The Marble Collector Part 19

'And he belched the entire happy birthday song on Duncan's birthday?'

I laugh this time.

'See? That's better. We can't forget things like that, Fergus, okay?' he says, full of intensity like he really means it, and I nod, very serious indeed. 'We have to remember Da the way he was, when he was happy, the good things he did, and not ... not anything else.'

Hamish was the one who found Da hanging from a beam in our barn. He wouldn't tell us exactly what he saw, none of the gory details, and when Angus tried to make him, he punched him in the face and almost broke his nose, so none of us asked again.

'Me and you, we'll remind each other of stuff like that. I don't sleep either most nights, so you and me can talk.'

I like the sound of that, just me and Hamish, having him all to myself.

'It's a deal,' he says. 'Shake on it.' He grabs my hand, my sore one, and I whine and cry out like Aunty Sheila's dog when you step on its paw. 'What the f.u.c.k happened?'

I tell him about Father Murphy and the dark room and I cry again. He's angry about it and puts his arm around my shoulders. I know I won't tell the others this, he would flush my head down the bog if I did that and I like him holding me this way. I don't tell him about me p.i.s.sing myself though. When I came home, I didn't tell anyone about what Father Murphy had done to me. I would have, but Aunty Sheila noticed it and helped clean my hand and bandage it up, and she said not to bother Mammy with it because she's upset enough. Everyone's upset, so I didn't tell anyone else.

'What have you got there?' he asks, as my marbles clink in my other hand.

'They're bloodies,' I say proudly, showing him. I sleep with them that night because I like the feel of them in my hand. 'A nice priest gave them to me when I was in the dark room.'

'For keeps?' Hamish asks, studying them.

'I think so.'

'Bloodies?' he asks.

'Yeah, they're red, like blood,' I explain. I don't know much more about them, but I want to.

'Like you and me,' he says, clinking them around in his hand. 'Blood brothers, bloodies.'

'Yeah.' I grin in the dark.

'You bring them into school with you tomorrow,' he says, giving them back to me and settling down in his sleeping bag again.

Angus tells us to shut the f.u.c.k up and Hamish kicks him in the head, but we're silent until his breathing tells us he's fallen asleep again.

Hamish whispers in my ear: 'Put them bloodies in your pocket tomorrow. Keep them there, don't tell anyone else, none of the lads, or the Brothers will hear and they'll take them from you. And if he locks you in that room again, you'll have them. While everyone's working and getting their heads slapped off them, you'll be in there, playing. Do you hear?'

I nod.

'That thought will help me tomorrow, thinking you're in there having a blast, pulling the wool over their eyes. You can't cross a Boggs,' he says.

I smile.

'And the more they put you in there, the greater you'll be. Fergus Boggs, the best marble player in Ireland, maybe even the whole world. And I'll be your agent. The Boggs Brothers, partners in marble crime.'

I giggle. He does too.

'Sounds good, doesn't it?'

I can tell even he's excited by it.

'Yeah.'

'It'll just be our secret, okay?'

'Okay.'

'Every night you can tell me what you learned.'

'Okay.'

'Promise?'

'I promise, Hamish.'

'Good lad.' He ruffles my hair. 'We'll be okay here,' he says to me. 'Won't we?'

'Yeah, Hamish,' I reply.

He holds my sore hand, gentler this time, and we fall asleep together.

Partners in marble crime. Bloodies forever.

On Monday morning I return to work.

'Good weekend?' Eric asks, studying me, and I know he's a.s.sessing my mental stability after the mug-throwing incident.

'Great, thanks.' I smile. 'Everything is fine.'

'Good,' he says, studying me, blue eyes luminous from his orange fake tan. 'You know I checked that phrase for you. The one about feeling antsy.'

'Oh yeah?'

'It can also mean s.e.xually aroused.'

I laugh and shake my head as he chuckles his way back into the office.

'Eric,' I call. 'I'm going to start teaching my dad how to swim next week. And I was thinking of trying something different here. Aqua aerobics cla.s.ses. Once a week. What do you think?'

He grins. 'I think that's a great idea, Sabrina. Can't wait to see Mary Kelly and Mr Daly do the samba in the water.' He gives a s.e.xy little hip roll, which makes me laugh.

Grinning happily, I sit on the stool and watch the empty pool, the pool rules sign glaring down on us all like a crucifix in a church. A reminder. A warning. A symbol. Don't do this, don't do that. No this, no that. So negative on the surface, and yet, a guide. Take heed and you'll be grand. Everything will be fine.

