Читать книгу Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Gift Collection: The Gift, Thanks for the Memories - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 35

At seven p.m. that evening, when the rest of his colleagues had been spat out of the office building and then sucked in by the spreading Christmas mania outside, Lou Suffern remained inside at his desk, feeling less like the dapper businessman and more like Aloysius, the schoolboy on detention, whom he’d fought so hard over the years to leave behind. Aloysius stared at the files on the desk before him with all the same excitement as being faced with a plate of veg, their very green existence presiding over his freedom. On discovering there was absolutely no possibility for Lou to cancel or rearrange the conference call, a seemingly genuinely disappointed Alfred had given Lou his best puppy eyes and gone into damage-limitation mode, sucking up any hint of involvement in the cock-up with all the strength of a Dyson, and worked on the best methods to approach the deal. As convincing as always, Alfred left Lou unable to remember what his issue had been with him in the first place, wondering why he’d blamed him for this mess at all. Alfred had this effect on people time and time again, taking the same course as a boomerang that had been dragged through shit yet still managed to find its way back to the same pair of open hands.

Outside was black and cold. Lines of traffic filled every bridge and quay as people made their way home, counting down the days of this mad rush to Christmas. Harry was right, it was all moving too quickly, the build-up feeling more of an occasion than the moment itself. Lou’s head pulsated more than it had that morning, and his left eye throbbed as the migraine worsened. He lowered the lamp on his desk, feeling sensitive to the light. He could barely think, let alone string a sentence together, and so he wrapped himself up in his cashmere coat and scarf and left his office to get to the nearest shop or pharmacy for some headache pills. He knew he was hungover but he was also sure he was coming down with something; the last few days he’d felt extraordinarily unlike himself. Disorganised, unsure of himself; traits that were surely due to illness.

The office corridors were dark; lights were out in all the private offices apart from a few emergency lights that were lowly lit for security guards doing their rounds. He pressed the elevator call button and waited for the start-up sound of the ropes pulling the elevator up the shaft. All was silent. He pressed the button again and looked up at the displayed levels. The ground floor was lit up but there was no movement. He pressed the button again. Nothing happened. He pressed it a few more times until the anger could no longer be suppressed and so he began punching. Out of service. Typical.

He moved away from the elevator in search of the fire escape and his head continued to pound. With thirty minutes until his meeting, he had just enough time to run up and down thirteen floors with the pills. Leaving the familiarity of the main office corridor, he pushed through a few doors he’d never really noticed before, and found himself in corridors that had narrowed and where the plush carpets disappeared. The thick walnut doors and wall panelling of his section were replaced by white paint and chipboard and the office sizes were reduced to box rooms. Instead of the fine art collection he studied each day in the corridors of his office, photocopiers and fax machines lined the halls.

Turning the corner, he stalled and chuckled to himself, Gabe’s secrets of speed revealed. Before him was a service elevator, and it all made sense. The doors were wide open, a ghastly white light of a long fluorescent strip illuminating the small grey cube. He stepped inside, his eyes aching from the light, and before he could even reach for the buttons on the panel, the doors closed and the elevator descended speedily. Its speed was twice as fast as the regular elevators, and again Lou was satisfied to have caught on to how Gabe had managed to make it from one place to another so quickly.

While the elevator continued to move downward he pressed the ground-floor button but it failed to light up. He thumped it a few times and, with growing concern, watched as the light moved from each floor number. Twelve, eleven, ten … The elevator picked up speed as it descended. Nine, eight, seven … It showed no signs of slowing. The elevator was rattling now as it sped along the ropes, and with growing fear and anxiety Lou began to press all of the buttons he could find, alarm included, but it was to no avail. The elevator continued to fall through the shaft on a course of its own choosing.

Only floors away from the ground level, Lou moved away from the doors quickly and hunched down, huddling in the corner of the elevator. He tucked his head between his knees, crossed his fingers and braced himself for the crash position.

