Читать книгу How to Fall in Love - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 11

‘What the hell were you doing there?’ Detective Maguire growled, pushing his face close to mine.

‘Trying to help.’

‘How do you know him?’ Meaning: him as well?

‘I don’t.’

‘So what happened here?’

‘I was just walking by and saw that he was in trouble. We were concerned you wouldn’t get here on time, so I thought I’d talk to him.’

‘Because your talking did so well the first time,’ he vented, then appeared to regret saying that. ‘Seriously, Christine, do you expect me to believe that story? You were “just walking by”? Twice in one month? Do you expect me to believe it was a coincidence? If you’re playing at being some caped crusader—’

‘I’m not. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I thought I could help.’ Getting angry at my treatment, I added: ‘And I did, didn’t I? I got him back on the bridge.’

‘Barely,’ he fumed. He paced before me.

From afar I could see Adam watching me with concern. I gave him a weak smile.

‘I don’t think this is funny.’

‘I’m not laughing.’

He studied me, trying to figure out what to do with me. ‘You can tell me about this from start to finish at the station.’

‘But I didn’t do anything wrong!’

‘You’re not under arrest, Christine. I need to file a report.’ He walked away, expecting me to follow him to the car.

‘You can’t take her too,’ Adam protested. He looked and sounded exhausted.

‘Don’t you worry about what we’re doing with her.’ Maguire adopted a different, much softer voice for Adam’s benefit, one I didn’t know existed within him.

‘Really, I’m fine,’ Adam objected as Maguire started helping him to the car. ‘It was a moment of madness. I’m fine now. I just want to go home.’

Maguire murmured supportive words but accompanied him to the car all the same, disregarding his wishes. While Adam was taken in one car, I was taken in another to Pearse Street station, where I was asked to tell my story again. It was obvious that Maguire wasn’t entirely convinced that I was telling the truth. The fact is, I was holding back and he knew it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I was really doing on the bridge or at the housing development. And I couldn’t tell it to the nice lady who came into the room after him, wanting to chat to me about my experience.

After an hour Detective Maguire told me I was free to leave.

‘What about Adam?’

‘Adam isn’t your concern now.’

‘But where is he?’

‘Being assessed by a psychologist.’

‘So when can I see him?’

‘Christine …’ he warned, trying to get rid of me.

‘What?’

‘What did I tell you about getting involved? There are taxis outside. Go home. Get some sleep. Try to stay out of trouble.’

So I left the garda station. It was midnight on a Sunday and the cold went straight to my bones; the streets were empty of traffic, apart from the odd taxi. The all-seeing Trinity College stood dark and empty before me. I don’t know how long I was standing there, trying to figure everything out, the shock finally sinking in, when the door behind me opened and I felt Maguire’s presence before I heard him.

‘You’re still here.’

I didn’t know what to say to that so I simply looked at him.

‘He’s been asking for you.’

My heart lifted.

‘He’ll be spending the night away. Can I give him your number?’

I nodded.

‘Get in a taxi, Christine,’ Maguire said, and threw me a look so threatening that I found myself hailing the nearest cab.

I went home.

Unsurprisingly I didn’t sleep. I sat up, my coffee machine keeping me company as I watched my phone and wondered if Detective Maguire had given Adam the correct number. When seven a.m. arrived and I heard cars on the road, I started to nod off. Fifteen minutes later my alarm clock woke me for work. Adam didn’t call me all day, then at six p.m. when I was turning off my computer, my phone rang.

We arranged to meet at the Ha’penny Bridge, which seemed right at the time as it was our only link to one another, but once we were both there, twenty-four hours after the incident, it felt inappropriate. He wasn’t on the bridge but standing beside it on Bachelors Walk, looking down at the water. I would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

‘Adam.’

At the sound of my voice, he turned. He was wearing the same black duffle coat and black woollen hat from the previous night, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, sure.’ He sounded shell-shocked. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Where did they take you last night?’

‘A few questions at the station, then St John of Gods for a psychological assessment. I passed with flying colours,’ he joked. ‘Anyway I called you because I wanted to thank you, in person.’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘So, thank you.’

‘Okay. Well, you’re welcome,’ I replied, awkwardly, not knowing whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. All the signs indicated I should leave him alone.

He nodded then and turned to cross the road to Lower Liffey Street. He wasn’t looking where he was going and a car honked angrily as it narrowly missed running him over. He barely registered the sound and kept on walking.

‘Adam!’

He turned around. ‘Accident. Promise.’

I knew then that I would have to follow him. The hospital may have believed him, but there was no way I would leave him alone after what he’d been through. I pressed the pedestrian button for the lights to change but they were too slow; afraid I’d lose him, I waited for a gap in the traffic and ran across the road. Another car honked. I ran to get close to him and then slowed down, deciding I could make sure he was safe from afar. He turned right onto Middle Abbey Street and when he was around the corner and out of sight, I sprinted to catch up. When I rounded the corner, he was gone, as if he’d vanished into thin air. At that hour there were no businesses open for him to have disappeared into. I searched the deserted, dark street ahead and cursed myself for losing him, wishing I’d at least gotten his phone number.

