The Time of My Life. Cecelia Ahern

to your life.’

      I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

      ‘So let’s just get started,’ he said, pressing the power button on the computer.

      Nothing happened. We sat in an awkward awful tense atmosphere while he became frustrated with the computer. He pressed the power button over and over again, tested the socket, unplugged it, plugged it in again.

      ‘Just check the—’

      ‘I don’t need your help, thank you. Please take your hands off the—’

      ‘Let me just—’

      ‘Get your hands off the—’

      ‘… twiddle the connection here—’

      ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d just—’

      ‘There.’

      I sat back. The computer made a whirring noise.

      He took a slow breath. ‘Thank you.’

      He didn’t mean it.

      ‘Where did you get that computer – 1980?’

      ‘Yeah, about the same time as you got that jacket,’ he said, eyes on the monitor.

      ‘That’s just childish.’ I pulled my jacket in tighter around me. I folded my arms, crossed my legs, looked away. This was a nightmare, this was worse than I ever could have imagined. My life was an absolute bastard with a chip on his shoulder.

      ‘What did you imagine this would be?’ he asked, finally breaking the silence.

      ‘I didn’t know what this would be,’ I said, still in a huff.

      ‘But you must have imagined something.’

      I shrugged, then thought of one of the images I’d had of me and Life in a canoe somewhere picturesque, him rowing, me reading from a book of poetry in a pretty sun hat and a Cavali dress I’d seen in a magazine that I couldn’t afford – the magazine as well as the dress. I thought of me in a magazine doing my interview about Life with blowdried hair, a full face of make-up, contact lenses, a draped asymmetric dress, good lighting. Maybe even a vase of lemons and limes beside me. I sighed and finally looked at him again. ‘I thought it would be like a therapy session. You’d ask me about my job, my family, if I’m happy, that kind of thing.’

      ‘Have you ever been to a therapy session?’

      ‘No.’

      He looked at me intensely.

      I sighed. ‘Yes. Once. When I quit my job. It was around the time I dumped my boyfriend and bought a new apartment.’

      He didn’t blink. ‘You were fired. Your boyfriend left you and you’re renting a studio flat.’

      I gave him a weak smile. ‘Just testing you.’

      ‘It would help the whole process if you didn’t lie to me.’

      ‘They’re not lies if the end result is the same.’

      He lit up a little, if that was possible for him. He undimmed anyway.

      ‘Tell me how that works.’

      ‘Okay, so if I was to say that I won the lottery then that would be a barefaced lie because I’d clearly have no money but I would have to live my life as if I was a millionaire which would be complicated to say the least, but if I say I quit my job it doesn’t matter because I no longer work there so I don’t have to keep up the pretence of going there every day. If I say I bought a new apartment, it’s not a lie because the fact is I don’t live in the old one any more and I’m living in a new one.’

      ‘And the last thing you said.’

      ‘What thing?’

      ‘About your boyfriend.’

      ‘It’s the same thing.’ To my surprise, I struggled saying it because I knew he wanted me to say it. ‘Saying that … I dumped him is the same thing as saying … you know … the other way around …’

      ‘That he left you.’

      ‘Well, yeah.’

      ‘Because …’

      ‘Because the outcome is still the same.’

      ‘Which is …’

      ‘That we’re not together.’ And on that note, my eyes filled up. I hated my eyes, the deceiving bastards. Mortified is not the word. I can’t remember the last time I cried over Blake, I was so over him I couldn’t even begin to explain it but it was like when someone asks you if there’s something wrong over and over again, and usually after a while something is wrong – you’re angry and you want to physically hurt them. The same thing was happening now, because he was making me say all those words, making me say them out loud in a method of trying to fool me into admitting something he thought I hadn’t dealt with; it was as though it was working and I was feeling sad for that person that he thought I was. But I wasn’t that person. I was fine. Everything was fine.

      I wiped my eyes roughly before any tears fell. ‘I’m not sad,’ I said angrily.

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘So tell me about your job.’

      ‘I love my job,’ I began. ‘It gives me an enormous sense of satisfaction. I love working with people, the communication with the public, the innovative business environment. I feel like I’m doing something worthwhile, helping people, connecting with people, that I can direct them onto the right path, make sure that they are guided. Of course the enormous plus—’

      ‘Sorry to interrupt you. Can we just clarify what it is that you do?’

      ‘Yes.’

      He looked down and read, ‘You translate instruction manuals for your company?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And this company makes fridges, cookers, ovens, that kind of thing.’

      ‘Yes, they are the largest appliance-manufacturing firm in Europe.’

      ‘Okay, carry on.’

      ‘Thank you. Where was I? Of course, the enormous plus side to my work is the people I work with. They are the kind of people who inspire and motivate me to reach further and higher not just in my field of employment but in my life.’

      ‘Okay.’ He rubbed his forehead. It was flaky. ‘These people that you work with are the people you refer to, in private, as Graham the Cock, Quentin aka Twitch, Louise the Nosy Bitch, Mary the Mouse, Steve the Sausage and Edna Fish Face.’

      I kept a straight face. I was quite impressed by my imaginative nicknames. ‘Yes.’

      He sighed. ‘Lucy, you’re lying again, aren’t you.’

      ‘Not really. They do make me want to be a better person – better than them. They do make me want to reach further and higher in my office so that I can get away from them. See? Not a lie. Same outcome.’

      He sat back and studied me, ran his hand across his stubble and I could hear the scratching sound.

      ‘Okay you want to hear the absolute truth about that job or about any job?’ I offered. ‘Fine. Here it is. I’m not one of those people who lives and breathes their job, I don’t take it so seriously that I want to stay longer than I’m paid for or want to socialise with the people I spend most of my waking hours with and would never choose to say more than two words to in the real world. I’ve stayed in that job for two and a half years because I like that gym membership is included, even if the gym equipment is crap and the room stinks to high heaven of smelly jockstraps, it saves