If You Could See Me Now

  If You Could See Me

  Now

  CECELIA AHERN

  For Georgina, who believes …

  Infinite thank yous to my family, Mimmie, Dad, Georgina and Nicky for everything – I couldn’t narrow that down if I tried. To David, the best coffee- maker around thanks for checking on me every few hours and for believing so passionately in this book. Huge thanks to the endlessly encouraging you- know-what agent Marianne for the buns, tea and advice, and thank you Pat and Vicki at the you- know-what agency for taking care of you-know-what.

  Thank you Lynne and Maxine and all at HarperCollins for your faith in me and for all your hard work.

  To my readers, old and new, I hope this is as good for you as it was for me – an absolute joy to work on.

  Most importantly thanks to Ivan for keeping me company in my office until all hours. Do you think they will ever believe our story?

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  About the Author

  Praise

  By The Same Author

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  It was a Friday morning in June when I first became best friends with Luke. It was 9.15 a. m., to be precise and I happen to know exactly what time it was because I looked at my watch. I don’t know why I did, because I didn’t need to be anywhere by any specific time. But I believe there’s a reason for everything so perhaps I checked my watch at that time just so I could tell you my story properly. Details are important in storytelling, aren’t they?

  I was glad I met Luke that morning because I was a bit down after having to leave my old best friend, Barry. He couldn’t see me any more. But it doesn’t really matter because he’s happier now and that’s what’s important, I suppose. Having to leave my best friends is all part of my job. It’s not a very nice part, but I believe in finding a positive side in everything, so the way I see it is, if I didn’t have to leave my best friends then I wouldn’t be able to make new ones. And making new friends is my favourite part by far. That’s probably why I was offered the job.

  We’ll get on to what my job is in just a moment but first I want to tell you about the morning I first met my best friend Luke.

  I closed the gate to Barry’s front garden behind me and I started walking, and for absolutely no reason at all I took the first left, then a right, then a left, went straight on for a while, took another right and I ended up beside a housing estate called Fuchsia Lane. It must have been called that because of the fuchsias growing all around the place. They grow wild here. Sorry, when I say ‘here’ I mean a town called Baile na gCroíthe which is in County Kerry. That’s in Ireland.

  Baile na gCroíthe somewhere along the line ended up being known in English as Hartstown, but as a direct translation from Irish it means the Town of Hearts. Which I think sounds nicer.

  I was glad I ended up back here again; I had done a few jobs here when I was starting out but hadn’t returned for years. My work takes me all over the country, sometimes even overseas when my friends take me away on holidays which just goes to show, no matter where you are, you always need a best friend.

  Fuchsia Lane had twelve houses, six on each side, and all were different. The cul-de-sac was really busy with lots of people buzzing about. It was a Friday morning, remember, and June too, so it was really sunny and bright and everyone was in a good mood. Well, not everyone.

  There were lots of children playing on the road, cycling, chasing, enjoying hopscotch, tip the can and loads of other stuff. You could hear the sounds of delighted screams and laughter coming from them. I suppose they were happy to be on their school holidays too. As much as they seemed really nice and all, I just wasn’t drawn to them. You see, I can’t just make friends with anyone. That’s not what my job is about.

  A man was cutting the grass in his front garden, and a woman tending to the flowerbed with big mucky gloves on her hands. There was a lovely smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of the lady snipping, clipping, cropping and pruning was like music in the air. In the next garden a man whistled a tune I wasn’t familiar with while he pointed the garden hose towards his car and watched as the soapy suds slithered down the side, revealing a new sparkle. Every now and again he whipped round and sprayed water on two little girls who were dressed in yellow and black striped swimsuits. They looked like big bumble bees. I loved hearing them giggling so much.

  In the next driveway a boy and girl were playing hopscotch. I observed them for a spell but none of them responded to my interest so I kept on moving. I walked by children playing in every garden yet none of them saw me or invited me to play. People on bicycles and skateboards, and remote controlled cars were whizzing by, oblivious to me. I was beginning to think that coming to Fuchsia Lane was a bit of a mistake, which was rather confusing because usually I was so good at choosing places and there were so many children here. I sat down on the garden wall of the last house and began to think about where I could have taken a wrong turn.

  After a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that I was in the right area after all. I very rarely take wrong turns. I spun on my backside to face the house behind the garden wall. There was no action in this garden so I sat and studied the house. It had two storeys and a garage with an expensive car parked outside that glistened in the sun. A plaque on the garden wall beneath me said ‘Fuchsia House’, and the house had blooming fuchsia climbing up the wall, clinging to the brown bricks over the front door and reaching all the way up to the roof. It looked pretty. Fractions of the house had brown bricks and other sections had been painted a honey colour. Some of the windows were square and others were circles. It was really unusual. It had a fuchsia-coloured front door with two long windows with frosted glass in the top two panels, a huge brass knocker and letter box beneath; it looked like two eyes, a nose and a mouth smiling at me. I waved and smiled back just in case. Well, you can never be too sure these days.

