Cecelia Ahern – Thanks for the Memories (страница 13)

I slam the box shut and the music stops and I am left in silence.

NINE

‘I can’t find any food in the apartment; we’re going to have to get take-out,’ Justin’s sister-in-law, Doris, calls into the living room as she roots through the kitchen cabinets.

‘So maybe you know the woman,’ Justin’s younger brother, Al, sits on the plastic garden furniture chair in Justin’s half-furnished living room.

‘No, you see, that’s what I’m trying to explain. It’s like I know her but at the same time, I didn’t know her at all.’

‘You recognised her.’

‘Yes. Well, no.’ Kind of.

‘And you don’t know her name.’

‘No. I definitely don’t know her name.’

‘Hey, is anyone listening to me in there or am I talking to myself?’ Doris interrupts again. ‘I said there’s no food here so we’re going to have to get take-out.’

‘Yeah, sure, honey,’ Al calls automatically. ‘Maybe she’s a student of yours or she went to one of your talks. You usually remember people you give talks to?’

‘There’s hundreds of people at a time,’ Justin shrugs. ‘And mostly they sit in darkness.’

‘So that’s a no then.’ Al rubs his chin.

‘Actually, forget the take-out,’ Doris calls. ‘You don’t have any plates or cutlery – we’re going to have to eat out.’

‘And just let me get this clear, Al. When I say “recognise”, I mean I didn’t actually know her face.’

Al frowns.

‘I just got a feeling. Like she was familiar.’ Yeah, that’s it, she was familiar.

‘Maybe she just looked like someone you know.’

Maybe.

‘Hey, is anybody listening to me?’ Doris interupts them, standing at the living-room door with her inch-long leopard-print nails on her skin-tight leather-trouser-clad hips. Thirty-five-yearold Italian-American fast-talking Doris had been married to Al for the past ten years and is regarded by Justin as a lovable but annoying younger sister. Without an ounce of fat on her bones, everything she wears looks like it comes out of the closet of Grease’s Sandy post makeover.

‘Yes, sure, honey,’ Al says again, not taking his eyes off Justin. ‘Maybe it was that déjà vu thingy.’

‘Yes!’ Justin clicks his fingers. ‘Or perhaps vécu, or senti,’ he rubs his chin, lost in thought. ‘Or visité.’

‘What the heck is that?’ Al asks as Doris pulls over a cardboard box filled with books, to sit on, and joins them.

‘Déjà vu is French for “already seen” and it describes the experience of feeling that one has witnessed or experienced a new situation previously. The term was coined by a French psychic researcher Emile Boirac, which expanded upon an essay that he wrote while at the University of Chicago.’

‘Go the Maroons!’ Al raises Justin’s old trophy cup that he’s drinking from, in the air, and then gulps down his beer.

Doris looks at him with disdain. ‘Please continue, Justin.’

‘Well, the experience of déjà vu is usually accompanied by a compelling sense of familiarity, and also a sense of eeriness or strangeness. The experience is most frequently attributed to a dream, although in some cases there is a firm sense that the experience genuinely happened in the past. Déjà vu has been described as remembering the future.’

‘Wow,’ Doris says breathily.

‘So what’s your point, bro?’ Al belches.

‘Well, I don’t think this thing today with me and the woman was déjà vu,’ Justin frowns and sighs.

‘Why not?’

‘Because déjà vu relates to just sight and I felt … oh, I don’t know.’ I felt. ‘Déjà vécu is translated as “already lived”, which explains the experience that involves more than sight, but of having a weird knowledge of what is going to happen next. Déjà senti specifically means “already felt”, which is exclusively a mental happening and déjà visite involves an uncanny knowledge of a new place, but that’s less common. No,’ he shakes his head, ‘I definitely didn’t feel like I had been at the salon before.’

They all go quiet.

Al breaks the silence. ‘Well, it’s definitely déjà something. Are you sure you didn’t just sleep with her before?’

