The Gift (9 page)

“What’s this?”

“A dinner tonight. A very important one. At eight p.m. That I
have
to be at.” He paced the area in front of her while she read it more carefully.

“But you can’t; you have the conference call. It took us weeks to set that up. If you don’t talk to them tonight, they’ll go with Raven and Byrne, and you don’t want that.”

“I know, Alison,” he snapped. “But I need to be at this.” He stabbed a finger on the page. “Make it happen.” Then he rushed into his office and slammed the door. He froze before he got to his desk. On it his mail was laid out neatly.

He backtracked and opened his office door again.

Alison snapped to it quickly and looked up at him. “Yes?” she said eagerly.

“The mail.”

“Yes?”

“When did it get here?”

“First thing this morning. Gabe delivered it the same time as always.”

“He couldn’t have,” Lou objected. “Did you see him?”

“Yes,” she said, looking concerned. “He brought me a coffee, too. Just before nine, I think. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

“Em, Lou, just one thing before you go…Is this a bad time to go over some details for your dad’s party?”

She’d barely finished her sentence before he’d gone back into his office and slammed the door behind him once again.

T
HERE ARE MANY TYPES OF
wake-up calls in the world. For Lou Suffern, a wake-up call was a duty for his devoted alarm clock to perform on a daily basis. At six a.m. every day, when he was in bed sleeping and dreaming, thinking of yesterday and planning tomorrow, his alarm would ring dutifully and loudly. It would reach out from the bedside table and prod him right in the subconscious, taking him away from his slumber and dragging him into the world of the awakened. Lou would wake up; eyes closed, then open. Body in bed, then out of bed; naked, then clothed. This, for Lou, was what waking up was about. It was the transition period from sleep to work.

For other people wake-up calls took a different form. For Alison, it was the pregnancy scare at sixteen that had forced her to make some choices; for Mr. Patterson, it was the birth of his first child that had made him see the world in a different light. For Alfred, it was his father’s loss of their millions when Alfred was a child, forcing him to attend public school for a year before his father made it all back. It changed him forever. For Ruth, her wake-up call happened on their last summer holiday, when she walked in on her husband with their twenty-six-year-old Polish nanny. For little five-year-old Lucy, it was when she looked out into the audience during her school play to see an empty seat beside her mother.

Today, though, Lou was experiencing a very different kind of wake-up call. Lou Suffern, you see, wasn’t aware that a person could be awakened when his eyes were already open. He didn’t realize that a person could be awakened when he was already out of his bed, dressed in a smart suit, doing deals and overseeing meetings. He didn’t realize a person could be awakened when he considered himself to be calm, composed, and collected, able to deal with life and all it had to throw at him. The alarm bells were ringing now, louder and louder in his ear, and only his subconscious could hear them. He was trying to turn the bells off, to hit the snooze button so that he could nestle back down in the lifestyle he felt cozy with, but it wasn’t working. He didn’t know that he couldn’t tell life when he was ready to learn, that life would instead teach him when it felt he was good and
ready. He didn’t know that he couldn’t press buttons and suddenly know it all; that it was the buttons in him that would be pressed.

Lou Suffern thought he already knew it all.

But he had only scratched the surface.

A
T SEVEN THAT EVENING, WHEN
the rest of his colleagues had been spat out of the office building and then sucked in by the spreading Christmas mania outside, Lou Suffern remained inside at his desk, staring at some files, feeling less like the dapper businessman and more like Aloysius, the schoolboy in detention whom he’d fought so hard over the years to leave behind.

Outside was black and cold. Lines of traffic filled every bridge and quay as people made their way home, counting down the days of this mad rush to Christmas. Harry in the mailroom was right: it was all moving too quickly, the buildup feeling more of an occasion than the moment itself. Lou’s head pulsated more than it had that morning, and his left eye throbbed as the migraine worsened. He lowered the intensity of the lamp on his desk, feeling sensitive to the light. He could barely think, let alone string a sentence together, and so he wrapped himself up in his cashmere coat and scarf and left his
office to go to the nearest pharmacy for some headache pills. He knew he was hung over, but he was also sure he was coming down with something; the last few days he’d felt extraordinarily unlike himself. Disorganized, unsure—traits that were surely due to illness.

Lights were out in all the offices; the hallways were dark, apart from a few emergency lights that remained on for the security guards doing their rounds. Lou pressed the elevator call button and waited for the sound of the thick wires pulling the elevator up the shaft to start up. Instead, the doors opened instantly, and he caught sight of himself in the elevator mirror: disheveled, tired. He pulled his coat around him tighter, stepped into the car, and before he had the opportunity to press a button, the doors automatically closed and the elevator immediately descended.

He pressed the ground-floor button, but it failed to light up. He pressed it again harder. Still nothing. He thumped it a few times and, with growing concern, watched as the light moved from each number on the panel to the next. Twelve, eleven, ten…The elevator picked up speed as it descended. Nine, eight, seven…It showed no signs of slowing. The elevator was rattling now as it sped along the wires, and, with growing fear and anxiety, Lou began to press all of the buttons in front of him, alarm included, but it was to no avail. The elevator didn’t respond, and it continued to fall through the shaft on a course of its own choosing.

