Chapter Forty-Three

“where’s elizabeth?” vincent Taylor hissed angrily at Ben-

jamin, out of earshot of the crowd that had gathered for the opening of the new hotel.

“She’s still in the kids’ room.” Benjamin sighed, feeling the cement of the building wall of pressure from the last week finally dry and lay heavy on his aching shoulders.

“Still?” he shouted and a few people who had been paying attention to the speech being made at the front of the room turned around. The local politician from Baile na gCroíthe had come to officially open the hotel and a few speeches were being made around the original tower in the hotel

grounds. Soon, the crowd would be trampling through the hotel, looking in each room to admire the work and the two men still didn’t know what Elizabeth was up to in the playroom. The last time either of them had seen it four days ago, it was still a blank canvas.

Elizabeth literally hadn’t come out of that room for the past few days.

Benjamin had brought her some drinks and food from a vending machine and she had hastily grabbed it from him at the door and slammed it shut again. He had no idea what the interior was like and his life had been hellish all week trying to deal with a panicking Vincent. The novelty of Elizabeth speaking to an invisible person had long since worn off Vincent, he had never had rooms 301

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being worked on during the very moment the building was being opened, it was a ridiculous and extremely unprofessional situation.

The speeches finally finished, there was polite clapping, and the crowd began to file inside, where they began inspecting the new furniture, everyone inhaling the smell of fresh paint as they were led around.

Vincent swore loudly over and over again, receiving angry glances from

parents as by room after room they got closer to viewing the playroom. Benjamin could barely take the suspense and paced the floor. He recognized Elizabeth’s father looking around in boredom while leaning on his blackthorn cane, and her nephew with his nanny among the crowd, and he

hoped to god she wouldn’t let them all down. Judging by their last conversation on top of the hill, he believed she would come through for them. At least he hoped so; he was due to fly back to his hometown in Colorado next week and he couldn’t take having to deal with any delays on site. For once, his personal life would come before his work.

“OK, boys and girls,” the guide said as if she were in a Barney episode,

“this next room is especially for you, so moms and dads, you’ll have to take a few steps back to allow them through because this is a very special room.”

There were oohs and aahs, excited giggles, and whispers as the chil-

dren let go of their parents’ hands, some shyly, some daringly racing toward the front. The guide turned the handle on the door. It didn’t open.

“Jesus Christ,” Vincent muttered, placing his hand over his eyes.

“We’re ruined.”

“Eh, just a minute, girls and boys.” The guide looked questioningly

over at Benjamin.

He just shrugged and shook his head hopelessly.

The guide tried the door again, but to no avail.

“Maybe you should knock,” one child shouted out and the parents

laughed.

“You know what, that’s a very good idea.” The guide played along, not

knowing what else to do.

She knocked once on the door and suddenly it was pulled open from

the other side. The children slowly shuffled forward.

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There was complete silence and Benjamin covered his face in his

hands. They were in big trouble.

Suddenly one child let out a “Wow!” and one by one, the hushed and

stunned tones from the children gradually became excited calls to one another. “Look at that!” “Look over there!”

The children looked around the room in awe. The parents followed

them in and Vincent and Benjamin looked at each other in surprise as they heard similar whispers of approval. Poppy stood at the doorway, her eyes darting around, her mouth open wide in total shock.

“Let me see this,” Vincent said, rudely pushing his way through the

crowd. Benjamin followed and what he saw inside took his breath away.

The walls of the large room were covered with enormous murals of splen-

did bursts of color, each wall with a different scene. One wall in particular was a familiar sight to him; three people happily jumping in a field of long grass, their arms held upward, bright smiles on their faces, their hair blowing in the wind as they reached up to catch—

“Jinny Joes!” Luke exploded with excitement, looking around the room

in awe, his eyes popping out of his face along with the rest of the children in the room. They were mostly silent as they all stood alone, looking at the detail on each wall. “Look, it’s Ivan in the picture!” he shouted to Elizabeth.

Feeling stunned, Benjamin looked over at Elizabeth, who was standing

in the corner in scruffy denim overalls splattered in paint, with dark circles under her eyes. Despite her apparent tiredness, she was beaming, her face totally alight from the reaction to the room. The pride in her shining eyes was evident as everyone pointed to each painting, enjoying the scenery.

“Elizabeth!” Edith whispered, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.

“You did all this?” She looked at her employer with both confusion and pride.