‘Al.’ Doris hits her husband across the arm. ‘Why didn’t you let me cut your hair, Justin, and who are we talking about anyway?’

‘You own a doggie parlour.’ Justin frowns.

‘Dogs have hair,’ she shrugs.

‘Let me try to explain this,’ Al interrupts. ‘Justin saw a woman yesterday at a hair salon in Dublin and he says he recognised her but didn’t know her face, and he felt that he knew her but didn’t actually know her.’ He rolls his eyes melodramatically, out of Justin’s view.

‘Oh my God,’ Doris sings, ‘I know what this is.’

‘What?’ Justin asks, taking a drink from a toothbrush holder.

‘It’s obvious.’ She holds her hands up and looks from one brother to another for dramatic effect. ‘It’s past-life stuff.’ Her face lights up. ‘You knew the woman in a paaast liiife,’ she pronounces the words slowly. ‘I saw it on Oprah.’ She nods her head, eyes wide.

‘Not more of this crap, Doris. It’s all she talks about now. She sees somethin’ about it on TV and that’s all I get, all the way from Chicago on the plane.’

‘I don’t think it’s past-life stuff, Doris, but thanks.’

Doris tuts. ‘You two need to have open minds about this kind of thing because you never know.’

‘Exactly, you never know,’ Al fires back.

‘Oh, come on, guys. The woman was familiar, that’s all. Maybe she just looked like someone I knew at home. No big deal.’ Forget about it and move on.

‘Well, you started it with your déjà stuff,’ Doris huffs. ‘How do you explain it?’

Justin shrugs. ‘The optical pathway delay theory.’

They both stare at him, dumb-faced.

‘One theory is that one eye may record what is seen fractionally faster than the other, creating that strong recollection sensation upon the same scene being viewed milliseconds later by the other eye. Basically it’s the product of a delayed optical input from one eye, closely followed by the input from the other eye, which should be simultaneous. This misleads conscious awareness and suggests a sensation of familiarity when there shouldn’t be one.’

Silence.

Justin clears his throat.

‘Believe it or not, honey, I prefer your past-life thing,’ Al snorts, and finishes his beer.

‘Thanks, sweetie.’ Doris places her hands on her heart, overwhelmed. ‘Anyway as I was saying when I was talking to myself in the kitchen, there’s no food, cutlery or crockery here so we’ll have to eat out tonight. Look at how you’re living, Justin. I’m worried about you,’ Doris looks around the room with disgust and her back-combed hair-sprayed dyed red hair follows the movement. ‘You’ve moved all the way over to this country on your own, you’ve got nothing but garden furniture and unpacked boxes in a basement that looks like it was built for students. Clearly Jennifer also got all the taste in the settlement too.’

‘This is a Victorian masterpiece, Doris. It was a real find, and it’s the only place I could find with a bit of history as well as having affordable rent. This is an expensive town.’

‘I’m sure it was a gem hundreds of years ago but now it gives me the creeps and whoever built it is probably still hanging around these rooms. I can feel him watching me.’ She shudders.

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Al rolls his eyes.

‘All the place needs is a bit of TLC and it’ll be fine,’ Justin says, trying to forget the apartment he loved and has recently sold in the affluent and historic neighbourhood of Old Town Chicago.

‘Which is why I’m here.’ Doris claps her hands with glee.

‘Great.’ Justin’s smile is tight. ‘Let’s go get some dinner now. I’m in the mood for a steak.’

‘But you’re vegetarian, Joyce.’ Conor looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. I probably have. I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten red meat but I have a sudden craving for it now that we’ve sat down at the restaurant.

‘I’m not vegetarian, Conor. I just don’t like red meat.’

‘But you’ve just ordered a medium-rare steak!’

‘I know,’ I shrug. ‘I’m just one crazy cat.’

He smiles as if remembering there once was a wild streak in me. We are like two friends meeting up after years apart. So much to talk about but not having the slightest clue where to start.