Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Gift Collection: The Gift, Thanks for the Memories. Cecelia Ahern
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agitated.
‘No,’ Gabe laughed again. ‘You any good at juggling?’
That same feeling struck Lou’s heart, and he remembered exactly what it was that he didn’t like about Gabe. It was questions like that, statements and comments that pierced Lou somewhere other than where they should.
‘You’d better get that,’ Gabe added.
‘Get what?’
Before Gabe could respond, the phone rang and, despite preferring having Alison screen his calls, he dove for it.
It was Ruth.
‘Hi honey.’ He motioned to Gabe for privacy, but Gabe began juggling the fruit in response. Lou turned his back, and then, feeling uncomfortable with Gabe behind him, he faced front to keep an eye on Gabe. He lowered his voice.
‘Em, yeah, about tonight, something’s come up and –’
‘Lou, don’t do this to me,’ Ruth said. ‘Lucy’s heart will be broken.’
‘It’s just the play I won’t make, sweetheart, and Lucy won’t even notice I’m not there, the place will be so dark. You can tell her I was there. The rest of the night is fine. Mr Patterson asked me to meet with a client of ours. It’s a big deal, and it could help me with getting Cliff ’s job, you know?’
‘I know, I know. And then if you do get a promotion, you’ll be away from us even more.’
‘No, no, I won’t be. I just have to really slog for these months to prove myself.’
‘Who are you trying to prove yourself to? Laurence already knows your capabilities, you’ve been with the company five years. Anyway, I don’t want to get into this conversation now. Will you make the play or not?’
‘The play?’ Lou bit his lip and looked at his watch. ‘No, no, I won’t make it.’
Gabe dropped the apple, which rolled across the carpet towards Lou’s desk, and continued juggling with the oranges. Lou felt a childish sense of satisfaction that Gabe had failed.
‘So you’ll make it home for dinner? With your parents and Alexandra and Quentin? Your mum has just been on the phone saying how much she’s looking forward to it. You know, it’s a month since you’ve called to see them.’
‘It’s not been a month since I’ve seen them. I saw Dad just,’ he went quiet while calculating the time in his head, ‘well, you know, maybe it’s almost a month.’ A month? How the time had flown.
For Lou, visiting his parents was a chore, like making the bed. After not doing it for some time, the sight of the untidy blankets would play on his mind until he’d do it to get it over and done with. He’d instantly feel a satisfaction that it had been completed, and just when he thought it was over with and out of the way, he’d wake up and know he had to go and do it all over again. The thought of his father complaining to him about how it had been so long since he’d seen him made Lou want to run in the other direction. It was the same one whinging sentence that drove him insane. Though partly it made him feel guilty, it mostly made him want to stay away longer to avoid hearing those words. He needed to be in the mood to hear it, to detach the sentiments from his head so that he wouldn’t bark back and rattle off the hours he’d been working and the deals he’d negotiated, just to shut his father up. He was most certainly not in the mood today. Maybe if he got home when they’d all had a few drinks it would be easier.
‘I might not make dinner but I’ll be there for dessert. You have my word on that.’
Gabe dropped an orange and Lou felt like punching the ceiling with celebration. Instead he pursed his lips and continued to make excuses to Ruth for everything, refusing to apologise for something that was totally out of his control. Lou finally hung up the phone and folded his arms across his chest.
‘What’s so funny?’ Gabe asked, throwing the one remaining orange up and down in his hand, the other hand in his pocket.
‘Not such a good juggler, are you?’ he smirked.
‘Touché,’ Gabe smiled. ‘You’re very observant. Indeed, I’m not a good juggler, but it’s not really juggling if I’d already chosen to drop those two and keep this one in my hand, is it?’
Lou frowned at the peculiar response and busied himself at his desk, putting on his overcoat and preparing to leave.
‘No, Gabe, it’s certainly not juggling if you choose …’ He stopped suddenly, realising what he was saying and hearing Ruth’s voice in his head. His head snapped up, feeling that cold chill again, but Gabe was gone and the orange was before him on his desk.
‘Alison,’ Lou marched out of his office with the orange in his hand, ‘did Gabe just walk out of here?’
Alison lifted a finger up to signal for him to wait, while she took notes on a notepad and listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.
‘Alison,’ he interrupted her again, and she panicked slightly, writing faster, nodding quickly and holding up her full hand this time.
‘Alison,’ he snapped, holding his hand down over the receiver to end her call. ‘I don’t have all day.’
She stared at him with her mouth open, receiver dangling from her hand. ‘I can’t believe you just –’
‘Yeah, well, I did, get over it. Did Gabe walk by?’ he asked. His voice was rushed, running along, skipping and jumping to keep up with his heart.
‘Em …’ she thought slowly, ‘he came up to my desk about twenty minutes ago and –’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know all that. He was in my office a second ago and then he was gone. Just now. Did he walk by?’
‘Well, he must have, but –’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No, I was on the phone and –’
‘Jesus.’ He punched the desk with his already sore fist. ‘Ah, crap.’ He cradled it close to him.
‘What’s wrong, Lou? Calm down.’ Alison stood up and reached her hand out towards him.
Lou pulled away. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he dropped his voice and leaned closer again, ‘does any of my post ever come to me under a different name?’
‘What do you mean?’ she frowned.
‘You know –’ He looked left and right and barely moved his lips as he spoke. ‘Aloysius,’ he mumbled.
‘Aloysius?’ she said loudly.
He threw his eyes up. ‘Keep it down,’ he mumbled.
‘No.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve never seen the name Aloysius on any of the mail.’ As though there were a time delay from her voice to her ears, she smiled, then snorted, and then started laughing. ‘Why the hell would there be Aloy—’ On his look, her words disappeared and her smile faded. ‘Oh. Oh dear. That’s a –’ her voice went an octave higher, ‘lovely name.’
Lou walked across the newly constructed Seán O’Casey pedestrian bridge that linked the two rejuvenated north and south quays, the North Wall Quay to Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. One hundred metres across the bridge brought him to his destination, The Ferryman, the only authentic pub left on this stretch of quays. It wasn’t a place for cappuccinos or ciabattas, and because of that the clientele was specific. The bar contained a handful of Christmas shoppers who’d wandered off the beaten track to take a break and to wrap purple-fingered hands around their heated glasses. Apart from the few shoppers it was filled with workers, young and old, winding down after their day’s work. Suits filled the seats, pints and shorts filled the surfaces. Just after six p.m. and already people had escaped the business district and into their nearest place of solace to worship at the altar of