Mary Kelly is in hospital recovering from her heart attack, in a stable condition thankfully. I'm feeling anything but empty though, I feel rejuvenated, with fire inside, like I could look at nothing all day and still be okay, which is what will happen.

Mr Daly arrives in his tight green swim shorts, like an extra layer of skin, tucking tiny wisps of hair he has left into his too tight rubber hat.

'Good morning, Mr Daly,' I say.

He shuffles by me grumpily, ignoring me. He grips the rail and slowly descends into the water. He steals a glimpse at me to see if I'm looking. I look away, wanting this to happen straight away. He lowers his goggles over his eyes, grips the metal bars of the ladder and goes under.

I walk over to the ladder, reach into the water and pull him up.

'You're okay,' I say to him, lifting him out of the water, helping him up the ladder and sitting him on the edge of the pool. 'Here,' I hand him a cup of water which he downs, with trembling hands, his eyes red, his body shaking. He sits for a while, staring into s.p.a.ce, in silence, me beside him, arm around him rubbing his back, while he calms. He's not used to me sitting with him after. I gave up on that some time last year when I could tell it wasn't going to stop him. All I had to do was save him and take my seat again. He gives me a sidelong look, checking me out suspiciously. I continue rubbing his back, comfortingly, feeling skin and bone, and a beating heart.

'You left early on Friday,' he says suddenly.

'Yes,' I say gently, touched that he noticed. 'I did.'

'Thought you mightn't be coming back.'

'What? And miss all this?'

He bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself from smiling. He hands the cup back to me, gets back into the pool and he swims a length.

The year that changed my life. For Jasmine, losing her job felt like losing everything.

The year I found home. With a life built around her career and her beloved sister Heather, suddenly her world becomes the house and garden she has hardly seen and the neighbours she has yet to meet.

The year I met you. But being fired is just the beginning for Jasmine. In the year that unfolds she learns more about herself than she could ever imagine and more about other people than she ever dreamed. Sometimes friends.h.i.+p is found in the most unexpected of places.

Click here to buy now.

I'd like to thank all the people who shared their marble memories with me: in all of my twelve novels, I don't think I've ever received quite the reaction when I've shared the topic I'm writing about. Personal stories just tumbled out of people, and whether those stories were big or small, each of them reinforced my belief that marble memories go hand in hand with key moments in adolescence. All of these shared memories encouraged me along the way.

Thank you Killian Schurman, gla.s.s artist and sculptor, who spent many hours showing me the process of marble making. Anything incorrect in the marble making scene is entirely my doing. Thanks Orla de Br for connecting us and for inspiring me through your own work. Thank you to Lundberg Studios for sharing your expertise, and inspiring 'Marlow's' universe marble. Two books in particular were constantly in use; Marbles Identification and Price Guide by Robert Block, and Collecting Marbles; A Beginners Guide by Richard Maxwell. Thanks to Dylan Bradshaw for answering my odd questions about the silent hairdryer that I'm sorry never made it to the final edit!

As ever, all my love to David, Robin and Sonny. Mimmie, Dad, Georgina, Nicky and the gang. Fairy G.o.dmother Sarah Kelly, Marianne Gunn O'Connor, Vicki Satlow and Pat Lynch.

Thank you Lynne Drew and Martha Ashby for the epic edit. The ever joyful Louise Swannell, Kate Elton, Charlie Redmayne and all of the HarperCollins team and Kate Bowe and Sarah Dee from Kate Bowe PR in Ireland. Thanks to the booksellers, big and small, independent and chain, physical and electronic. And most important of all, thank you readers.

About the Author.

Cecelia Ahern was born and grew up in Dublin. She is now published in nearly fifty countries, and has sold over twenty-four million copies of her novels worldwide. Two of her books have been adapted as films and she has created several TV series. She and her books have won numerous awards, including the Irish Book Award for Popular Fiction for The Year I Met You.

For more information on Cecelia, her writing, books and events, follow her on Twitter @Cecelia_Ahern, join her on Facebook www.facebook.com/CeceliaAhernofficial and visit her website www.cecelia-ahern.com, where she would love to hear from you.

Also by Cecelia Ahern.

P.S. I Love You.

Where Rainbows End (also known as Love, Rosie).

If You Could See Me Now.

A Place Called Here Thanks for the Memories.

The Gift The Book of Tomorrow.

The Time of My Life One Hundred Names.

How To Fall In Love The Year I Met You.

Short Stories.

The Girl in the Mirror.

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