Thanks for the Memories (38 page)
“I know more about him than any other person will ever know,” I defend myself. “Apart from himself.”
“Uh, lifeguard.” Kate gives up on us and calls to the woman sitting below us. “Is my daughter okay?”
“
Are
you in love?” Frankie looks at me seriously. I turn to hide my smile, just as the lifeguard crashes into the water to save Jayda.
“You’ll have to take us over to Ireland with you,” Doris says with excitement, placing a vase on the kitchen windowsill. The place is almost done now, and she’s arranging the finishing touches. “We need to be nearby just in case something happens. They could be a murderer or a serial stalker who dates people and then kills them. I saw something like that on
Oprah
.”
Al begins hammering nails into the wall, and Justin joins in with the rhythm, gently and repeatedly bashing his head against the kitchen table in response.
“I am not taking you both to the opera with me,” Justin says. t h a n k s f o r t h e m e m o r i e s
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“You took me along on a date when you and Delilah Jackson went out.” Al stops hammering and turns to him. “Why should this be any different?”
“Al, I was twelve years old.”
“Still—” He shrugs, returning to his hammering.
“What if she’s a celebrity?” Doris says excitedly. “Oh, my God, she could be! I think she is! Jennifer Aniston could be sitting in the front row of the opera, and there could be a place free beside her. Oh, my God, what if it is?” She turns to Al with wide eyes. “Justin, you have to tell her I’m her biggest fan.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a minute, you’re starting to hyperventilate. How on earth have you come to that conclusion? We don’t even know if it’s a woman.” Justin sighs.
“Yeah, Doris,” Al joins in. “It’s probably just a normal person.”
“Yeah”—Justin imitates his brother’s tone—“because celebrities aren’t normal people, they’re really underworld beasts that grow horns and have three legs.”
“We’re going to Dublin tomorrow,” Doris says with an air of finality. “It’s your brother’s birthday, and a weekend in Dublin—in a very nice hotel like the Shelbourne Hotel—would be a perfect birthday present for him, from you.”
“I can’t afford the Shelbourne Hotel, Doris.”
“Well, we’ll need a place that’s close to a hospital in case he has a heart attack. In any case, we’re all going!” She claps her hands excitedly.
’ m o n m y wa y i n t o the city to meet Kate and Frankie for help I on what to wear to tonight’s opera when my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Joyce, it’s Steven.”
My boss.
“I just received another phone call.”
“That’s really great, but you don’t have to call me every time that happens.”
“It’s another complaint, Joyce.”
“From who and about what?”
“That couple you showed the new cottage to yesterday?”
“Yes?”
“They’ve pulled out.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” I say, lacking all sincerity. “Did they say why?”
“Yes, in fact they did. It seems a certain person in our company advised them that to properly re-create the look of the period cottage, they should demand that the builders carry out excess work. Guess what? The builders weren’t entirely interested in their t h a n k s f o r t h e m e m o r i e s
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list, which included”—I hear paper rustling—“ ‘Exposed beams, exposed brickwork, a log-burning stove, open fires . . .’ The list goes on. So now they’ve backed out.”
“It sounds reasonable enough to me. The builders were recreating period cottages without any period features. Does that make sense to you?”
“Who cares? Joyce, you were only supposed to let them in to measure for their couch. Douglas had sold this place to them already when you were . . . out.”
“Evidently, he hadn’t.”
“Joyce, I need you to stop turning our clients away. Do you need to be reminded that your job is to sell, and if you’re not doing that, then . . .”
“Then what?” I say haughtily, my head getting hot.
“Then nothing.” He softens. “I know you’ve had a difficult time . . . ,” he begins awkwardly.
“That time is over and has nothing to do with my ability to sell a house,” I snap.
“Then sell one,” he finishes.
“Fine.” I snap my phone shut and glare out the bus window at the city. A week back at work, and already I need a break.
“Doris, is this really necessary?” Justin moans from the bathroom.
“Yes!” she calls. “This is what we’re here for. We have to make sure you’re going to look right tonight. Hurry up, you take longer than a woman to get ready.”