Seconds later, the elevator slowed and suddenly stopped. Inside the elevator shaft, the cube bounced on the end of the ropes and shuddered from its sudden halt. When Lou opened his eyes, which had been scrunched shut, he saw that he’d stopped on the basement floor. As though the elevator had functioned normally the entire time, it omitted a cheery ping and the doors slid open. He shuddered at the sight, it was hardly the welcoming committee that greeted him each time he stepped off on the fourteenth floor. The basement was cold and dark, and the ground concrete and dusty. Not wanting to get off on this floor, he pressed the ground-floor button again to quickly get back to marble surfaces and carpets, to creamy toffee swirls and chromes, but again the button failed to light up, the elevator failed to respond and its doors stayed open. He had no choice but to step out and try to find the fire escape so that he could climb up a level to the ground floor. As soon as he stepped out of the elevator and placed both feet on the basement floor, the doors slid closed and the elevator ascended.

The basement was lowly lit. At the end of the corridor a fluorescent strip of light on the blink flashed on and off, which didn’t help his headache and made him lose his footing a few times. There was the loud hum of machines around, the ceilings hadn’t been filled in and so all the electrics and wiring were revealed. The floor was cold and hard beneath his leather shoes and dustmites bounced up to cover his polished tips. As he moved along the narrow hallway, searching for the escape exit, he heard the sound of music drifting out from under the door at the end of a hallway that veered off to the right. ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ by Chris Rea. Along the hallway on the opposite side, he saw the green escape sign of a man running out a door, illuminated above a metal door. He looked from the exit, back to the room at the end of the hall where music and light seeped from under the door. He looked at his watch. He still had time to make his way to the pharmacy and – providing the elevators worked – back to his office in time for the conference call. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he made his way down the hall and drummed his knuckles against the door. The music was so loud he could barely hear his own knock, and so slowly he opened the door and tucked his head around the corner.

The sight stole words from his mouth and ran off with them under its arm, cackling.

Inside was a small stock room, the walls lined with metal shelves, from floor to ceiling filled with everything from light bulbs to toilet rolls. There were two aisles, both of them no more than ten feet in length, and it was the second aisle that caught Lou’s attention. Through the shelving units, light came from the ground. Walking closer to the aisle, he could see the familiar sleeping bag laid out from the wall, reaching down the aisle and stopping short of the shelving unit. On the sleeping bag was Gabe, reading a book, so engrossed that he didn’t look up as Lou approached. On the lower shelves, a row of candles were lit, the scented kind that were dotted around the bathrooms of the offices, and a small shadeless lamp sent out a small amount of orange light in the corner of the room. Gabe was wrapped up in the same dirty blanket that Lou recognised from Gabe’s days out on the pathway. A kettle was on a shelf and a plastic sandwich packet was half-empty beside him. His new suit hung from a shelf, still covered in plastic and never worn. The image of the immaculate suit hanging from the metal shelf of a small stock room reminded Lou of his grandmother’s parlour, something precious and saved for the big occasion that never came, or that came and was never recognised.

Gabe looked up then and his book went flying from his hands, just missing a candle, as he sat up straight and alert.

‘Lou,’ he said, with fright.

‘Gabe,’ Lou said, and he didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he should. The sight before him was sad. No wonder the man had been first at the office every morning and last there. This small store room piled high with shelves of miscellaneous junk had become Gabe’s home.

‘What’s the suit for?’ Lou asked, eyeing it up. It looked out of place in the dusty room. Everything was tired and used, left behind and forgotten, yet hanging from a wooden hanger was a clean, expensive suit. It didn’t fit in.

‘Oh, you never know when you’ll need a good suit,’ Gabe replied, watching Lou warily. ‘Are you going to tell?’ he asked, though he didn’t sound concerned, just interested.

Lou looked back at him and felt pity. ‘Does Harry know you’re here?’

Gabe shook his head.

Lou thought about it. ‘I won’t say a word.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’ve been staying here all week?’

Gabe nodded.

‘It’s cold in here.’

‘Yeah. Heat goes off down here when everyone leaves.’

‘I can get you a few blankets or, em, an electric heater or something, if you want,’ Lou said, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out.

