’s certainly not the first time.

  ‘Ginika,’ Denise says. ‘Sorry to interrupt you guys.’ She has a peculiar tone, she sounds nervous. ‘A friend of mine was getting rid of some baby stuff recently – her kids are older now, and she was going to throw out a buggy. I took it, thinking it might be good for Jewel. You don’t need to use it if you don’t want …’

  ‘She hates buggies, you know that. She likes to be held,’ Ginika says firmly, not looking
up from her page.

  ‘Of course, you’re her mam, you know best. But I thought I’d take it instead of letting it go in the skip. I’ll show you.’ She dashes into the house, while we watch Jewel lying on her stomach and focusing on a blade of grass, her finger pointing, gently touching it, and then … grabbing and pulling. Denise returns to the garden with the buggy.

  It doesn’t look old at all. It’s brand new.

  I steal a glance at Ginika, who’s staring at the buggy blankly, with a million things going through her head.

  ‘I could bring her out for a walk, just around the streets, we won’t go far,’ Denise offers, keeping her voice light and airy. ‘For a change of scenery.’

  I stay out of it. Head down, continue my prep.

  Ginika is silent. When she’s pushed, she’s the explosive kind, particularly when it comes to her daughter. Her response, when it comes, surprises both of us.

  ‘OK.’

  Jewel kicks up a lot when placed in the buggy, but then is quickly distracted by the – also new – range of toys that Denise places on the bar. She also attaches her favourite book and Jewel is happy.

  Ginika is quiet after they’re gone. She turns away from the workbooks and to the empty play mat on the grass. She seems tired. She is tired. Dark rings around her eyes, she’s lost a lot of weight, with the cancer extended to her liver, bowel and groin. She reaches down to her bag with great effort and I get it for her. She rummages in a package and takes out a lollipop, but I know that it’s nothing sweet. It’s a fentanyl lollipop, for sudden bursts of severe pain.

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ I say. ‘Do you want to go inside? Maybe it’s too hot.’

  ‘I don’t want to take a break,’ she snaps.

  ‘OK. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘No.’

  Silence.

  ‘Thank you,’ she adds, more gently.

  Giving her time, I move my chair out of the shade and finally relax, I sit back in the chair, close my eyes, lift my face to the sky, listen to the birds singing with delight, the bees all around me, scrunch my toes into the hot grass. My crap day begins to dissipate.

  ‘Did your husband use these?’ she asks.

  I open my eyes and see her waving her lolly in the air. ‘No. He was on morphine. Intravenously.’

  ‘This is stronger,’ she says, sucking. ‘Morphine was making me sick.’

  The change from when I met her is startling, but not in the obvious ways. Yes, her body is changing, but so too is her mind. Her body is thinner but her mind is broader. She speaks more personally, when she’s not concentrating on keeping the wall up, and we have proper conversations. She is more confident, self-assured, she knows what she wants. Of course, she always knew that, but she delivers her opinions and emotions differently. She admitted her joy at being able to read the instructions on the medicine label for Jewel’s cough medicine. She reads her a bedtime story every night. Being able to read has made her feel more confident and less lost and confused by the world.

  ‘I think your house is haunted. Your photographs keep moving.’

  I follow her gaze, through the opened patio doors through the dining room and into the living room. I assume she’s referring to the mantelpiece where the photo of Gabriel and me in happier times is gone, replaced by the fallen photograph of Gerry and me, in a smaller frame. I saw her notice it when she arrived, was waiting for the question as soon as her eyes landed on it, but to my surprise she held back.

  ‘Gabriel and I broke up.’

  She looks at me in surprise. ‘Why? Did he cheat?’

  ‘No. He has a daughter who needs him, she took priority in the end.’ My immediate guilt for painting Gabriel as the bad guy tells me that I know Ava wasn’t the real reason for our break-up. The denial potion is wearing off.

  ‘What age is she?’

  ‘Your age,’ I say, connecting this for the first time. Ginika seems light years older.

  ‘So why does she need him, is she sick?’

  ‘No, I’d say troubled. In trouble at school, she acts up. Drinking, smoking, partying. Doesn’t get along with her mum and step-dad-to-be. Gabriel thought it would be best if she moved in with him.’

  ‘Instead of you?’

  ‘Basically,’ I sigh. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So because she’s a brat, he dumped you?’

  ‘She needs stability.’ I try to hide the cynicism from my voice. ‘And he didn’t dump me. I ended it.’ I’m tired of feeding her tidbits, it’s what she does with me and if we keep this up we’ll never get anywhere. I lean in, elbows on the table, face in the shade. ‘I got tired of waiting for him, Ginika. And he wasn’t supportive of me doing this.’