Doris and Al are sitting on their bed in a Dublin hotel—not the Shelbourne, much to Doris’s dismay. It is more of a Holiday Inn, but it’s central to the city and to the stores, and that’s good enough for her. As soon as they’d landed earlier that morning, Justin had been set to show them around all the sites, the museums, churches, and castles, but Doris and Al had other things on their minds. Shopping.
3 3 2 / C e c e l i a A h e r n
The Viking tour was as cultured as they got, and Doris howled when water sprayed her in the face as they entered the river Liffey. They’d ended up rushing to the nearest restroom as soon as they could so that Al could wash the mascara out of her eye. There were only hours to go until the opera, until Justin would finally discover the identity of this mystery person. He was filled with anxiety, excitement, and nerves at the thought of it. It would be a pleasant evening or one of sheer torture, depending on his luck. He had to figure out an escape plan if his worst-case scenario was to play out.
“Oh, hurry up, Justin,” Doris howls again just as he fixes his tie and exits the bathroom.
“Work it, work it, work it!” Doris whoops as he strolls up and down the room in his best suit. He pauses in front of them and fidgets awkwardly, feeling like a little boy in his communion suit. He is greeted by silence. Al, who has been shoveling popcorn into his mouth at a serious speed, also stops.
“What?” Justin says nervously. “Something wrong? Something on my face? Is there a stain?” He looks down, studying himself. Doris shakes her head. “Ha-ha, very funny. Now seriously, stop wasting time and show us the real suit.”
“Doris!” Justin exclaims. “This
is
the real suit!”
“Your best one?” she drawls, looking him up and down.
“I think I recognize that from our wedding.” Al’s eyes narrow. Doris stands up and picks up her handbag. “Take it off,” she says calmly.
“What? Why?”
She takes a deep breath. “Just take it off. Now.”
“These are too formal, Kate.” I turn my nose up at the dresses she has chosen at the store. “It’s not a ball, I just need something . . .”
“Sexy,” Frankie says, waving a little dress in front of me. t h a n k s f o r t h e m e m o r i e s
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“It’s an opera, not a nightclub.” Kate whips it away from her.
“Okay, wow, look at this one. Not formal, not slutty.”
“Yes, you could be a nun,” Frankie says sarcastically. They both turn away and continue to root through the hangers.
“Aha! I got it,” Frankie announces.
“No, I’ve found the perfect one.”
They both spin round with the same dresses in their hands, Kate holding one in red, Frankie holding another in black. I chew on my lip.
“Stop it!” they say in unison.
“Oh, my God,” Justin whispers.
“What? You’ve never seen a pink pinstripe before? It’s divine. Worn with this pink shirt and this pink tie—perfection. Oh, Al, I wish you’d wear suits like this.”
“I prefer the blue,” Al disagrees. “The pink is a bit gay. Or maybe that’s a good idea in case she turns out to be a disaster. You can tell her your boyfriend’s waiting for you. I can back you up on that,” he offers.
Doris ignores her husband. “See, isn’t this so much better than that other thing you were wearing? Justin? Earth to Justin? What are you looking at? Oh, she’s pretty.”
“That’s Joyce,” he whispers, staring at the other side of the store. He once read that a blue-throated hummingbird has a heart rate of one thousand two hundred and sixty beats per minute, and he wondered how anything could survive that. He understands now. With each beat, his heart pushes out blood and sends it flowing around his body. He feels his entire body throb and pulsate in his neck, wrists, heart, stomach.
“That’s Joyce?” Doris asks, shocked. “The phone woman?
Well, she looks . . . normal. What do you think, Al?”
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Al looks to where they’ve been staring and nudges his brother.
“Yeah, she looks real normal. You should ask her out once and for all.”
“Why are you both so surprised she looks normal?”
Thump-
thump. Thump-thump
.
“Well, sweetie, the very fact that she exists is a surprise.” Doris snorts. “The fact that she’s pretty is damn near a miracle. Go on, ask her out for dinner tonight.”
“I can’t tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got the opera!”
“Opera shopera. Who cares about that?”
“You have been talking about it nonstop for over a week. And now it’s opera shopera?”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump
.
“Well, I didn’t want to alarm you before, but I was thinking about it on the plane ride over, and”—she takes a deep breath and touches his arm gently—“it can’t be Jennifer Aniston. It’s just going to be some old lady sitting in the front row waiting for you with a bouquet of flowers that you don’t even want, or some overweight guy with bad breath. Sorry, Al, I don’t mean you.”
