How to Fall in Love. Cecelia Ahern
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and who hid a bottle of vodka in a drawer in his desk and thought nobody knew about it. It was obvious from the smell of the room and his breath, but mostly I knew because of Jacinta, the cleaner, who gave Dad all the gossip on each of the offices that paid rent. It wasn’t a spoken agreement, but they had an understanding that the more information she supplied, the more Dad paid her. I frequently wondered what she told him about me.
The ground-floor businesses had changed so many times in the past few years I didn’t know who was who when I passed them in the halls. Thanks to the recession, businesses were moving out as quickly as they moved in. The basement, which had been my great-aunt Christine’s home in her final years, had gone from being an insurance company to a stockbroker’s to a graphic design studio, and it was currently my home. From one Christine to another. My dad had grudgingly agreed to let it to me and furnish it for me; the day I’d arrived I’d found a single bed in the bedroom, a single chair in the kitchen and an armchair in the living room. I had to kit the rest out myself by raiding my sisters’ houses. Brenda had found it hilarious to donate her son’s Spider-Man duvet cover to me. She’d thought it would cheer me up, but it had only made me sadder about the state of my affairs. A duvet cover I could easily afford, so for the first few days I kept meaning to change it, only to keep forgetting until I got to the point where I didn’t even notice it any more.
Next door was a bookshop, the Book Stand, also known as the Last Stand due to its stubborn inclination to stay open and current when every small bookshop for miles around had been forced to shut. It was run by my close friend Amelia, and I suspect that ordering books for me was the only thing keeping her in business, as the shop was almost always empty. The stock was low and most things you wanted had to be ordered, which meant it wasn’t appealing to browsers. Amelia lived above the shop with her mother, who was in need of constant care as a result of a severe stroke. More often than not the bell ringing in the shop was not the sound of a new client coming through the front door but her mother upstairs, needing some attention. Still a child when her mother fell ill, Amelia had been caring for her ever since and she seemed to me to be in desperate need of a break, of some TLC. Like most carers, she needed someone to protect and care for her for a change. The bookshop seemed almost secondary to what Amelia spent her days doing, which was being at her mother’s beck and call, devoting every thought and waking moment to her.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’ Amelia bounced up from her stool where she’d been reading to pass the time in the empty shop. She looked over my shoulder at Adam, who followed me in, and her pupils dilated at the sight of him.
‘I thought you were waiting in the car,’ I said.
‘You forgot to leave the window open for me,’ he said, poker-faced, looking around the shop.
‘Amelia, this is Adam. Adam, this is Amelia. Adam is … a client.’
‘Oh,’ Amelia said, disappointed.
I knew what I wanted and headed straight for the self-help section. Adam wandered around the shop, seeming dazed, withdrawn, looking but not really seeing.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ Amelia whispered.
‘He’s a client,’ I whispered back.
‘He’s gorgeous.’
I laughed. ‘Fred wouldn’t like to hear you say that.’
She studied her fingernails and lifted her eyebrows. ‘He’s asked me to go to the Pearl for lunch.’
‘The Pearl? That’s very fancy.’ I was confused by this, as Fred was not the spontaneous, romantic type. Then it hit me. ‘He’s going to propose!’
Amelia couldn’t keep a straight face any more, clearly thinking the same thing. ‘I mean, he might not, he probably won’t, but you know …’
I gasped. ‘Oh my God, I’m so happy for you!’ We hugged excitedly.
‘It hasn’t happened yet.’ Amelia hit me. ‘Stop jinxing me.’
‘Can you put this on the tab?’
Amelia looked at my book selection. ‘At last! Christine, that’s great,’ she said, with relief.
I frowned. ‘It’s not for me. What do you mean?’
‘Oh. Sorry. Nothing. No. It’s … Nothing.’ Her cheeks pinked and she changed the subject. ‘Barry called me last night.’
‘Oh?’ Fear flooded my body.
‘It was quite late. I think he’d had a few drinks.’
I nibbled on my nails.
Adam joined us. He was like a shark, sensing blood: he knew exactly when to be around me each time my life was being chipped away at.
‘I’m sure it wasn’t true, or maybe it was, but … but he shouldn’t have said it to me anyway. Whatever you two talk about together really should be kept private, even if it is about me, so I’m not blaming you for what you said about me.’ She looked hurt, her face contradicting everything she had said.
‘Amelia, what did he say?’
She took a deep breath and went for it. ‘He said that you think I’m a loser for living at home with my mother, that I need to get a life and move out. That I need to put her in a home and move in with Fred or else you wouldn’t be surprised if he left me.’
‘Oh my God.’ I hid my face with my hands. ‘I am so sorry he said that to you.’
‘It’s okay. I told him that I knew he was hurting but he was disgusting. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, that’s fine, you’re totally entitled to say what you like.’ My face was red and I knew it, revealing my guilt. I couldn’t deny that Barry and I had discussed those things, but how dare he tell Amelia. I wondered how many phone calls he’d made last night and how many truths he’d told to the people I loved, hurting them in order to hurt me.
Amelia waited for me to tell her it wasn’t true.
‘Look, I obviously didn’t phrase it like that.’
She looked offended.
‘I just worry that you’re always looking out for other people and not for yourself. That it would be nice for you and Fred to live together, to have a life together.’
‘But this is how it’s been since I was twelve, Christine, you know that.’ Amelia was becoming angry. ‘I’m not going to ship her off to a home while I go live the life fandango.’
‘I know, I know, but you haven’t even been out of the country … ever. You’ve never taken a holiday. That’s all I said – promise. I was worried about you.’
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