Only floors away from the ground level, Lou moved
away from the doors quickly and hunched down, huddling in the corner of the car. He tucked his head between his knees, crossed his fingers, and braced himself in the crash position.

But seconds later, the elevator slowed and suddenly stopped, shuddering a little from its abrupt halt. When Lou opened his eyes, which until that moment had been scrunched shut, he saw that he’d stopped on the basement floor. Then the elevator omitted a cheery
ping
, and its doors slid open. He shuddered at the sight in front of him as he looked out. The basement was cold and dark, and the concrete ground dusty. Not wanting to get off in the basement, he pressed the ground-floor button again to return quickly to marble surfaces and carpets, to creamy toffee swirls and chromes, but the button still failed to light up; the elevator stayed open. He had no choice but to try to find the stairs so that he could climb up to the ground floor. As soon as he stepped out of the elevator and placed both feet on the basement floor, the doors behind him slid closed and the elevator ascended.

The basement was dimly lit. At the end of the corridor a fluorescent strip of light flashed on and off, which didn’t help his headache and made him lose his footing a few times. There was the loud hum of machines all around, and the ceilings revealed a complicated mess of electrics and wiring. The floor was cold and hard beneath his leather shoes and dust motes bounced up to cover his polished tips. As he moved along, searching for the exit, he heard the sound of music drifting out from under the
door at the end of a hallway that veered off to the right. “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea. Along the hallway on the opposite side, he saw a green sign depicting a man running illuminated above a metal door. He looked from the exit, back to the room from which music and light emanated. He glanced at his watch. He still had time to make his way to the pharmacy and—providing the elevators worked—back to his office for the conference call. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he made his way down the hall and drummed his knuckles against the closed door. The music was so loud he could barely hear his own knock, so he slowly opened the door and stuck his head in the room.

The sight stole words straight from his mouth.

Inside was a small stockroom, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with metal shelves, filled with everything from lightbulbs to toilet rolls. There were two aisles, both of them no more than ten feet in length, and it was the second aisle that caught Lou’s attention. Through the shelving units, light came from the ground. Walking closer to the aisle, he could see the familiar sleeping bag laid out from the wall. On the sleeping bag was Gabe, reading a book, so engrossed that he didn’t look up as Lou approached. On the lower shelves a row of candles was lit, the same scented kind that were dotted around all the office bathrooms, and a shadeless lamp sent out a small amount of orange light in the corner of the room. Gabe was wrapped up in the same dirty blanket that Lou recognized from Gabe’s days out on the street. A
kettle was on a shelf and a plastic sandwich bag was half empty beside him. Gabe’s new suit hung from a shelf, still covered in plastic.

Gabe looked up then, and his book went flying from his hands, just missing one of the candles, as he sat up straight and alert.

“Lou,” he said, with a fright.

“Gabe,” Lou said, and he didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he should. The sight before him was sad. No wonder the man had been first at the office every morning. This small storeroom piled high with shelves of miscellaneous junk had become Gabe’s home.

“Are you going to tell?” Gabe asked, though he didn’t sound concerned, just interested.

Lou looked back at him and felt pity. “Does Harry know you’re here?”

Gabe shook his head.

Lou thought about it. “I won’t say a word.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ve been staying here all week?”

Gabe nodded.

“It’s cold in here.”

“Yeah. Heat goes off when everyone leaves.”

“I can get you a few blankets or, em, an electric heater or something, if you want,” Lou said, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out.

“Yeah, thanks, that would be good. Sit down.” Gabe pointed to a crate that was on the bottom shelf. “Please.”

Lou pushed up his coat sleeves as he reached for the crate, not wanting the dust and dirt to get on him, and he slowly sat down.

“Do you want a coffee? It’s black, I’m afraid; the latte machine isn’t working.”

“No, thanks. I just stepped out to get a few headache pills,” Lou replied, missing the joke while looking around in distraction. “By the way, I appreciate your driving me home last night.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How did you know where I lived?”

“I guessed,” Gabe said sarcastically, pouring himself some coffee from the kettle. At Lou’s look, he added, “Your house was the only one on the street with gates. Bad tasting gates, at that. They had a bird on top. A bird?”

“It’s an eagle,” Lou said defensively, and then finally came out with it. “Why did you want me to be late for work this morning?”

Gabe fixed those blue eyes on him, and despite the fact Lou had a six-figure salary and a multimillion-euro house in one of the most affluent areas in Dublin, and all Gabe had was this, Lou once again felt like the underdog, like he was being judged.

“Figured you needed the rest,” Gabe responded.

“Who are you to decide that?”

Gabe simply smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You don’t like me, do you, Lou?”

Well, it was direct. It was to the point, no beating around the bush, and Lou appreciated that. But before Lou had the opportunity to answer, Gabe continued.

“You’re worried about my presence in this building,” he said simply.

“Worried? No. You can sleep where you like. This doesn’t bother me.”

