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Authors: Cecelia Ahern

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Thanks for the Memories

BOOK: Thanks for the Memories
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♥ ♥ ♥

Thanks for

the Memories

Cecelia

Ahern

Dedicated, with love, to my grandparents,

Olive and Raphael Kelly and Julia and Con Ahern, thanks for the memories

Contents

Prologue

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND STARE into the dark.

1

Part One

One Month Earlier

5

Chapter 1

BLOOD TRANSFUSION,” DR. FIELDS ANNOUNCES

from the podium of a…

7

Chapter 2

PROFESSOR HITCHCOCK.” DR. FIELDS APPROACHES

Justin, who is arranging his…

13

Chapter 3

WHAT IS IT ABOUT FART jokes, Bea?”

18

Chapter 4

IN A BLOOD DRIVE BESIDE Trinity College’s rugby field,

Justin…

23

Part Two

Present Day

27

Chapter 5

I OPEN MY EYES SLOWLY

29

Chapter 6

I WATCH THE THREE CHILDREN playing together

on the floor…

37

Chapter 7

GET A HAIRCUT! JUSTIN BLOWS the mop out of his…

48

Chapter 8

AS THE TAXI GETS CLOSER to my home in Phisboro,…

63

Chapter 9

I CAN’T FIND ANY FOOD in the apartment; we’re going…

70

Chapter 10

A GRAND CHIME WELCOMES ME to my father’s

humble

home.

82

Chapter 11

WHAT DO YOU THINK—WILL BETTY be a millionaire

by

the…

88

Chapter 12

I’M ON VACATION, BRO, WHY are you dragging me to…

97

Chapter 13

SO, DAD, WHAT ARE YOUR plans for the day? Are…

104

Chapter 14

GOOD AFTERNOON, EVERYBODY, I’M OLAF the White,

and welcome aboard…

115

Chapter 15

MY EARS IMMEDIATELY SIZZLE AS soon as I enter the…

134

Chapter 16

DRIVING BACK TO DAD’S, I try not to glance at…

145

Chapter 17

AS I MAKE MY WAY downstairs the following morning, I…

150

Chapter 18

FRAN’S OUTSIDE, DAD. WE HAVE to go!”

159

Chapter 19

AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES OF SITTING alone in the

sparse

interrogation…

170

Chapter 20

WELL, I MUST SAY, THAT was absolutely marvelous. Marvelous

indeed.”

179

Chapter 21

I HALF WALK, HALF RUN behind the girl with the…

192

Chapter 22

ACTUALLY, THAT’S NOT A BAD idea.” Justin stops

following

the…

199

Chapter 23

I SUCCEED IN HAILING A black cab, and I send…

209

Chapter 24

DAD BREATHES HEAVILY BESIDE ME and links my

arm

tightly…

219

Chapter 25

DURING THE STANDING OVATION, JUSTIN

spies Joyce’s father helping her…

231

Chapter 26

BACK IN OUR HOTEL ROOM it’s lights-out for Dad, who…

239

Chapter 27

OKAY, I’VE GATHERED US ALL here today because—”

245

Chapter 28

JUSTIN POWER-WALKS THROUGH THE HALLS of the

National Gallery, part…

255

Chapter 29

JUSTIN LOOKS TO HIS BROTHER in panic and

searches

quickly…

266

Chapter 30

I LIE IN THE TRASH bin, breathless, my heart beating…

273

Chapter 31

AT SEVEN FIFTEEN THE NEXT morning, just before

Justin

leaves…

280

Chapter 32

WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU been? What happened

to

you,…

287

Chapter 33

JUSTIN WALKS THROUGH ARRIVALS AT Dublin

Airport on Tuesday morning…

295

Chapter 34

SO HOW DID IT GO?” Thomas the driver asks as…

309

Chapter 35

WHAT’S THAT?”

317

Chapter 36

HE WANTS TO MEET ME,” I tell Kate nervously as…

325

Chapter 37

I’M ON MY WAY IN TO the city to meet…

330

Chapter 38

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU do that for, Doris?” Justin…

338

Chapter 39

I STEP OUT OF THE taxi at Stephen’s Green and…

342

Chapter 40

I RUN DOWN THE HOSPITAL corridors, examining each door,

trying…

351

Chapter 41

JUSTIN FINISHES EXPLAINING THE STORY of his

disastrous weekend to…

353

Chapter 42

I LIE IN BED STARING at the ceiling. Dad is…

358

Part Three

One Month Later

363

Chapter 43

NEXT TIME WE SHOULD TAKE the car, Gracie,”

Dad

says…

365

Acknowledgments

Sources

About the Author

Other Books by Cecelia Ahern

Credits

Cover

Copyright

About the Publisher

P ro l og u e

l

o s e y o u r e y e s a n d s t a r e into the dark. C My father’s advice when I couldn’t sleep as a little girl. He wouldn’t want me to do that now, but I’ve set my mind to the task regardless. I’m staring into that immeasurable blackness that stretches far beyond my closed eyelids. Though I lie still on the ground, I feel perched at the highest point I could possibly be; clutching at a star in the night sky with my legs dangling above cold black nothingness. I take one last look at my fingers wrapped around the light and let go. Down I go, falling, then floating, and, falling again, I wait for the land of my life. I know now, as I knew as that little girl fighting sleep, that behind the gauzed screen of shut-eye lies color. It taunts me, dares me to open my eyes and lose sleep. Flashes of red and amber, yellow and white, speckle my darkness. I refuse to open them. I rebel, and I squeeze my eyelids together tighter to block out the grains of light, mere distractions that keep us awake, but a sign that there’s life beyond.