‘Yeah, thanks, that would be good. Sit down.’ Gabe pointed to a crate that was on the bottom shelf. ‘Please.’

Lou rolled up his sleeves as he reached for the crate, not wanting the dust and dirt to spoil his suit, and he slowly sat down.

‘Do you want a coffee? It’s black, I’m afraid, the latte machine isn’t working.’

‘No thanks. I just stepped out to get a few headache pills,’ Lou replied, missing the joke while looking around in distraction. ‘I appreciate you driving me home last night.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘You handled the Porsche well.’ Lou studied him. ‘You driven one before?’

‘Yeah, sure, I have one out the back.’ Gabe rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah, sorry … how did you know where I lived?’

‘I guessed,’ Gabe said sarcastically, pouring himself a coffee. On Lou’s look he added, ‘Your house was the only one on the street with a bad taste in gates. Bad tasting gates at that. They had a bird on top. A bird?’ He looked at Lou as though the very thought of a metal bird caused a bad smell in the room, which it could very well have done had the scented candles not covered it.

‘It’s an eagle,’ Lou said defensively. ‘You know, last night I was …’ Lou began to apologise, or at least to explain his behaviour last night, then rethought it, not in the mood to have to explain himself to anybody, particularly to Gabe, who was sleeping on the floor of a basement stock room and still had the audacity to raise himself above Lou. ‘Why did you tell Ruth to let me sleep until ten?’

Gabe fixed those blue eyes on him, and despite the fact Lou had a six-figure salary and a multi-million-euro house in one of the most affluent areas in Dublin and all Gabe had was this, he once again felt like the underdog, like he was being judged.

‘Figured you needed the rest,’ Gabe responded.

‘Who are you to decide that?’

Gabe simply smiled.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You don’t like me, do you, Lou?’

Well, it was direct. It was to the point, no beating around the bush, and Lou appreciated that.

‘I wouldn’t say I don’t like you,’ he said.

‘You’re worried about my presence in this building,’ Gabe continued.

‘Worried? No. You can sleep where you like. This doesn’t bother me.’

‘That’s not what I mean. Do I threaten you, Lou?’

Lou threw his head back and laughed. It was exaggerated and he knew it, but he didn’t care. It had the desired effect. It filled the room and echoed in the small concrete cell and open ceiling of revealed wires, and his very presence sounded larger than Gabe’s space. ‘Intimidated by you? Well, let’s see …’ He held his hands out to display the room Gabe was living in. ‘Do I really need to say any more?’ he said pompously.

‘Oh, I get it,’ Gabe smiled broadly, as though guessing the winning answer to a quiz. ‘I have fewer things than you. I forgot that meant something to you.’ He laughed lightly and clicked his fingers, leaving Lou feeling stupid.

‘Things aren’t important to me,’ Lou defended himself weakly. ‘I’m involved in lots of charities. I give things away all the time.’

‘Yes,’ Gabe nodded solemnly, ‘even your word.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You don’t keep that either.’ He moved on quickly and started rooting in a shoe box on the second shelf. ‘Your head still at you?’

Lou nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

‘Here.’ Gabe stopped rooting and retrieved a small container of pills. ‘You always wonder how I get from place to place? Take one of these.’ He threw them across to Lou.

Lou studied them. There was no label on the container.

‘What are they?’

‘They’re a little bit of magic,’ he laughed. ‘When taken, everything becomes clear.’

‘I don’t do drugs.’ Lou handed them back, placing them on the end of the sleeping bag.

‘They’re not drugs.’ Gabe rolled his eyes.

‘Then what’s in them?’

‘I’m not a pharmacist, just take them, all I know is that they work.’

‘No thanks.’ Lou stood and prepared to leave.

‘They’d help you a lot, you know, Lou.’

‘Who says I need help?’ Lou turned around. ‘You know what, Gabe, you asked me if I don’t like you. That’s not true, I don’t really mind you. I’m a busy man, I’m not much bothered by you, but this, this is what I don’t like about you, patronising statements like that. I’m fine, thank you very much. My life is fine. All I have is a headache, and that’s all. Okay?’