Another mural was of a little girl in a field, watching a pink balloon floating up to the sky; in another, a crowd of children were having a water fight, splattering paint, and dancing on the sand on a beach. A little girl sat in a green field, having a picnic with a cow, who wore a straw hat. A group of young boys and girls climbed trees and hung from their branches. On the far wall Elizabeth had painted a man and a boy with magnifying glasses held up 304

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to their eyes and black mustaches, leaning over and studying a set of black footprints that led from the wall, all the way across the floor and up the wall on the other side. And on the ceiling, Elizabeth had painted a sky of deep blue, with shooting stars, comets, and distant planets. She had created a new world, a wonderland of escapism, fun, and adventure, but it was the attention to detail, the looks of glee on the characters’ faces, the happy smiles of pure childish enjoyment that jumped out at Benjamin. They were the faces he had seen so many times—correction, it was the face he had seen on Elizabeth when he had caught her dancing in the field and traipsing through the village with lakeweed in her hair. It was the face of someone who had let go and was truly happy.

Elizabeth looked down at the floor to a toddler who was playing with one of the many toys scattered throughout the room. She was about to bend down to talk to the little girl, when she noticed that the girl was speaking to herself. Carrying on a very serious conversation in fact, she was introducing herself to mid-air.

Elizabeth looked around the room, breathed in deeply, and tried to

smell that familiar Ivan smell. “Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes and imagining him with her.

The little girl continued babbling away all by herself, looking to her right as she spoke and listening before speaking again. And then she began to hum, that familiar song that Elizabeth hadn’t been able to get out of her head.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh.

I stood at the back wall of the playroom in the new hotel with tears in my eyes and a lump so huge in my throat I didn’t think I’d ever be able to speak again. I couldn’t stop looking around at the walls, at the photo album of all I had done with Elizabeth and Luke over the past few months. It was as though someone had sat in the distance and painted a perfect vision

of us.

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Looking at the walls, at the color, and at the eyes of the characters, I knew that she had realized, and I knew that I would be remembered. Beside me, standing in a line at the back of the room, my friends joined me for moral support on this special day.

Opal placed a hand on my arm and gave me an encouraging squeeze.

“I’m very proud of you, Ivan,” she whispered and planted a kiss on my

cheek, no doubt leaving a purple lipstick stain on my skin. “We’re all here for you, you know. We will always have each other.”

“Thank you, Opal, I know that,” I said, feeling very emotional and

looking to Calendula, who was on my right, Olivia, who was beside her,

Tommy, who was looking around the walls in fascination, Jamie-Lynn, who had bent down to play with a toddler on the ground, and Bobby, who

pointed and giggled at each of the scenes before him. They all gave me the thumbs-up and I knew that I would never be truly alone, as I was in the company of real friends.

Imaginary friend, invisible friend, call us what you like. Maybe you believe in us, maybe you don’t. The point is, it’s not important. Like most people who do truly great work, we don’t exist to be talked about and

praised; we exist only to serve the needs of those who need us. Maybe we don’t exist at all, maybe we’re just a figment of people’s imaginations, maybe it’s just pure coincidence that children of the age of two, who can barely speak, all decide to start making friends with people only adults can’t see. Maybe all those doctors and psychotherapists are right by suggesting that they are merely developing their imagination.

Or humor me for a second. Is there possibly another explanation that

you haven’t thought about for the entirety of my story?

The possibility that we do exist. That we’re here to help and assist

those who need us, who believe in believing, and who can therefore see us.

I always look on the positive side of things, I always say that with

every cloud there’s a silver lining. Truth be told, and I’m a firm believer in the truth, for a while I was struggling with my experience with Elizabeth. I couldn’t figure out what I had won, all I could see was that my losing her was one big black stormy cloud. But then I realized as every 306

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day went by, and I thought about her every second and smiled, that meeting her, knowing her, and above all loving her, was the biggest silver lining of all.

She was better than pizza, better than olives, better than Fridays, and better than spinning, and even these days, when she is no longer with us—

and I’m not supposed to say this—but of all my friends, Elizabeth Egan is by far my favorite.

Acknowledgments

Infinite thank-yous to my family: Mimmie, Dad, Georgina, and Nicky for

everything—I couldn’t narrow that down if I tried. To David, the best coffee-maker around, thanks for checking on me every few hours and for believing so passionately in this book. Huge thanks to the endlessly encouraging you-know-what agent Marianne for the buns, tea, and advice; and thank you, Pat and Vicki at the you-know-what agency, for taking care of you-know-what. Thank you, Peternelle, and all at Hyperion, for your faith in me and for all your hard work.

To my readers, old and new, I hope this is as good for you as it was for me—an absolute joy to work on.

Most important, thanks to Ivan for keeping me company in my office until all hours. Do you think they will ever believe our story?

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 488