‘Boo,’ he said suddenly, deadpan, as he stepped out of the shadows.

I jumped. ‘Jesus, Adam. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

He smiled at me, amused. ‘Stop pulling your Cagney and Lacey tricks on me.’

I felt my face redden in the dark. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t want to be in your face.’

‘I told you, I’m fine.’

‘I don’t think that you are.’

He looked away, blinking repeatedly as his eyes started filling again. I could see them sparkling under the lamplight.

‘I need to know that you’re going to be okay. I can’t just leave you. Are you going to get some help?’ I asked.

‘And how will all this amazing talking that people want to do with me fix anything? It won’t change what’s happening.’

‘What is happening?’

He backed away.

‘Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But are you at least relieved? That you didn’t jump?’

‘Sure. It was a big mistake. I regret going to the bridge.’

I smiled. ‘You see? That’s good – steps forward already.’

‘I should have gone up there,’ he said, lifting his gaze to Liberty Hall, the sixteen-storey building which was the tallest in Dublin’s city centre.

‘When’s your birthday?’ I said, remembering our deal.

He actually laughed.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, running to catch up with him as he strode along O’Connell Street. My feet and hands were numb, so I was hoping we hadn’t far to go. He seemed to be walking aimlessly, without a destination in mind, which made me wonder whether death by frostbite was to be his next suicide method.

‘I’m staying in the Gresham Hotel.’ He looked up at the Spire. ‘Or I could have skydived and landed on that. It might have speared me right through the stomach. Or better yet, my heart.’

‘Okay, I’m starting to understand your humour. And it’s a bit sick.’

‘Thankfully the hospital didn’t think so.’

‘How did you get out of there?’

‘Charmed them with my boyish joy and wonder,’ he said, still straight-faced.

‘You lied to them,’ I accused. Adam shrugged. ‘Where do you live?’

He hesitated. ‘These days? Tipperary.’

‘And did you come to Dublin especially to …?’

‘Jump from the Ha’penny Bridge?’ He looked at me, amused again. ‘You Dubs are so arrogant. There are perfectly good bridges in the rest of the country, you know. No, I was here to see someone.’ We reached the Gresham Hotel and Adam turned to me. ‘Well, thank you. Again. For saving my life. Should I, I don’t know, give you an awkward kiss or a hug or … I know—’ He held up his hand in the air and I rolled my eyes before giving him a high-five.

And then I really didn’t know what to say next. Good luck? Enjoy your life?

He had no idea either, so the sarcastic comments continued to flow.

‘I should give you a gold star,’ he said. ‘Or a badge.’

‘I’d really prefer not to leave you right now.’

‘My birthday is in two weeks. Not that much can change in two weeks, but I appreciate you lying for me.’

‘It’s do-able,’ I said, more confidently than I felt. Two weeks? I’d been hoping that it was an entire year away, but if that’s what I had to work with, so be it. ‘I’ll use up my annual leave, then I can see you every day. It’s definitely possible,’ I said optimistically.

He gave me that same amused smile. ‘I’d really rather be alone now.’

‘So you can kill yourself?’

‘Can you keep your voice down,’ he hissed as a couple walked by and glanced suspiciously at us. ‘Again, thank you,’ he said, with less gusto. Then, leaving me on the pavement, he disappeared through the revolving doors. I watched him cross the lobby, then I followed him in. He was going to have a hard time shaking me off. He stepped into the elevator and, waiting until the last possible moment before the doors closed, I rushed forward and joined him. He looked at me blankly. Then he pressed the button.

We got out on the top floor and I followed him to the penthouse suite named the Grace Kelly Suite. As we entered the living room I could smell flowers. The door to the bedroom was open and I could see a bed sprinkled with rose petals, and a bottle of champagne sitting in a silver bucket at the end of the bed with two flutes criss-crossed. Adam glanced in at the bed, then away again as if the very sight of it offended him. He walked straight to the bureau and picked up a piece of paper.

I followed him. ‘Is that your suicide note?’

He winced. ‘Do you have to use that word?’

‘What would you rather I say?’

‘“Goodbye, Adam, it was nice meeting you”?’ He shrugged off his coat and threw it on the floor, then pulled off his hat and tossed it in the air. It narrowly avoided landing in the real fire which was smouldering in the marble fireplace. He collapsed on the couch, exhausted.

I was taken aback: I hadn’t expected to see a head of thick blond hair under the woollen hat.

‘What?’ he asked, and I realised I was staring at his beauty.

Sitting down on the couch opposite him, I took off my coat and gloves and hoped the fire would thaw me out quickly. ‘Can I read it?’

‘No.’ He moved it closer to his chest and folded it.

‘Why don’t you rip it up?’

‘Because.’ He placed it in his pocket. ‘It’s a memento. Of my trip to Dublin.’

‘You’re not very funny.’

‘Another thing to add to my list of things I’m not good at.’

I looked around at the set-up and tried to figure him out. ‘Were you expecting someone here tonight?’

‘Of course. I always arrange champagne and roses for pretty ladies who talk me off bridges.’