Justin’s heart beats the speed of a hummingbird’s heart, his mind now at the speed of its wings. He can barely think; everything is happening too fast. Joyce, far more beautiful up close than he remembers, her newly short hair soft around her face. She is beginning to move away now. He has to do something quick. Think, think, think!
“Ask her out for tomorrow night,” Al suggests.
“I can’t! My exhibition is tomorrow.”
“Skip it. Call in sick.”
“I can’t, Al! I’ve been working on it for months. I’m the damn curator, I have to be there.”
Thump-thump, thump-thump
.
“If you don’t ask her out, I will.” Doris pushes him.
“She’s busy with her friends.”
t h a n k s f o r t h e m e m o r i e s
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Joyce starts to leave.
Do something!
“Joyce!” Doris calls out.
“Jesus Christ.” Justin tries to turn round and run in the other direction, but both Al and Doris block him.
“Justin Hitchcock,” a voice says loudly, and he stops trying to break through their barrier and slowly turns round. One of the women standing beside Joyce looks familiar. She has a baby in a stroller beside her.
“Justin Hitchcock,” the woman says again and reaches out her hand. “Kate McDonald.” She shakes his hand firmly. “I was at your talk last week at the National Gallery. It was incredibly interesting. I didn’t know you knew Joyce.” She smiles brightly and elbows Joyce. “Joyce, you never said! I was at Justin Hitchcock’s talk just last week! Remember I told you? The painting about the woman and the letter? And the fact that she was writing it?”
Joyce’s eyes are wide and startled. She looks from her friend to Justin and back again.
“She doesn’t know me, exactly,” Justin finally speaks up, and feels a slight tremble in his voice. So much adrenaline is surging through him, he feels he’s about to take off like a rocket through the department store’s roof. “We’ve passed each other on many occasions but never had the opportunity to meet properly.” He holds out his hand. “Joyce, I’m Justin.”
She reaches out to take his hand, and static electricity rushes through as they get a quick shock from each other. They both let go quickly. “Whoa!” She pulls back and cradles her hand in the other, as though burned.
“Oooh,” Doris sings.
“It’s static electricity, Doris. Caused when the air and materials are dry. They should use a humidifier in here,” Justin says like a robot, not moving his eyes from Joyce’s face.
Frankie cocks her head and tries not to laugh. “Charming.”
3 3 6 / C e c e l i a A h e r n
“I tell him that all the time,” Doris says.
After a moment, Joyce extends her hand again to finish the handshake properly. “Sorry, I just got a—”
“That’s okay, I got it too.” He smiles.
“Nice to meet you, finally,” she says.
They remain holding hands, just staring at each other. Doris clears her throat noisily. “I’m Doris, his sister-in-law.”
She reaches diagonally over Justin and Joyce’s handshake to greet Frankie.
“I’m Frankie.”
They shake hands. While doing so, Al reaches over diagonally to shake hands with Kate. It becomes a hand-shaking marathon as they all greet at once, Justin and Joyce finally releasing their grip.
“Would you like to go for dinner tonight with Justin?” Doris blurts out.
“Tonight?” Joyce’s mouth drops.
“She would love to,” Frankie answers for her.
“Tonight, though?” Justin turns to face Doris with wide eyes.
“Oh, it’s no problem, Al and I want to eat alone anyway.” She nudges him. “No point being the gooseberry.” She smiles.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stick to your other plans tonight?” Joyce says, slightly confused.
“Oh, no.” Justin shakes his head. “I’d love to have dinner with you. Unless of course you have plans?”
Joyce turns to Frankie. “Tonight? I have that thing, Frankie . . .”
“Oh, no, don’t be silly. It doesn’t really make a difference, now, does it?” Frankie waves her hand dismissively. “We can have drinks any other time.” She smiles sweetly at Justin. “So where are you taking her?”
“The Shelbourne Hotel?” Doris says. “At eight?”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to eat there.” Kate sighs. “Eight suits her fine,” she responds.
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Justin looks at Joyce. “Does it?”
Joyce seems to consider this, her mind ticking at the same rate as his heart.
