If You Could See Me Now. Cecelia AhernЧитать онлайн книгу.
It was a Friday morning in June when I first became best friends with Luke. It was 9.15 a. m., to be precise and I happen to know exactly what time it was because I looked at my watch. I don’t know why I did, because I didn’t need to be anywhere by any specific time. But I believe there’s a reason for everything so perhaps I checked my watch at that time just so I could tell you my story properly. Details are important in storytelling, aren’t they?
I was glad I met Luke that morning because I was a bit down after having to leave my old best friend, Barry. He couldn’t see me any more. But it doesn’t really matter because he’s happier now and that’s what’s important, I suppose. Having to leave my best friends is all part of my job. It’s not a very nice part, but I believe in finding a positive side in everything, so the way I see it is, if I didn’t have to leave my best friends then I wouldn’t be able to make new ones. And making new friends is my favourite part by far. That’s probably why I was offered the job.
We’ll get on to what my job is in just a moment but first I want to tell you about the morning I first met my best friend Luke.
I closed the gate to Barry’s front garden behind me and I started walking, and for absolutely no reason at all I took the first left, then a right, then a left, went straight on for a while, took another right and I ended up beside a housing estate called Fuchsia Lane. It must have been called that because of the fuchsias growing all around the place. They grow wild here. Sorry, when I say ‘here’ I mean a town called Baile na gCroíthe which is in County Kerry. That’s in Ireland.
Baile na gCroíthe somewhere along the line ended up being known in English as Hartstown, but as a direct translation from Irish it means the Town of Hearts. Which I think sounds nicer.
I was glad I ended up back here again; I had done a few jobs here when I was starting out but hadn’t returned for years. My work takes me all over the country, sometimes even overseas when my friends take me away on holidays which just goes to show, no matter where you are, you always need a best friend.
Fuchsia Lane had twelve houses, six on each side, and all were different. The cul-de-sac was really busy with lots of people buzzing about. It was a Friday morning, remember, and June too, so it was really sunny and bright and everyone was in a good mood. Well, not everyone.
There were lots of children playing on the road, cycling, chasing, enjoying hopscotch, tip the can and loads of other stuff. You could hear the sounds of delighted screams and laughter coming from them. I suppose they were happy to be on their school holidays too. As much as they seemed really nice and all, I just wasn’t drawn to them. You see, I can’t just make friends with anyone. That’s not what my job is about.
A man was cutting the grass in his front garden, and a woman tending to the flowerbed with big mucky gloves on her hands. There was a lovely smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of the lady snipping, clipping, cropping and pruning was like music in the air. In the next garden a man whistled a tune I wasn’t familiar with while he pointed the garden hose towards his car and watched as the soapy suds slithered down the side, revealing a new sparkle. Every now and again he whipped round and sprayed water on two little girls who were dressed in yellow and black striped swimsuits. They looked like big bumble bees. I loved hearing them giggling so much.
In the next driveway a boy and girl were playing hopscotch. I observed them for a spell but none of them responded to my interest so I kept on moving. I walked by children playing in every garden yet none of them saw me or invited me to play. People on bicycles and skateboards, and remote controlled cars were whizzing by, oblivious to me. I was beginning to think that coming to Fuchsia Lane was a bit of a mistake, which was rather confusing because usually I was so good at choosing places and there were so many children here. I sat down on the garden wall of the last house and began to think about where I could have taken a wrong turn.
After a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that I was in the right area after all. I very rarely take wrong turns. I spun on my backside to face the house behind the garden wall. There was no action in this garden so I sat and studied the house. It had two storeys and a garage with an expensive car parked outside that glistened in the sun. A plaque on the garden wall beneath me said ‘Fuchsia House’, and the house had blooming fuchsia climbing up the wall, clinging to the brown bricks over the front door and reaching all the way up to the roof. It looked pretty. Fractions of the house had brown bricks and other sections had been painted a honey colour. Some of the windows were square and others were circles. It was really