Gabe simply nodded, and Lou turned around and made his way towards the door again.

Gabe started again. ‘People like you are –’

‘Like what, Gabe?’ Lou turned around and snapped, his voice rising with each sentence. ‘People like me are what? Hard working? Like to provide for their families? Don’t sit on their arses on the ground all day waiting for hand-outs? People like me who help people like you, who go out of their way to give you a job and make your life better …’

Had Lou waited to hear the end of Gabe’s sentence, he would have learned that Gabe wasn’t implying anything of the sort. Gabe was referring to people like Lou who were competitive. Ambitious people, with their eye on the prize instead of the task at hand. People who wanted to be the best for all the wrong reasons and who’d take almost any path to get to that place. Being the best was as equal as being in the middle, which was as equal as being the worst. All were merely a state of being. It was how a person felt in that state and why they were in that state that was the important thing.

Gabe wanted to explain to Lou that people like him were constantly looking over their shoulders, always looking at what the next person was doing, comparing themselves, looking to achieve greater things, always wanting to be better. And the entire point of Gabe telling Lou Suffern about people like Lou Suffern, was to warn him that people who constantly looked over their shoulders bumped into things.

Paths are so much clearer when people stop looking at what everyone else is doing and instead concentrate on themselves. Lou couldn’t afford to bump into things around about this point in the story. If he had, it would have surely ruined the ending, of which we’ve yet to get to. Yes, Lou had much to do.

But Lou didn’t stick around to hear any of that. He left the store room/Gabe’s bedroom, shaking his head with disbelief at Gabe’s cheek as he walked back down the corridor with the dodgy fluorescent lighting that flashed from brightness to darkness. He found his way to the escape exit and ran up the stairs to the ground floor.

The ground floor was immediately brown and warm and Lou was back in his comfort zone. The security guard looked up at him from his desk as Lou emerged from the emergency exit and frowned.

‘There’s something wrong with the elevators,’ Lou called out to him, not enough time now for him to get to a pharmacy and back in time for the conference call. He’d have to go straight up looking like this, feeling like this, head hot and mushy, with the ridiculous words of Gabe ringing in his ears.

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’ The security guard made his way over to Lou. He leaned over and pressed the call button, which lit up immediately and the lift door opened.

He looked at Lou oddly.

‘Oh. Never mind. Thanks.’ Lou got back in the lift and made his way up to the fourteenth floor. He leaned his head against the mirror and closed his eyes and dreamed of being at home in bed with Ruth, cosied up beside him, wrapping her arm and leg around him as she always did – or used to do – as she slept.

When the elevator pinged on the fourteenth floor and the doors opened, Lou opened his eyes and jumped and screamed with fright.

Gabe stood directly before him in the hall – looking solemn – his nose almost touching the doors as they slid open. He rattled the container of pills in Lou’s face.

‘SHIT! GABE!’

‘You forgot these.’

‘I didn’t forget them.’

‘They’ll get rid of that headache for you.’

Lou snatched the container of pills from Gabe’s hand and stuffed them deep into his trouser pocket.

‘Enjoy.’ Gabe smiled with satisfaction.

‘I told you, I don’t do drugs.’ Lou kept his voice low, even though he knew he was alone on the floor.

‘And I told you they’re not drugs. Think of them as a herbal remedy.’

‘A remedy for what, exactly?’

‘For your problems, of which there are many. I believe I listed them out to you already.’

‘Says you, who’s sleeping on the floor of a bloody basement stock room,’ Lou hissed. ‘How’s about you take a pill and go about fixing your own life? Or is that what got you in this mess in the first place? You know, I’m getting tired of you judging me, Gabe, when I’m up here and you’re the one down there.’

Gabe’s expression was curious at that statement, which made Lou feel guilty. ‘Sorry,’ he sighed.

Gabe simply nodded.

Lou examined the pills as his head pounded, heavier now. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Think of it as a gift.’ Gabe repeated the words Lou had spoken only days before.

Along with it, Gabe’s gift brought chills down Lou Suffern’s spine.