Cecelia Ahern 3-Book Collection: One Hundred Names, How to Fall in Love, The Year I Met You. Cecelia Ahern
summertime.
She carefully cut out a photograph of a soapstar she didn’t recognise who had been snapped on the beach in a tiny bikini after apparently shedding all the weight after having her baby a mere six weeks ago. She stuck the photo on the wall, making sure it wasn’t blocking any of the others she needed to see and she proceeded to sit on the end of her bed and examine it for fifteen minutes. She looked at her eyes, her nose, her lips, her long neck, the arch of her back, her pert bottom, the way her thighs were firm and tanned, the way her toes were perfectly painted and wore little shoes of sand. She got lost in the photograph; for moments Ambrose was that girl, she was on that beach, she was getting out of the water, feeling eyes on her and feeling the heat on her body, feeling the sea water trickling down her body but knowing that she looked great, feeling light and happy and relaxed as she made her way to her sunbed to sip a cocktail. Ambrose lived it so vividly in her head.
Kitty Logan had asked her why she collected butterflies, why the fascination? Ambrose hadn’t lied, but hadn’t answered her truthfully as her response was incomplete. Why did she love butterflies? Because they were simply beautiful. And she wasn’t.
It was the same reason she had always loved the story of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ when she was a child, and despite the fact she was twenty-three when the Disney film was released, she went to see it in the cinema time and time again, watching it every day when it was out on video, knowing every word, every look, every single gesture each character made. Her daddy had been bewildered by her childish fascination with a cartoon, but he had misunderstood her love for it. It wasn’t for the romance, it wasn’t because she wanted to see a beast become handsome again, she watched it because, like the Beast capturing Belle, she knew what it was like to recognise beauty, to be so fascinated by it and to feel so alive when around it that she wanted to trap it and keep it locked up inside for her to see and celebrate every day.
‘Who on earth is texting you?’ Sally asked as they drove home from Kildare. It was the first thing she had said in a while and Kitty guessed she was slowly being forgiven.
‘Why?’ Kitty frowned.
‘Because you’ve had that stupid smile on your face since you started that little textersation.’
‘Textersation? No, that is not a word.’
‘Stop trying to change the subject, who is it?’
‘It’s no one, it’s just Pete.’ She said it way too nonchalantly.
Sally’s eyes widened. ‘Pete, the prince of doom duty editor whom you despise Pete?’
‘I never said I despised him.’
‘Oh. My. God.’
‘What?’
‘Oh dear. You know what’s happening, don’t you?’ Sally jested.
‘Shut up, no, it’s not. Be quiet, okay?’ Kitty attempted to place her hand over Sally’s mouth to stop the words coming out. Sally giggled and the car swerved so Kitty took her hand away immediately.
‘Okay, fine, I won’t say it, but you know you know it,’ she said in a singsong voice.
‘He’s just seeing if I’m okay,’ Kitty said, closing her phone and putting it away in her bag, and as soon as she did that she regretted it because she wanted to see if he’d responded to her rather witty and well-planned last text.
They settled into silence again and drove towards the darkening night, the sky red in the distance.
‘Red sky at night,’ Kitty said, ‘shepherd’s delight.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Sally said. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. It’s supposed to be torrential rain tomorrow.’
They fell into silence again and Kitty’s mind drifted from Pete and on to her story. She thought of all the people she had met so far: Birdie Murphy, Eva Wu, Mary-Rose Godfrey, Archie Hamilton and Ambrose Nolan. She tried to find the link between them all but just couldn’t see any. She twisted their life stories around in her head, tried to compare and contrast each and every little thing she knew about them, and while similarities could be found, there was no real link, no real story, but each was so strong in its own right. She needed to start with a fresh mind and listen to their stories – perhaps constantly trying to find a link was stopping her story from flowing. She reached for her bag and Sally teased her about going for her phone but Kitty had already forgotten about that. She took out her notepad and pen and Sally realised she was in the zone and left her alone.
She thought of Ambrose, of the framed butterflies and the pictures on her wall.
Name Number Two: Ambrose Nolan
Story Title: Kalology – The Study of Beauty
Kitty slept in Sally’s house that night.
When they returned from Straffan to Kitty’s flat, that day’s newspaper article was rewarded with horse manure trailing up each step to her door on which it had been used to write the words ‘Dirty Sell-Out Whore’. Even after so much abuse, Kitty still managed to feel hurt. She contemplated taking a photograph of the door and sending it to Richie along with a note of thanks, but decided against it as it would probably be tomorrow’s news. The one thing she could be thankful for was that the attacks were never inside her home and never on her physically.
Kitty grabbed a change of clothes, in fact enough to last her a week, and then she turned on her heel to escape to Sally’s car.
Zhi, the landlord, blocked her path.
‘I’m sorry, Zhi, I’m in a massive rush. Can you please just—’ She stepped to the right to pass him but he blocked her, so she stepped to the left and he blocked her again. She gave up and sighed. ‘I’ll arrange for this to be cleaned as soon as I can.’
‘It is not good enough. Last week paint, toilet paper and shit, last night firework, today more shit. It is not good for my business.’
‘I know, I know. I really don’t think it will happen for much longer. They’ll eventually get tired and stop it.’
He wasn’t having any of it. ‘The end of month I get new tenant. You out. You find other place to—’
‘No no no no no,’ Kitty interrupted, hands together and desperately pleading. ‘Please, please don’t say that. This is just a blip. I have been a good tenant, haven’t I?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I won’t tell anyone about the PERC.’
His face darkened. ‘You threaten me?’
‘No! I said I won’t tell anyone about the PERC. I won’t.’
‘Then why you it bring up? End of month you out,’ he said, and stormed back down the stairs.
While Kitty was still on the stairs contemplating how much worse her life could get and where on earth she was going to find a place to live on a much lower income, Zhi reappeared with an item of clothing on a hanger, wrapped in plastic.
‘And your friend,’ he added, coming back up the stairs. ‘He no pay for his suit jacket. He supposed to pay this morning. You pay. Ten euro.’
‘No, no, he’s not my friend. I’m not paying for that.’
‘He your friend. I see you all kissy kissy. You pay. Ten euro. You pay.’
‘No way. It’s not mine. No way.’
He started to back away.
‘Okay, let’s make a deal. I’ll pay for his jacket if you let me stay in the flat.’
He thought about it. ‘You pay for jacket and