  Just as I was studying the face of the front door, it opened and was slammed shut rather loudly and angrily by a boy who came running outside. He had a big red fire engine in his right hand and a police car in his left hand. I love red fire engines; they’re my favourite. The boy jump
ed off the front step of the porch and ran to the grass where he skidded to his knees. He got grass stains all down his black tracksuit bottoms, which made me laugh. Grass stains are so much fun because they never come out. My old friend Barry and I used to slide all of the time. Anyway, the little boy started crashing his fire engine against his police car and making all these noises with his mouth. He was good at the noises. Barry and I always used to do that too. It’s fun pretending to do things that don’t usually happen in real life.

  The boy rammed the police car into the red fire engine and the head fireman, who was clinging to the ladder at the side of the truck, slid off. I laughed out loud and the boy looked up.

  He actually looked at me. Right into my eyes.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, nervously clearing my throat and shifting from one foot to the other. I was wearing my favourite blue Converse runners and they still had grass stains on the white rubber tips from when Barry and I went sliding. I started to run the rubber tip against the brick garden wall to try to scrape it off and thought about what to say next. As much as making friends is my favourite thing to do I still get a bit nervous about it. There’s always that scary chance that people won’t like me and it gives me the collywobbles. I’ve been lucky so far but it would be silly to presume that the same thing will happen every time.

  ‘Hi,’ the boy replied, fixing the fireman back onto the ladder.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked, kicking my foot against the wall on front of me and scraping the rubber tip. The grass stains still wouldn’t come off.

  The boy studied me for a while, looked me up and down as though trying to decide whether to tell me his name or not. This is the part of my job I absolutely loathe. It’s tough wanting to be friends with someone and them not wanting the same back. That happens sometimes but in the end they always come round because, whether they know it or not, they want me to be there.

  The boy had white-blond hair and big blue eyes. I knew his face from somewhere but couldn’t quite think where.

  Finally he spoke. ‘My name’s Luke. What’s yours?’

  I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and concentrated on kicking my right foot against the garden wall. I was making parts of the bricks crumble and fall to the ground. Without looking at him I said, ‘Ivan.’

  ‘Hi, Ivan,’ he smiled. He had no front teeth.

  ‘Hi, Luke,’ I smiled back.

  I have all mine.

  ‘I like your fire engine. My bes— my old best friend Barry used to have one just like it and we used to play with it all the time. It’s got a stupid name, though, because it can’t drive through fire because it melts,’ I explained, still keeping my hands shoved into my pockets, causing my shoulders to hunch up past my ears. It made things a little quieter so I took my hands out of my pocket just so I could hear what Luke was saying.

  Luke rolled on the grass laughing. ‘You put your fire engine through fire?’ he screeched.

  ‘Well, it is called a fire engine, isn’t it?’ I replied defensively.

  Luke rolled onto his back, kicked his feet in the air and hooted. ‘No, you dummy! Fire engines are for putting out fires!’

  I thought about that one for a while. ‘Hmm. Well, I’ll tell you what puts out fire engines, Luke,’ I explained matter-of-factly. ‘Water does.’

  Luke hit himself lightly on the side of the head, screamed ‘Doh!’, made his eyes go cockeyed and then fell over on the grass.

  I started laughing. Luke was really funny.

  ‘Do you want to come and play?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  I grinned. ‘Of course, Luke. Playing is my favourite!’ and I jumped over the garden wall and joined him on the grass.

  ‘What age are you?’ He looked at me suspiciously. ‘You look like you’re the same age as my aunt,’ he frowned, ‘and my aunt doesn’t like to play with my fire engine.’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, then your aunt is a boring old gnirob!’

  ‘A gnirob!’ Luke screamed with mirth. ‘What’s a gnirob?’

  ‘Someone who’s boring,’ I said, scrunching my nose up and saying the word like it was a disease. I liked saying words backwards; it was like inventing my own language.

  ‘Boring,’ Luke repeated after me and scrunched up his nose, ‘uugh.’

  ‘What age are you anyway?’ I asked Luke as I crashed the police car into the fire engine. The fireman fell off the ladder again. ‘You look like my aunt,’ I accused him, and Luke fell about the place. He had a loud laugh.

  ‘I’m only six, Ivan! And I’m not a girl!’

  ‘Oh.’ I don’t really have an aunt but I just said it to make him laugh. ‘Well, there’s nothing only about being six.’

  Just as I was about to ask him what his favourite cartoon was, the front door opened and I heard screaming. Luke went white and I looked up to where he was faced.

