“Where am I?” Orla Keane stepped onto the stage as Dorothy Gale, looking around the community hall that, for the night, was a grand theater. Hundreds of faces stared back at her. “What is this strange land?”
Thirty minutes later, sweating, panting, and dizzy from jogging around in different directions, I recognized the first clearing up ahead. I stopped running and leaned over to hold on to a tree, to steady myself and catch my breath. I breathed a sigh of relief and was taken aback by the realization I’d been more anxious about being lost than I’d thought.
“I need a heart,” Derek cried out. “I need a brain,” Bernard announced theatrically. “And I need courage,” Marcus said quietly in his bored tone. The audience laughed as they all hopped off with Dorothy stage right, arm in arm.
It was brighter in the clearing, the moon shining down without the trees acting as a shield. The floor of the clearing was blue and in the center I could see a small white square sheet glistening. Despite my tiredness and the pain in my chest, I began to run toward the photograph. I knew I was out longer than I had intended to be and I had promised Helena I would be there for her. A mixture of emotions rushed through me as I felt such pressure to find the photograph and to be there for Helena and my new friends. I wasn’t concentrating as I stupidly ran at top speed in the dark, in Barbara Langley’s heeled shoes. I landed unevenly on a rock and felt my ankle twist. The pain shot up my leg, forcing me off balance. The ground came up to meet me quickly before there was anything I could do to stop it.
“You mean I had the power inside myself to go home all the time?” Orla Keane said innocently. The audience laughed.
“Yes, Dorothy,” Carol Dempsey, dressed as the good witch Glinda, said, in her usual gentle tones. “Just click your heels together and say the words.”
Helena grabbed Joseph’s hand more tightly and he squeezed back.
Orla Keane closed her eyes and began to click her heels together. “There’s no place like home,” she said, pulling everyone into her mantra. “There’s no place like home.”
Joseph looked across at his wife and saw a tear roll down her face. He raised a thumb to stop it from dropping from her chin. “Our kipepeo has flown.”
Helena nodded, and another tear fell.
I felt everything go from under me, my head smashed violently against something hard. I felt the pain shoot down my spine and everything went black.
On stage Orla Keane tapped her ruby slippers together one last time before disappearing in a puff of smoke, compliments of Bobby’s firecrackers. “There’s no place like home.”
54
I don’t think she’s here.” Graham walked toward Jack in the wooded area of Glin. In the distance, fireworks were going off over Foynes as the village celebrated the last few moments of the Irish Coffee Festival. They both stopped to look up.
“I have a feeling you might be right,” Jack finally admitted. They had spent the last few hours searching the scene where Sandy had deserted her car and, despite the fact it had fallen dark mid-search, Jack had insisted they continue. These were not practical searching conditions and he could see the others checking their watches. “Thanks for letting me try,” Jack said as they walked along the pathway back to the car.
Suddenly there was a loud crash; a sound as though a tree had come down. A thud and a female cry. The men both froze and each looked at the other.
“Which way did that come from?” Graham asked, spinning around, shining his flashlight in every direction. They heard groaning coming from farther up on their left and all involved rushed to find her. Jack’s flashlight fell upon Sandy, lying on her back, her leg looking dislocated, blood on her hand and staining her clothes.
“Oh, my God.” He rushed forward and kneeled down by her side. “She’s here!” he called to the others, and they hurried over crowding around her.
“OK, let’s move back, give her space.” Graham radioed for an ambulance.
“I don’t want to move her. Her head is bleeding heavily and it looks like her leg’s broken too. Oh, God, Sandy, talk to me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jack Ruttle,” he said, relieved she’d opened her eyes.
“Keep her talking, Jack,” Graham said.
“Jack?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Are you missing, too?”
“What? No.” He frowned. “No, I’m not missing.” He looked at Graham worriedly. Graham made motions to keep her talking.
“Where am I?” she asked in confusion, looking around. She tried to move her head and called out in pain.
“Don’t move. An ambulance is on its way. You’re in Glin, in Limerick.”
“Glin?” she repeated.
“Yes, we were supposed to meet here last week, remember?”
“Am I home?” Her eyes filled with tears, which quickly fell over her mud-streaked face. “Donal,” she said suddenly, stopping her tears. “Donal wasn’t there.”
“Donal wasn’t where?”
“I was in this place, Jack. Oh, my God, this place where all the missing people were. Helena, Bobby, Joseph, Jenny-May, oh, my God, Helena’s play. I’m missing her play.” Tears fell quickly now. “I need to get up.” She struggled to move. “I have to go to the dress rehearsal.”