But there’s no life in me. None that I can feel, from where I lie at the bottom of the staircase. My heart beats quicker now, the
2 / C e c e l i a A h e r n

lone fighter left standing in the ring, a red boxing glove pumping victoriously into the air, refusing to give up. It’s the only part of me that cares, the only part that ever cared. It fights to pump the blood around to heal, to replace what I’m losing. But it’s all leaving my body as quickly as it’s sent; forming a deep black ocean of its own around me where I’ve fallen.

Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Never have enough time here, always trying to make our way there. Need to have left here five minutes ago, need to be there now. The phone rings again, and I acknowledge the irony. I could have taken my time and answered it now.

Now, not then.

I could have taken all the time in the world on each of those steps. But we’re always rushing. All but my heart. That slows now. I don’t mind so much. I place my hand on my belly. If my child is gone, and I suspect this is so, I’ll join it there. There . . . where?

Wherever. It; a heartless word. He or she so young; who it was to become, still a question. But there, I will mother it. There, not here.

I’ll tell it: I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry I ruined your chances, my chance—our chance of a life together. But close your eyes and stare into the darkness now, like Mummy is doing, and we’ll find our way together.

There’s a noise in the room, and I feel a presence.

“Oh God, Joyce, oh God. Can you hear me, love? Oh God. Oh God. Oh, please no, good Lord, not my Joyce, don’t take my Joyce. Hold on, love, I’m here. Dad is here.”

I don’t want to hold on, and I feel like telling him so. I hear myself groan, an animal-like whimper, and it shocks me, scares me. I have a plan, I want to tell him. I want to go; only then can I be with my baby.

Then, not now.

He’s stopped me from falling, but I haven’t landed yet. Instead t h a n k s f o r t h e m e m o r i e s
/ 3

he helps me balance on nothing, hover while I’m forced to make the decision. I want to keep falling, but he’s calling the ambulance and he’s gripping my hand with such ferocity it’s as though it is he who is hanging on to dear life. As though I’m all he has. He’s brushing the hair from my forehead and weeping loudly. I’ve never heard him weep. Not even when Mum died. He clings to my hand with all of the strength I never knew his old body had, and I remember that I am all he has and that he, once again just like before, is my whole world. The blood continues to rush through me. Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Maybe I’m rushing again. Maybe it’s not my time to go.

I feel the rough skin of old hands squeezing mine, and their intensity and their familiarity force me to open my eyes. Light fills them, and I glimpse his face, a look I never want to see again. He clings to his baby. I know I’ve lost mine; I can’t let him lose his. In making my decision, I already begin to grieve. I’ve landed now, the land of my life. And still, my heart pumps on. Even when broken, it still works.

p a r

t o n e

O n e M o n t h E a r l i e r

C h a p t e r 1

l

o

o d t r

a n s f u s i o

n , ” D r . F i e l d s a n n o u n c e s from B the podium of a lecture hall in Trinity College’s Arts Building, “is the process of transferring blood or blood-based products from one person into the circulatory system of another. Blood transfusions may treat medical conditions such as massive blood loss due to trauma, surgery, shock, and where the red-cellproducing mechanism fails.

“Here are the facts. Three thousand donations are needed in Ireland every week. Only three percent of the Irish population are donors, providing blood for a population of almost four million. One in four people will need a transfusion at some point. Take a look around the room now.”

Five hundred heads turn left, right, and around. Uncomfortable sniggers break the silence. Dr. Fields elevates her voice over the disruption. “At least one hundred and fifty people in this room will need a blood transfusion at some stage in their lives.”

That silences them. A hand is raised.

“Yes?”

8 / C e c e l i a A h e r n

“How much blood does a patient need?”

“How long is a piece of string, dumb-ass?” a voice from the back mocks, and a scrunched ball of paper flies at the head of the young male inquirer.

“It’s a very good question.” She frowns into the darkness, unable to see the students through the light of the projector. “Who asked that?”

“Mr. Dover,” someone calls from the other side of the room.

“I’m sure Mr. Dover can answer for himself. What’s your first name?”

“Ben,” he responds, sounding dejected.

Laughter erupts. Dr. Fields sighs.

“Ben, thank you for your question—and to the rest of you, there is no such thing as a stupid question. This is what Blood for Life Week is all about. It’s about asking all the questions you want, learning all you need to know about blood transfusions before you possibly donate today, tomorrow, the remaining days of this week on campus, or maybe regularly in your future.”

The main door opens, and light streams into the dark lecture hall. Justin Hitchcock enters, the concentration on his face illuminated by the white light of the projector. Under one arm are multiple piles of folders, each one slipping by the second. A knee shoots up to hoist them back in place. His right hand carries both an overstuffed briefcase and a dangerously balanced Styrofoam cup of coffee. He slowly lowers his hovering foot down to the floor, as though performing a tai chi move, and a relieved smile creeps onto his face as calm is restored. Somebody sniggers, and the balancing act is once again compromised.

BOOK: Thanks for the Memories
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