Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

If You Could See Me Now

Also by

C ecelia A hern

PS, I Love You

Love, Rosie

(originally published as Rosie Dunne )

If You Could See Me Now

C ecelia A hern

N e w Yo r k

Copyright 2006 Cecelia Ahern

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Publisher. For information address Hyperion, West 66th Street, New York, New York 10023-6298.

ISBN: 1-4013-8382-3

First eBook Edition: January 2006

For Georgina, who believes . . .

If You Could See Me Now

Chapter One

elizabeth s heart hammered loudly against her chest. She

banged the front door behind her and paced the hallway in uneven strides. With the phone pressed hard between her ear and shoulder, she balanced herself against the hall table and pulled off her broken-heeled shoe. An- other bit of chaos to thank her sister for. She stopped pacing long enough to stare at her reection in the mirror. Her brown eyes widened with horror. Rarely did she allow herself to look so bedraggled. So out of control. Strands of her chocolate-brown hair were eeing from the tight French plait and mascara nestled in the lines under her eyes. Her lipstick had faded, leaving only her plum-colored lip-liner as a frame, and her foundation clung to the dry patches of her olive skin. Gone was her usually pristine look. This caused her heart to beat faster, the panic to accelerate. Breathe, Elizabeth, just breathe, she told herself. She ran a trembling hand over her tousled hair, forcing down the strays. She wiped the mascara away with a wet nger, pursed her lips together, smoothed down her suit jacket, and cleared her throat. It was merely a momentary lapse of concen- tration on her part, that was all. Not to happen again. She transferred the phone to her left ear and noticed the impression of her Claddagh earring against her neck; such was the pressure of her shoulders grip on the phone against her skin.

Cecelia Ahern

Finally someone answered and Elizabeth turned her back on the mirror to stand to attention. Back to business. Hello, Baile na gCrothe Garda Station . Elizabeth winced as she recognized the voice on the phone. Hi, Marie, Elizabeth here again. Saoirses gone off with the car, she paused, again. There was a gentle sigh on the other end of the phone. How long ago, Elizabeth? Elizabeth sat down on the bottom stair and settled down for the usual line of questioning. She closed her eyes, only meaning to rest them briey, but at the relief of blocking everything she kept them closed. Just ve min- utes ago. Right. Did she say where she was going? The moon, she replied matter-of-factly. Excuse me? Marie asked. You heard me. She said she was going to the moon, Elizabeth said rmly. Apparently people will understand her there. The moon, Marie repeated. Yes, Elizabeth replied, feeling irritated. You could perhaps start looking for her on the motorway. I would imagine that if you were heading to the moon that would be the quickest way to get there, wouldnt you? Al- though Im not entirely sure which exit she would take. Either way, Id check the motor Relax, Elizabeth; you know I have to ask. I know. Elizabeth tried to calm herself again. She was missing an im- portant meeting right now. Her nephew Lukes ll-in babysitter had ed. Elizabeth could hardly blame the girl. Her nephews mother, Elizabeths younger sister Saoirse, was unmanageable and the frantic young babysitter had called Elizabeth in a panic. Elizabeth had to drop everything and come home. Lukes nanny, Edith, had left for the three months of traveling she had threatened Elizabeth with for the past six years. She was, however, sur- prised that Edith, apart from the current trip to Australia, was still turning up to work every day. Six years she had been helping Elizabeth to raise Luke, six years of drama, and still after all her years of loyalty, Elizabeth

I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

expected a phone call or her letter of resignation practically every day. Be- ing Lukes nanny came with a lot of baggage. Then again, so did being Lukes adoptive parent. Elizabeth, are you still there? Yes. Her eyes shot open. She was losing concentration. Sorry, what did you say? I asked you what car she took. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and made a face at the phone. The same one, Marie. The same bloody car as last week, and the week before and the week before that, she snapped. Marie remained rm. Which is the? BMW, she interrupted. The same damn black BMW Cabriolet. Four wheels, two doors, one steering wheel, two wing mirrors, lights, and A partridge in a pear tree, Marie interrupted. What condition was she in? Very shiny. Id just washed her, Elizabeth replied cheekily. Great, and what condition was Saoirse in? The usual one. Intoxicated. Thats the one. Elizabeth stood up and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Her sun trap. Her one heel against the marble oor echoed in the empty high-ceilinged room. Everything was in its place. The room was hot from the suns glare through the glass of the conservatory. Elizabeths tired eyes squinted in the brightness. The spotless kitchen gleamed, the black granite countertops sparkled, the chrome ttings mirrored the bright day. A stainless-steel and walnut heaven. She headed straight to the espresso ma- chine. Her savior. Needing an injection of life into her exhausted body, she opened the kitchen cabinet and took out a small beige coffee cup. Before closing the press, she turned a cup round so that the handle was on the right side like all the others. She slid open the long steel cutlery drawer, no- ticed a knife in the fork compartment, put it back in its rightful place, re- trieved a spoon, and slid it shut. From the corner of her eye she saw the hand towel messily strewn over the handle of the cooker. She threw the crumpled cloth into the utility

Cecelia Ahern

room, retrieved a fresh towel from the neat pile in the press, folded it exactly in half, and draped it over the cooker handle. Everything had its place. She placed the steaming espresso cup on a marble coaster to protect the glass kitchen table. She smoothed out her trousers, removed a piece of uff from her jacket, sat down in the conservatory, and looked out at her long swath of garden and the rolling green hills beyond which seemed to stretch on forever. Forty shades of green, gold, and brown. She breathed in the rich aroma of her steaming espresso and immedi- ately felt revived. She pictured her sister racing over the hills with the top down on Elizabeths convertible, arms in the air, eyes closed, ame-red hair blowing in the wind, believing she was free. Saoirse meant freedom in Irish. The name had been chosen by their mother in her last desperate attempt to make the duties of motherhood she despised so much seem less like a pun- ishment. She felt by naming her this, her second daughter could some way bring her freedom from the shackles of marriage, motherhood, responsibil- ity, reality. Elizabeth and Saoirses mother, Grinne, had met their father when Grinne was just sixteen. She was traveling through the town with a group of poets, musicians, and dreamers and got talking to Brendan Egan, a farmer in the local pub. He was twelve years her senior and was enthralled by her wild, mysterious ways and carefree nature. She was attered. And so they married. At eighteen Grinne had their rst child, Elizabeth. As it turned out, her mother couldnt be tamed and found it increasingly frustrat- ing being held in the sleepy town nestled in the hills she had only ever in- tended to pass through. A crying baby and sleepless nights drove her further and further away in her head. Dreams of her own personal freedom became confused with her reality and she started to go missing for days at a time. She went exploring, discovering places and other people. For as long as Elizabeth could remember, she looked after herself and her silent, brooding father and didnt ask when her mother would be home. She knew in her heart that her mother would eventually return, cheeks ushed, eyes bright, and speaking breathlessly of the world and all it had to offer. She would waft into their lives like a fresh summer breeze bringing ex- citement and hope. The feel of their bungalow farmhouse always changed