Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Gift Collection: The Gift, Thanks for the Memories. Cecelia Ahern
from the window and spun around, his pulse rate quickening, as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
The phone rang. It was Alison and she didn’t sound happy.
‘Before I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I just want to let you know that I qualified from UCD with a business degree.’
‘Congratulations,’ Lou said.
She cleared her throat. ‘Here you go. Alfred wears size eight brown loafers. Apparently he’s got ten pairs of the same shoes and he wears them every day, so I don’t think the idea of another pair as a Christmas gift would go down too well. I don’t know what make they are but the sad thing is I can find out for you.’ She took a breath. ‘As for the shoes with the red soles, Louise bought a new pair and wore them last week but they cut the ankle off her so she took them back, but the shop wouldn’t take them back because it was obvious she’d worn them because the red sole had begun to wear off.’
‘Who’s Louise?’
‘Mr Patterson’s secretary.’
‘I’ll need you to find out from her who she left work with every day last week.’
‘No way, that’s not in my job description!’
‘You can leave work early if you find out for me.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thank you for cracking under such pressure.’
‘No problem, I can get started on my Christmas shopping.’
‘Don’t forget my list.’
So, despite Lou learning very little, the same odd feeling rushed into his heart, something others would identify as panic. But Gabe had been right about the shoes and so wasn’t a lunatic, as Lou had secretly suspected. Earlier, Gabe had asked if Lou needed an observant eye around the building, and so, picking up the phone, Lou rethought his earlier decision.
‘Can you get me Harry from the mailroom on the phone, and then get one of my spare shirts, a tie and trousers from the closet and take them downstairs to the guy sitting at the door. Take him to the men’s room first, make sure he’s tidied up, and then take him down to the mailroom. His name is Gabe and Harry will be expecting him. I’m going to cure his little short-staffing problem.’
‘What?’
‘Gabe. It’s short for Gabriel. But call him Gabe.’
‘No, I meant –’
‘Just do it. Oh, and Alison?’
‘What?’
‘I really enjoyed our kiss last week and I look forward to screwing your brains out in the future.’
He heard a light laugh slip from her throat before the phone went dead.
He’d done it again. While in the process of telling the truth, he had the almost admirable quality of telling a total and utter lie. And through helping somebody else – Gabe – Lou was also helping himself; a good deed was indeed a triumph for the soul. Despite that, Lou knew that somewhere beneath his plotting and soul-saving there lay another plot, which was the beginning of a saving of a very different kind. That of his own skin. And even deeper in this onion man’s complexities, he knew that this outreach was prompted by fear. Not just by the very fear that – had all reason and luck failed him – Lou could so easily be in Gabe’s position at this very moment, but in a layer so deeply buried from the surface that it almost wasn’t felt and certainly wasn’t seen, there lay the fear of a reported crack – a blip in Lou’s engineering of his own career. As much as he wanted to ignore it, it niggled. The fear was there, it was there all the time, but it was merely disguised as something else for others to see.
Just like the thirteenth floor.
While Lou’s meeting with Mr Brennan about the – thankfully not rare but still problematic – slugs on the development site in County Cork was close to being wrapped up, Alison appeared at his office door, looking anxious, and with the pile of clothes for Gabe still draped in her outstretched arms.
‘Sorry, Barry, we’ll have to wrap it up now,’ Lou rushed. ‘I have to run, I’ve two places to be right now, both of them across town, and you know what the traffic is like.’ And just like that, with a porcelain smile and a firm warm handshake, Mr Brennan found himself back in the elevator descending to the ground floor, with his winter coat draped over one arm and his paperwork stuffed into his briefcase and tucked under the other. Yet, at the same time, it had been a pleasant meeting.
‘Did he say no?’ Lou asked Alison.
‘Who?’
‘Gabe? Did he not want the job?’
‘There was no one there.’ She looked confused. ‘I stood at reception calling and calling his name – God it was so embarrassing – and nobody came. Was this part of a joke, Lou? I can’t believe that after you made me show the Romanian rose-seller into Alfred’s office that I’d fall for this again.’
‘It’s not a joke.’ He took her arm and dragged her over to his window.
‘But there was no man there,’ she said with exasperation.
He looked out the window and saw Gabe still in the same place on the ground. A light rain was starting to fall, spitting against the window at first and then quickly making a tapping sound as it turned to hailstones. Gabe pushed himself back further into the doorway, tucking his feet in closer to his chest and away from the wet ground. He lifted the hood from his sweater over his head and pulled the drawstrings tightly, which from all the way up on the thirteenth floor seemed to be attached to Lou’s heartstrings.
‘Is that not a man?’ he asked, pointing out the window.
Alison squinted and moved her nose closer to the glass. ‘Yes, but –’
He grabbed the clothes from her arms. ‘I’ll do it myself,’ he said.
As soon as Lou stepped through the lobby’s revolving doors, the icy air whipped at his face. His breath was momentarily taken away by a great gush and the rain alone felt like ice-cubes hitting his skin. Gabe was concentrating intently on the shoes that passed him, focusing his mind on something else, no doubt to try to ignore the elements that were thrashing around him. In his mind he was elsewhere, anywhere but there. On a beach where it was warm, where the sand was like velvet and the Liffey before him was the endless sea. While in this other world he felt a kind of bliss that a man in his position shouldn’t.
His face, however, didn’t reflect that. Gone was the look of warm contentment of that morning. His blue eyes were colder than the heated pools of earlier as they followed Lou’s shoes from the revolving doors all the way to the edge of his blanket.
As Gabe watched the shoes, he was imagining them to be the feet of a local man working at the beach he was currently lounging on. The local was approaching him with a cocktail balanced dangerously in the centre of a tray, the tray held out and high from his body like the arms of a candelabra. Gabe had ordered this drink quite some time ago but he’d let the man away with the small delay. It was a hotter day than usual, the sand was crammed with glistening coconut-scented bodies and so he would forgive this local his shortcomings. The muggy air was slowing everybody down. The flipflop-clad feet that approached him sank into the sand, spraying grains of sand into the air with each step. As they neared him, the grains of sand became splashes of raindrops, and the flipflops became a familiar pair of shiny shoes. Gabe looked up, hoping to see a multicoloured cocktail filled with fruit and umbrellas on a tray. Instead, he saw Lou with a pile of clothes