“That’s not what I mean. Do I threaten you, Lou?”

Lou threw his head back and laughed. It was exaggerated and he knew it, but he didn’t care. It had the desired effect. His laugh filled the room and echoed in the small concrete cell against the open ceiling of exposed wires. “Intimidated by you? Well, let’s see…” He held his hands out to indicate the room Gabe was living in. “Do I really need to say any more?” he said pompously.

“Oh, I get it.” Gabe smiled broadly, as though guessing the winning answer to a quiz. “I have fewer
things
than you. I forgot that meant something to you.” He laughed lightly and snapped his fingers, leaving Lou feeling stupid.

“Things aren’t important to me,” Lou defended himself weakly. “I’m involved in lots of charities. I give things away all the time.”

“Yes,” Gabe nodded solemnly, “even your word.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t keep that, either.” He started rooting in a shoe box on the second shelf. “Your head still at you?”

Lou nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Here.” Gabe retrieved a small container of pills. “You always wonder how I get from place to place? Take one of these.” He tossed them over to Lou.

Lou studied them. There was no label on the container.

“What are they?”

“They’re a little bit of magic,” Gabe said with a laugh. “When taken, everything becomes clear.”

“I don’t do drugs.” Lou handed them back, placing them on the end of Gabe’s sleeping bag.

“They’re not drugs.”

“Then what’s in them?”

“I’m not a pharmacist, just take them. All I know is that they work.”

“No, thanks.” Lou stood and prepared to leave.

“They’d help you a lot, you know, Lou.”

“Who says I need help?” Lou said. “You know what, Gabe? You asked me if I don’t like you. Overall, I don’t really mind you. I’m a busy man, I’m not much bothered by you. But this,
this
is what I don’t like about you, patronizing statements like that. I’m fine, thank you very much. My life is fine. All I have is a headache—and that’s it. Okay?”

Gabe simply nodded, and Lou turned around and made his way toward the door.

Gabe started again. “People like you—”

“Like what, Gabe?” Lou turned around and snapped, his voice rising with each sentence. “People like me what? Work hard? Like to provide for their families? Don’t sit on their asses on the ground all day waiting
for handouts? People like me who help people like you, who go out of their way to give you a job and make your life better…”

Had Lou waited to hear the end of Gabe’s sentence, he would have learned that Gabe was implying quite the opposite. Gabe was referring to people like Lou who were competitive. Ambitious people, with their eye on the prize instead of the task at hand. People who wanted to be the best for all the wrong reasons and who’d take almost any path to get there. Being the best was only slightly better than being in the middle, which was equal to being the worst. All were merely a state of being. It was how a person
felt
in that state and
why
that was the important thing.

Gabe wanted to explain to Lou that people like him were always looking at what the next person was doing, always looking to achieve more and greater things. Always wanting to be better. And the entire point of Gabe’s telling Lou Suffern about people like Lou Suffern was to warn him that people who constantly looked over their shoulders often bumped into things.

Paths are so much clearer when people stop looking at what everyone else is doing and instead concentrate on themselves. Lou couldn’t afford to bump into any more things at this point in the story. If he had, it would have surely ruined the ending, to which we’ve yet to arrive. Yes, Lou still had much to do.

But Lou didn’t stick around to hear any of that. He left the storeroom, shaking his head with disbelief at
Gabe’s cheekiness as he walked back down the corridor with the dodgy fluorescent lighting. He found his way to the exit and ran up the stairs to the ground floor.

Once he reached the warmth above, Lou was back in his comfort zone. The security guard looked up as Lou emerged from the emergency exit.

“There’s something wrong with the elevators,” Lou called out to him as he approached the elevator bank, not enough time now for him to get to a pharmacy and back for the conference call. He’d have to go straight up, feeling like this, head hot and mushy, with Gabe’s ridiculous words ringing in his ears.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” The security guard made his way over to Lou. He leaned over and pressed the call button, which lit up immediately. The elevator doors opened.

He looked at Lou oddly.

“Oh. Never mind. Thanks.” Lou got back in the elevator and made his way up to the fourteenth floor. He leaned his head against the mirror and closed his eyes, dreamed of being at home in bed with Ruth cozied up beside him, wrapping her arm and leg around him as she used to do while she slept.

When the elevator pinged on the fourteenth floor and the doors slid apart, Lou opened his eyes and screamed with fright.

Gabe stood directly before him, looking solemn, his nose almost touching the doors. He rattled the container of pills in Lou’s face.

“SHIT! GABE!”

“You forgot these.”

“I didn’t forget them.”

“They’ll get rid of that headache for you.”

Lou snatched the container of pills from Gabe’s hand and stuffed them deep into his trouser pocket.

“Enjoy.” Gabe smiled with satisfaction.

“I told you, I don’t do drugs.” Lou kept his voice low, even though he knew they were alone on the floor.

“And I told you they’re not drugs. Think of them as an herbal remedy.”

“A remedy for what, exactly?”

“For your problems, of which there are many. I believe I listed them for you already.”