A Place Called Here. Cecelia Ahern

laughing.

      ‘Do you miss her?’

      I thought about that one too. Would you miss a slap across the face every day? I felt like asking him. Once again I didn’t want him to think I was insensitive by saying no. He’d never fall in love with me and take me away from Leitrim then.

      He leaned forward in his chair. Oh, his eyes were so blue.

      ‘Your mum and dad told me you want to find Jenny-May – is this true?’

      Wow. Talk about getting the wrong end of the stick. I rolled my eyes, OK enough of this crap. ‘Mr Burton, I don’t want to seem rude or insensitive here because I know Jenny-May is missing and everyone is sad but …’ I trailed off.

      ‘Go on,’ he encouraged me, and I wanted to jump on him and kiss him.

      ‘Well, me and Jenny-May were never friends. She hated me. I miss her in a way that I notice she’s gone but not in a way that I want her back. And I don’t want her back or to find her. Just knowing where she is would be enough.’

      He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘Now, I know you probably thought that because Jenny-May was my friend and she went missing, that every time I lose something, like a sock, and try to find it, it’s like my way of finding Jenny-May and bringing her back.’

      His mouth dropped open a little.

      ‘Well, it’s a reasonable assumption, I suppose, Mr Burton, but it’s just not me. I’m really not that complicated. It’s just annoying that when things go missing, I don’t know where they go. Take, for instance, the Sellotape. Last night Mum was trying to wrap a present for Aunt Deirdre’s birthday but she couldn’t find the Sellotape. Now, we always leave it in the second drawer under the cutlery drawer. It’s always there, we never put it anywhere else and my mum and dad know how I am about things like that and so they really do put everything in their places. Our house is really tidy, honestly, so it’s not like things just get lost all the time in a mess. Anyway, I used the Sellotape on Saturday when I was doing my art homework – for which I got a crappy C today, by the way, even though Tracey Tinsleton got an A for drawing what looks like a squashed fly on a windscreen and that’s considered “real art” – but I promise I put it back in the drawer. Dad didn’t use it, Mum didn’t use it and I’m almost certain no one broke into the house just to steal some Sellotape. So I searched all evening for it but I couldn’t find it. Where is it?’

      Mr Burton was silent and slowly moved back and settled into his chair.

      ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said slowly. ‘You don’t miss Jenny-May Butler.’

      We both started laughing and for the first time ever, I didn’t feel bad about it.

      ‘Why do you think you’re here?’ Mr Burton got serious again after our bout of laughing.

      ‘Because I need answers.’

      ‘Answers like …?’

      I thought about it. ‘Where is the Sellotape that we couldn’t find last night? Where is Jenny-May Butler? Why does one of my socks always go missing in the washing machine?’

      ‘You think I can tell you where all these things are?’

      ‘Not specifics, Mr Burton, but a general indication would be fine.’

      He smiled at me. ‘Why don’t you let me ask you the questions for a moment and maybe through your answers, we’ll find the answers you want.’

      ‘OK, if you think that’ll work.’ Weirdo.

      ‘Why do you feel the need to know where things are?’

      ‘I have to know.’

      ‘Why do you feel you have to know?’

      ‘Why do you feel you have to ask me questions?’

      Mr Burton blinked and was silent for a second longer than he wanted, I could tell. ‘It’s my job and I get paid to do it.’

      ‘Paid to do it.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Mr Burton, you could have my Saturday job stacking toilet rolls and get paid but you chose to study for what – ten million years? – to get all of those scrolls you’ve hung on the walls.’ I looked around at his framed qualifications. ‘I’d say you went through all of that studying, all of those exams and ask all these questions for more reasons than just getting paid.’

      He smiled lightly and watched me. I don’t think he knew what else to say. And so there was a two-minute silence while he thought. Finally he put down his pen and paper and leaned towards me, resting his elbows on his knees.

      ‘I like to have conversations with people, I always have. I find that through talking about themselves people learn things that they didn’t know before. It’s a kind of self-healing. I ask questions because I like to help people.’

      ‘And so do I.’

      ‘You feel by asking questions about Jenny-May, you’re helping her or maybe her parents?’ He tried to hide the confusion from his eyes.

      ‘No, I’m helping myself.’

      ‘How does it help you? Isn’t not getting the answers frustrating you even more?’

      ‘Sometimes I find things, Mr Burton. I find the things that have just been misplaced.’

      ‘Isn’t everything that’s lost misplaced?’

      ‘To misplace something is to lose it temporarily by forgetting where you put it. I always remember where I put things. It’s the things that I don’t misplace that I try to find; the things that grow legs and walk away all by themselves that annoy me.’

      ‘Do you think it’s possible that somebody else, other than you, moves all these things?’

      ‘Like who?’

      ‘I’m asking you.’

      ‘Well, in the case of the Sellotape the answer is clearly no. In the case of the socks, unless somebody reaches into the washing machine and takes out my socks then the answer is no. Mr Burton, my parents want to help me. I don’t think that they would move things and then forget about it every single time. If anything, they are more aware of exactly where they put things.’

      ‘So what is your assumption? Where do you think these things are?’

      ‘Mr Burton, if I had an assumption, then I wouldn’t be here.’

      ‘You have no idea then? Even in your wildest dreams, during your most frustrating times when you’re vigorously searching into the early hours of the morning and you still can’t find it, have you any opinion at all as to where you think the missing things are?’

      Well, he’d clearly learned more about me from my parents than I thought, but having to answer this question truthfully I feared would mean he’d never fall in love with me. But I took a deep breath and told the truth anyway. ‘At times like that I’m convinced they are in a place where missing things go.’

      He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Do you think Jenny-May is there? Does it make you feel better to think that she’s there?’

      ‘Oh God.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘If someone killed her, Mr Burton, they killed her. I’m not trying to create imaginary worlds to make myself feel better.’

      He tried very hard not to move a muscle in his face.

      ‘But whether she’s alive now or not, why haven’t the Gardaí been able to find her?’

      ‘Would it make you feel better to just accept that sometimes there are mysteries?’

      ‘You don’t accept that, why should I?’

      ‘What makes you think I don’t?’

      ‘You’re a counsellor. You believe that every action has a reaction and all that kind of stuff. I read up on it before