It was wrong and I knew it was wrong, but I celebrated inside that he’d called me pretty. ‘No, it must have been last night,’ I said, watching him. Despite the jokes and self-assurance, he was fidgeting. I reckoned those jokes were the only thing stopping him collapsing in a heap right there and then.

He got up and made his way over to the TV unit, opening the cupboard below to reveal a mini-bar.

‘I don’t think alcohol is such a good idea.’

‘I might be getting a soft drink.’ He gave me a wounded look and I felt guilty. He retrieved a Jack Daniel’s then threw me a cheeky look as he brought it back to the couch.

I didn’t comment but noticed that as he poured it into the glass his hands were trembling. I sat and watched him for a while and then, unable to take it any longer, I got one for myself, only I mixed mine with a soft drink. I’d made a pact with a man who tried to kill himself, then followed him to his hotel room, so why not get drunk with him too? If there was such a thing as a rulebook on moral integrity and responsible citizenship, I’d pretty much stamped all over it, so why not finish the job and throw it out the window? Besides, I was freezing to my bones and needed something to help thaw me out. I took a sip; it burned my throat all the way to my stomach and it felt good.

‘My girlfriend,’ he said out of nowhere, interrupting my thoughts.

‘What about her?’

‘That’s who I was expecting. I came to Dublin to surprise her. She’d said that I hadn’t been very attentive lately. Not present in her company, or whatever.’ He rubbed his face roughly. ‘She said we were in trouble. “In danger”, that was the expression she used.’

‘So you came to Dublin to rescue your relationship,’ I said, happy to finally be learning about him. ‘What happened?’

‘She was with another fella,’ he said, jaw tightening again. ‘In Milano’s. She said she was going there with the girls. We live in an apartment there on the quays, only I’ve been in Tipperary a while … Anyway, she wasn’t with the girls,’ he said bitterly, staring at the contents of his glass.

‘How do you know they weren’t just friends?’

‘Ah, they were friends, all right. I introduced them. My best friend Sean. They were holding hands across the table. They didn’t even see me walk in the restaurant. She wasn’t expecting me to arrive, I was supposed to be in Tipperary still. I confronted them. They didn’t deny it.’ He shrugged.

‘What did you do?’

‘What could I do? I left the place looking like a complete eejit.’

‘You didn’t want to hit Sean?’

‘Nah.’ He sat back, defeated. ‘I knew what I had to do.’

‘Attempt suicide?’

‘Will you stop using that word?’

I was silent.

‘Anyway what good would hitting him have done? Made a scene? Made me look an even bigger gobshite?’

‘It would have alleviated the tension.’

‘So violence is good now?’ He shook his head. ‘If I had hit him, you would have asked why didn’t I take a walk to cool down.’

‘Boxing your so-called friend, who clearly deserved it, is better than suicide. It wins hands down every time.’

‘Will you stop saying that word,’ he said quietly. ‘Jesus.’

‘That’s what you tried to do, Adam.’

‘And I’ll do it again if you don’t keep your side of the deal,’ he shouted.

His anger took me by surprise. He got up and made his way to the glass door leading out onto a balcony overlooking O’Connell Street and the rooftops of the Northside.

I was sure there was a lot more to Adam’s story than wanting to end his life because his girlfriend was cheating on him. That was probably the trigger to an already troubled mind, but it didn’t seem the right time to probe. He was tensing up again and we were both tired, we needed sleep.

Evidently he agreed. Keeping his back to me, he said, ‘You can sleep in the bedroom, I’ll take the couch.’ When I didn’t answer, he turned to face me. ‘I assume you want to stay.’

‘You don’t mind?’

He thought about it. ‘I think it might be a good idea.’ Then he turned back to look out over the city.

There was so much I could say to him to sum up the day, give him positive words of encouragement. I’d read enough self-help books: pick-me-up phrases were a dime a dozen. But none of them seemed appropriate now. If I was going to help him out of this, I would have to figure out not just what to say but when to say it.

‘Goodnight,’ I said. I left the bedroom door ajar, not liking that he was in the room with access to the balcony. I watched him through the gap as he took off his jumper, revealing a tight T-shirt beneath. I couldn’t help but look a little longer than necessary, trying to convince myself that I was doing it for his safety in case he suffocated himself with his own jumper. He sat down on the couch and put his feet up. He was too tall for it; he had to rest his feet on the arm, which made me feel guilty about taking the bed. I was about to say so when he spoke.

‘Enjoying the show?’ he asked, his eyes closed and his arms folded beneath his head.

Cheeks blazing, I rolled my eyes and moved away from the door. I sat on the four-poster bed, the glasses clinking beside me, the melted ice in the bucket tipping over and spilling on the bed. I placed it on the desk and I was reaching for a chocolate-coated strawberry when I noticed the notecard beside the display. It read, For my beautiful Fiancée, Love Adam. So he had come to Dublin to propose. Certain that I was only scratching the surface, I resolved to get my hands on that suicide note.

I had thought that the night I watched Simon Conway shoot himself, the night I left my husband, and every night since then had been the longest.

I was wrong.