  ‘Jealousy,’ she nods understandingly, looking at the empty blanket where Jewel’s toys still lie.

  ‘No.’ I frown, confused. ‘Why do you say jealous?’

  ‘It’s obvious. Your husband did something amazing that other people are now trying to imitate. He started something pretty big. Your fella can’t compete with a dead husband, can he? No matter how good he is at chopping down trees or anything else. So he says to himself, if she’s gonna spend time with her ex-husband, I’ll move my daughter in instead of her. See how she likes it.’

  I look at Ginika in surprise. This is a perspective I had perhaps foolishly not considered.

  Could Gabriel have been jealous of Gerry? It makes sense, because isn’t that exactly how I felt about his reunion? ‘Ginika, you’re one of the wisest people I know.’

  ‘I can’t even spell wisest,’ she mutters, uncomfortable with the praise.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the definition of wisdom.’

  ‘What is the definition of wisdom?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I smile wryly.

  ‘Five minutes with me and I’d put his daughter straight,’ Ginika says, defensive of me. ‘I might not have the energy I used to have for a good scrap, but I could ram this lollipop up her arse.’

  ‘Thank you, Ginika, that’s very moving, but stop trying to be teacher’s pet.’

  She winks. ‘I’ve got your back, miss.’

  ‘And it’s thoughtful. It would both hurt her and relieve the pain.’

  She laughs loudly, a real belly laugh, and her face lights up.

  ‘Can I ask you about Jewel’s dad … again?’ I probe, feeling we’re having a moment.

  ‘I just want to write a letter.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I reach for the book.

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ she says, hand on top of the book to stop me from opening it. ‘What I mean is, I want Jewel to have a letter, from me. I don’t need you to do any of that reuniting stuff for me like you did for Bert’s wife and her sister.’

  ‘OK.’ It’s like she’s seen right through me. Does she know? Is she testing me? Was her dad in contact? I can’t let it lie. ‘Ah, about that, Ginika,’ I say nervously. ‘I saw your dad at the weekend.’

  Her eyes narrow and I feel the sting of her sharp stare. ‘You what?’

  ‘I felt as though I wasn’t doing enough, that I—’

  ‘What did you say? Where did you meet him?’

  ‘I took the bus. The 66A. You told me that was his route. I sat on the bus, I went all the way to the end and back,’ I explain. ‘Then, as I was getting off, I told him that I know you, that you are wonderful, incredibly brave and one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever met and that he should be immensely proud of you.’

  She frowns, examines me to see if I’m telling the truth. ‘What else?’

  ‘Nothing else. That’s all, I promise. I want your parents to know how amazing you are.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing. I didn’t give him time to speak. I just got off the bus.’

  She turns away and absorbs this and I hope I haven’t ruined everything, jeopardised our relationship, which I now realise is a friendship, and one I don’t want to lose. I have definitely overstepped the mark, I can only wonder if she will forgive me for this. The
re’s not doing enough, as with Paul. And then there’s doing too much, as with Ginika. I need to find the middle ground.

  ‘When did you see him?’

  ‘Saturday morning. Ten thirty route.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ she asks quietly.

  ‘He was quiet. He was busy, working. He was concentrating. He …’ I shrug.

  She looks at me, then really studies me. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘No, I’m actually shitting myself that you’re going to kill me.’

  She smiles. ‘I might. But no. I mean, are you actually cracked? You spent your Saturday morning sitting on a bus with my dad, for what? For me?’

  I nod.

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She’s quiet. ‘Thank you for telling him that. I don’t think he’s ever heard that about me from anyone before.’ She sits straighter, prouder. ‘Did you speak to my ma as well?’

  ‘No,’ I hold my hands up in defence. ‘You didn’t tell me where she works.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  We smile.

  ‘He has a photo of you at his steering wheel. A school photo. Grey uniform, red tie, cheeky little smile on you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, disappearing a little. ‘He prefers her.’

  ‘Which version of you do you prefer?’

  ‘What?’ she asks, frowning.

  ‘I’ve been thinking this year that Gerry doesn’t know me now, he never met the person I’ve become. I prefer this version of me, yet I became this way because I lost him. If I ever had the power to undo everything, I wouldn’t want to unravel who I’ve become.’

  She ponders that. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I like me better now.’

  And what Ginika has been through to get to this version of herself.

  ‘I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. I promise I won’t contact your dad again.’

  ‘You did the wrong thing,’ she agrees, sucking her lollipop. ‘But it was a nice thing, if not a bit fucking pointless.’

  Before the wall goes up, I continue. ‘I was thinking of Jewel, of her future, of where she’ll live and who will provide a life for her. I know you have a foster family, but perhaps there are guardians you know who could care for her. You’re fully in control of that, you know, you’d just need to add it to your …’