“You have to wait for the ambulance to come, Sandy. Don’t move.” He looked back to Graham. “She’s delusional. Where the hell is the ambulance?”
Graham radioed again. “On its way.”
“Who did this to you, Sandy? Tell me who did this and we’ll get them, I promise.”
“Nobody did.” She looked confused. “I fell. I told you I was in the place…where’s my photograph, I’ve lost a photograph. Oh, Jack, I’ve something to tell you,” she said softly now. “It’s about Donal.”
“Go on,” he urged.
“He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in…the place with everyone else. He’s not missing.”
“I know,” Jack said sadly. “We found him this morning.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“How did you know?”
“He wasn’t there, with all the missing people,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Stay with me, Sandy,” Jack said, with urgency in his voice.
My eyes opened to bright white, and my lids felt heavy. I looked around, but my sockets were sore. My head pounded. I groaned.
“Sweetheart…” My mum’s face appeared from above.
“Mum.” I instantly began crying and she reached out her arms to hold me.
“It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK now,” she said soothingly, while smoothing down my hair on my head.
“I’ve missed you so much.” I cried into her shoulder, ignoring the pulsing pain around the rest of my body.
Her patting stopped when I said that, the shock of my words freezing her, and then it slowly began again. I felt Dad kiss the top of my head.
“I missed you, Dad.” I continued crying.
“We’ve missed you too, love.” His voice shook as he spoke.
“I found the place,” I said excitedly, the sounds and visions around me still blurred and faraway. My own voice was muffled. “I found the place where all the missing things go.”
“Yes, sweetheart, Jack told us,” Mum said in a worried tone.
“No, I’m not mad, I didn’t imagine it. I was really there.”
“Yes.” She hushed me. “You need to rest, sweetheart.”
“The photographs are in my shirt pocket,” I said, trying to explain all the details clearly, but it felt muddled in my head. “It’s not my shirt pocket, it’s Barbara Langley from Ohio’s. I found it. I put them in my pocket.”
“The guards didn’t find anything, honey,” Dad said quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “There aren’t any photographs.”
“They must have fallen out,” I mumbled, getting tired of trying to explain. “Is Gregory here?” I asked.
“No, shall we call him?” my mother asked excitedly. ??
?I wanted to call him but Harold wouldn’t let me.”
“Call him” was the last thing I remember saying.
I awoke in my childhood bedroom and stared at the same floral wallpaper I was forced to look at all throughout my teens. I had hated it then. I couldn’t wait to see the back of it, but now it gave me a strange sense of comfort. I smiled, feeling delighted to be home for the first time in my life. There was no bag by the door, no feeling of claustrophobia or fear of losing things. I had been at home now for three days, catching up on sleep and resting my injured and weary body. I had broken my leg, twisted my ankle, and had ten stitches on the crown of my head, but I was home and I was happy. I often thought of Helena, Bobby, Joseph, and Wanda, and felt a longing to be with them but knew that they would understand what had happened, and wondered if they perhaps understood the entire time.
There was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” I called.
Gregory peeked his head around, then entered with a tray of food in his hands.
I groaned. “Not more food. I think you’re all trying to fatten me up.”
“We’re trying to make you well again,” he said somberly, placing the tray on the bed. “Mrs. Butler brought you the flowers.”
“That’s so sweet of her,” I said gently. “Do you still think I’m crazy?” I asked.
I had told him about where I had been as soon as I had felt well enough to explain it properly. My parents had also obviously asked him to talk to me about it as it was issue number one on the agenda, although he was keen not to take the role of counselor. Not anymore. That was then, this is now.
He avoided the question. “I spoke to Jack Ruttle today.”
“Good. I hope you apologized.”
“I definitely apologized.”
“Good,” I repeated, “because if it wasn’t for him I would literally be lying in a ditch somewhere. My own boyfriend didn’t care enough to join the search party,” I said, in a huff.
“Honestly, Sandy, if I joined a search party every time you disappeared…” He had meant it as a joke but it changed the mood.
“Well, it won’t be happening again.”
He looked unsure.
“I promise, Gregory. I’ve found what I was looking for.” I reached out to touch his cheek.
He smiled but I was sure it would take time before he’d truly believe me. The past few days I had questioned whether I believed myself.
“What did Jack say on the phone?”
“That he went back to the place where he’d found you to look for the photographs you’ve been talking about, and he didn’t find anything.”
“Does he think I’m crazy?”
“Probably, but he still loves you because he’s convinced you and your mum helped him find his brother.”
“He’s a sweet guy. I fit wasn’t for him…” I repeated, just to annoy Gregory.
