Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Bestsellers Collection: One Hundred Names, PS I Love You. Cecelia Ahern
very seriously to their faces. Unfortunately, after that Holly remembered no more.
Holly awoke with her head pounding. Her mouth was as dry as Gandhi’s sandal and her vision was impaired. She leaned up on one elbow and tried to open her eyes, which were somehow glued together. She squinted around. It was bright, very bright, and the room seemed to be spinning. Something very odd was going on. Holly caught sight of herself in the mirror ahead and startled herself. Had she been in an accident last night? She ran out of energy and collapsed flat on her back again. Suddenly the house alarm began wailing and she lifted her head slightly from the pillow and opened one eye. Oh, take whatever you want, she thought, just as long as you bring me a glass of water before you go. After a while she realised it wasn’t the alarm but the phone ringing beside her bed.
‘Hello?’ she croaked.
‘Oh good, I’m not the only one,’ said a desperately ill-sounding voice on the other end.
‘Who are you?’ croaked Holly again.
‘My name is Sharon, I think,’ came the reply, ‘although don’t ask me who Sharon is because I don’t know. The man beside me in bed seems to think I know him.’
Holly heard John laughing loudly in the background.
‘Sharon, what happened last night? Please enlighten me.’
‘Alcohol happened,’ said Sharon drowsily, ‘lots and lots of alcohol.’
‘Any other information?’
‘Nope.’
‘Know what time it is?’
‘Two o’clock.’
‘Why are you ringing me at this hour of the morning?’
‘It’s the afternoon, Holly.’
‘Oh. How did that happen?’
‘Gravity or something. I was out that day from school.’
‘Oh God, I think I’m dying.’
‘Me too.’
‘I think I’ll just go back to sleep. Maybe when I wake up the ground will have stopped moving.’
‘Good idea. Oh, and, Holly, welcome to the thirties club.’
Holly groaned. ‘I have not started as I mean to go on. From now on I will be a sensible, mature thirty-year-old woman.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said too. Good night.’
‘Night.’ Seconds later Holly was asleep. She awoke at various stages during the day to answer the phone, the conversations all seeming part of her dreams. And she made many trips to the kitchen for water to rehydrate herself.
Eventually, at nine o’clock that night, Holly succumbed to her stomach’s screaming demands for food. As usual there was nothing in the fridge so she decided to treat herself to a Chinese takeaway. She sat snuggled up on the couch in her pyjamas watching the very best of Saturday night TV while stuffing her face. After the trauma of being without Gerry for her birthday the previous day, Holly was surprised to notice that she felt very content with herself. It was the first time since Gerry died that she was comfortable with her own company. There was a slight chance she could make it without him.
Later that night Jack called her on her mobile. ‘Hey, sis, what are you doing?’
‘Watching TV, having Chinese,’ she said.
‘Well, you sound in good form. Unlike my poor girlfriend, who’s suffering here beside me.’
‘I’m never going out with you again, Holly,’ she heard Abbey scream weakly in the background.
‘You and your friends perverted her mind,’ he joked.
‘Don’t blame me. She was doing just fine all by herself as far as I remember.’
‘She says she can’t remember anything.’
‘Neither can I. Maybe it’s something that happens as soon as you hit thirty. I was never like this before.’
‘Or maybe it’s just an evil plan you all hatched so you wouldn’t have to tell us what you got up to.’
‘I wish it was … Oh, thanks for the pressie by the way, it’s beautiful.’
‘Glad you like it. It took me ages to find the right one.’
‘Liar.’
He laughed. ‘Anyway, I was ringing to ask you if you’re going to Declan’s gig tomorrow night.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Hogan’s pub.’
‘No way. There is no way I’m ever setting foot in a pub again, especially to listen to some loud rock band with screeching guitars and noisy drums,’ Holly told him.
‘Oh, it’s the old, “I’m never drinking again” excuse, is it? Well, don’t drink then. Please come, Holly. Declan’s really excited about it and no one else will come.’
‘Ha! So I’m the last resort, am I? Nice to know you think so highly of me.’
‘No, you’re not. Declan would love to see you there and we hardly got a chance to talk at dinner. We haven’t gone out for ages,’ he pleaded.
‘Well, we’re hardly going to have a heart-to-heart with the Orgasmic Fish banging out their tunes,’ she said sarcastically.
‘They’re actually called Black Strawberries now, which has a much sweeter ring to it, I think,’ he laughed.
Holly held her head in her hands and groaned, ‘Oh, please don’t make me go, Jack.’
‘You’re going.’
‘OK, but I’m not staying for the whole thing.’
‘We can discuss that when we get there. Declan will be chuffed when I tell him; the family never usually goes to these things.’
‘OK then, about eight-ish?’
‘Perfect.’
Holly hung up and sat stuck to the couch for another few hours. She felt so full, she couldn’t move. Maybe that Chinese hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
Chapter Nine
Holly arrived in Hogan’s pub feeling a lot fresher than the day before, but her reactions were still a little slower than usual. Her hangovers seemed to be getting worse as she got older, and yesterday took the gold medal for the hangover of all hangovers. She had gone for a long walk along the coast from Malahide to Portmarnock earlier that day, and the crisp fresh breeze had helped to clear her fuzzy head. She had called in to her parents for Sunday dinner, when they presented her with a beautiful Waterford Crystal vase for her birthday. It had been a wonderful relaxing day and she almost had to drag herself off the comfortable couch to go to Hogan’s.
Hogan’s was a popular three-storey building situated in the centre of town, and even on a Sunday the place was jammed. The first floor was a trendy nightclub that played all the latest music from the charts. It was where the young beautiful people went to show off their latest fashions. The ground floor was a traditional Irish pub for the older crowd (usually containing old men perched up on their bar stools, bent over their pints, contemplating life). A few nights a week there was a traditional Irish music band that played all the old favourites, which was popular with the young and old. The basement, where bands usually played, was dark and dingy, and the clientele was purely students. Holly seemed to be the oldest person in there. The bar consisted of a tiny counter in the corner of the long hall and was surrounded by a huge crowd of young students dressed in scruffy jeans and ripped T-shirts, pushing each other violently in order to be served. The bar staff also looked as if they should be in school, and were rushing around at a hundred miles per hour with sweat