  ‘SAOIRSE, GIVE ME BACK MY KEYS!’ a voice yelled desperately. A flustered-looking woman, red in the cheeks, frantic eyes, with long unwashed red hair swinging in strands around her face, came running out of the house alone. Another shriek from the voice in the house behind caused her to stumble in her platforms on the step of the front porch. She cursed loudly and reached out to the wall of the house for balance. Looking up, she stared in the direction of where Luke and I were sitting at the end of the garden. Her mouth widened into a smile to reveal a set of crooked yellow teeth. I crawled back a few more inches. I noticed Luke did too. She gave Luke the thumbs-up and croaked, ‘See ya, kiddo.’ She let go of the wall, wavered slightly and walked quickly to the car parked in the driveway.

  ‘SAOIRSE!’ The voice of the person inside the house screamed again. ‘I’M CALLING THE GARDAÍ IF YOU SET ONE FOOT IN THAT CAR!’

  The red-haired woman snorted, pressed the car keys and the lights flashed and beeped. She opened the door, climbed in, banged her head on the side, cursed loudly again and slammed the door shut behind her. I could hear the doors locking from where I was at the end of the garden. A few kids on the road stopped playing and stared at the scene unfolding before them.

  Finally the owner of the mystery voice came running outside with a phone in her hand. She looked very different from the other lady. Her hair was tied back neatly and tightly at the back of her head. She wore a smart grey trouser suit, which didn’t match the high-pitched, uncontrolled voice she currently had. She too was red in the face and out of breath. Her chest heaved up and down rapidly as she tried to run as quickly as she could in her high heels to the car. She danced around beside the car, first trying the door handle and, when finding it locked, threatened to dial 999.

  ‘I’m calling the gardaí, Saoirse,’ she warned, waving the phone at the window on the driver’s side.

  Saoirse just grinned from inside the car and started up the engine. The lady with the phone’s voice cracked as she pleaded with her to get out of the car. Jumping from foot to foot, she looked like there was somebody else bubbling under her own flesh, trying to get out, like the Incredible Hulk.

  Saoirse sped off down the long cobble-stoned driveway. Halfway down, she slowed the car. The woman with the phone relaxed her shoulders and looked relieved. Instead of stopping completely, the car crawled along as the window of the driver’s side was lowered and two fingers appeared out of it, held up proud and high for all to see.

  ‘Ah, she’ll be back in two minutes, so,’ I said to Luke, and he looked at me oddly.

  The woman with the phone watched in fright as the car sped off again down the road, narrowly missing hitting a child on the road. A few hairs escaped from the tight bun on her head, as though attempting to chase the car themselves.

  Luke lowered his head and quietly put the fireman back on his ladder. The woman let out an exasperated screech, threw her hands in the air and turned on her heel. There was a crack as the heel of her shoe became lodged between the cobbles of the drive. The woman shook her leg wildly, growing more frustrated by the second, and eventually the shoe flew out, but the heel remained
lodged between the crack.

  ‘FUUUUCCCK!’ she yelled. Hobbling on one high heel and what was now one flat pump, she made her way back up the front porch. The fuchsia door was slammed shut and she was swallowed back up by the house. The windows, door knob and the letter box smiled at me again and I smiled back.

  ‘Who are you smiling at?’ Luke asked with a frown on his face.

  ‘The door,’ I replied, thinking it an obvious answer.

  He just stared at me with the same frown, his mind evidently lost in the thoughts of what he had just seen, and the oddity of smiling at a door.

  We could see the woman with the phone through the glass of the front door, pacing the hall.

  ‘Who is she?’ I asked, turning to Luke.

  He was clearly shaken.

  ‘That’s my aunt,’ he almost whispered. ‘She looks after me.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Who was the one in the car?’

  Luke slowly pushed the fire engine through the grass, flattening the blades as he went along. ‘Oh, her. That’s Saoirse,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s my mom.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a silence and I could tell he was sad. ‘Seer-sha,’ I repeated the name, liking how it felt when I said it; like the wind blowing out of my mouth in one big gust or how the trees sounded when they talked to one another on windy days. ‘Seeeeer-ssshaaaa…’ I eventually stopped when Luke looked at me oddly.

  I picked a buttercup out of the ground and held it under Luke’s chin. A yellow glow appeared on his pale skin. ‘You like butter,’ I stated. ‘So Saorise’s not your girlfriend then?’

  Luke’s face immediately lit up and he giggled. Not as much as before, though.

  ‘Who’s your friend Barry that you mentioned?’ Luke asked, smashing into my car much harder than before.

  ‘Barry McDonald is his name,’ I smiled, remembering the games me and Barry used to play.

  Luke’s eyes lit up. ‘Barry McDonald is in my class in school!’