“If you didn’t already have a broken leg, I’d break it for you,” he threatened, but then became serious again. “You know how your mum received a phone call from the Sheens? The people who bought your grandparents’ house all those years ago?”
“Yes.” I tore the crust off a slice of toast and put it in my mouth. “I thought that was weird. I can’t believe they were ringing to tell her they were moving.”
Gregory cleared his throat. “Actually…well, that’s not why they called; your dad concocted that story.”
“What? Why?” I put the toast down, no longer hungry.
“He didn’t want to worry you.”
“Tell me, Gregory.”
“Well, your parents may not agree with me but I think it’s important you know that they’d actually called to say that they’d found a teddy bear belonging to you. A Mr. Pobbs, lying underneath a bed in the spare room with your name embroidered on his striped pajamas.”
I gasped. “Everything’s turning up again.”
“They found this particularly unusual because they had used that room as storage for a number of years and only turned it back into a bedroom last month. They had never noticed the teddy bear before.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Your parents didn’t want to upset you again, with you talking about this missing place and—”
“It’s not a missing place, it’s a place where missing people and things go,” I said angrily, realizing once again how stupid it sounded.
“OK, OK, calm down.” He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Gregory, I know when something’s wrong with you. Tell me.”
“Well.” He wrung his hands together. “After their phone call I gave further thought to your…theory.”
I rolled my eyes with frustration. “What disorder do you think I have now?”
“Let me finish,” he said, his voice raised, and an angry silence fell between us. After a while he spoke again. “When I was emptying your hospital bag I found this in your shirt pocket.”
I held my breath as he removed something from his top pocket.
The photograph of me with Jenny-May.
I took it from his hands as though it were the most fragile thing in the world. Trees framed the photograph.
“Do you believe me now?” I whispered, running my finger over her face.
He shrugged. “You know how my mind works, Sandy. For me this kind of thinking is nonsensical.” I looked to him angrily. “But,” he said firmly before I had a chance to snap, “this is very difficult to explain.”
“That’s good enough for now.” I accepted what he said, holding the photograph close to me.
“I’m sure Mrs. Butler would want to see that,” he said.
“Do you think?” I was unsure.
He thought about it. “I think she’s the only woman you could show it to. I think she’s the only woman you should show it to.”
“But how could I explain it?”
He looked at me, spread his hands apart and shrugged. “This time, you’re the one with the answer.”
55
Sometimes, people can go missing right before our very eyes. Sometimes, people discover you, even though they’ve been looking at you the entire time. Sometimes, we lose sight of ourselves when we’re not paying enough attention.
Days later, when I was feeling fit enough to venture outside on my crutches, under the gaze of Gregory and my parents, I hobbled my way across the road to Mrs. Butler’s house with the photograph of her daughter in my pocket. The lantern-shaped porch light provided a warm orange glow above the door and drew me in, like a moth to a flame. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door, once again feeling a responsibility and knowing that I’d wished for this moment my entire life.
We all get lost once in a while, sometimes by choice, sometimes due to forces beyond our control. When we learn what it is our soul needs to learn, the path presents itself. Sometimes we see the way out but wander farther and deeper despite ourselves; the fear, the anger, or the sadness preventing us from returning. Sometimes we prefer to be lost and wandering; sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes we find our own way out. But regardless, always, we are found.
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to Peternelle van Arsdale, Ellen Archer, and the Hyperion team.
Thank you, Marianne Gunn O’Connor, for continuing to inspire and motivate me. Also thanks to the incredibly supportive Pat Lynch and Vicki Satlow, and thank you to Dermot Hobbs and John-Paul Moriarty.
Special thanks to David, Mimmie, Dad, Georgina, Nicky, and all my family; Kellys, Aherns, Keoghans, and of course, the witches of Eastwick—Paula Pea, Susana, and SJ.
Thank you to all those who read my books—for the greatest motivation of all.
About the Author
Cecelia Ahern is the author of the international bestsellers PS, I Love You; Love, Rosie; and If You Could See Me Now. Foreign rights to her novels have been sold to more than forty countries, and film righ
ts have been bought by Walt Disney Pictures and Warner Bros. She is also the co-creator, along with screenwriter Don Todd, of the ABC hit sitcom Samantha Who? She lives in Dublin.
Also by Cecelia Ahern
PS, I Love You
Love, Rosie
If You Could See Me Now
Copyright
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HERE. Copyright © 2007 by Cecelia Ahern. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Hyperion e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition June 2009 ISBN 978-1-4013-9468-4
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Cecelia Ahern, A Place Called Here
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