Drift Stumble Fall

by M. Jonathan Lee

  She listened for a moment and then covered the mouthpiece.

  “It’s the police,” she whispered.

  Kevin couldn’t hear the voice at the other end of the telephone, so instead he watched Rosie’s expression. It was difficult to tell from her face what was being said. At one stage, she wagged her finger toward the lounge, and Kevin got up from the table and opened the door. Bill was still sleeping.

  Rosie nodded and then thanked the police officer. She pushed the button on the phone and put it down slowly on its cradle. Then she turned and looked at Kevin. Tears filled her eyes, and her mouth cracked. She was just able to tell Kevin that the bones were not Victoria’s before she collapsed into his arms.

  CHAPTER_THIRTY-NINE

  You’re describing every family on the planet.

  The tree is up.

  It has taken me more than an hour, but its bare branches now await decoration. In this time, Oscar has managed to step on two baubles, reducing them to nothing more than piles of glittery plastic dust. On both occasions he cried, not because of the pain, but rather the fear he may get into trouble. He is still walking with a mock limp, like a pirate who has had an inch taken off his false leg. Hannah has prepared a colour- coordinated queue of decorations which reaches from beneath the television and snakes across the room and back again. She has already stated that this will be the order they will be added to the tree.

  Lisa and Dina have been discussing a number of important topics whilst stuffing their faces with chocolate biscuits from a tin we were supposed to be saving for Christmas. I have tried my best not to listen, but I couldn’t help but hear them discussing how many snowflakes are falling outside each minute. Dina believes that it is ‘more than a hundred’. They’ve also covered whether the TV show Blind Date ever actually had a blind contestant. Dina has restated her take on the historical inconsistences of Titanic, and they have both agreed that this evening we will watch Jurassic Park together. God help us.

  “Right, it’s ready,” I say, placing the last of the lights around the tree. I plug them in, and the room illuminates. “Excellent,” says Lisa, rubbing her hands together. She is just about to get up when the door is pushed open. It’s Kenneth. He smiles at me and nods. I return the smile and he looks instantly at ease. He needn’t have.

  “Oh, here he is,” says Dina ominously, “the bloody tractor man.”

  I’m not quite sure what she means, but I don’t have to wait for long.

  “Volume of a bloody tractor. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

  Kenneth lowers his eyes, and at that very second he reminds me of Oscar just as he is about to be reprimanded for some act of wanton vandalism around the house.

  “I told you not to drink much, didn’t I? Before you left.”

  Kenneth nods, and I see him move slightly back behind the safety of the door. He manages to give me a quick glance. From my position on the floor, I flash a half-smile in return. A male- solidarity-I-feel-your-pain look.

  I am unsure how the next bit happens, because Lisa was definitely looking at her father. I wouldn’t have risked the smile if not.

  “I don’t know why you’re smirking,” she says suddenly, turning to me. My smile disappears instantly. Dina turns to face me.

  “It’s your fault he drank so much,” Lisa continues.

  “Well…” I begin.

  “Richard should have watched him, but…” Dina speaks sharply but quietly. I think of an SS officer pacing a room, considering his prisoner’s fate as the prisoner listens. She turns back to Kenneth. “He should have known better. Shouldn’t you?”

  Kenneth nods.

  “Pardon?” Dina says sarcastically. “Yes,” says Kenneth quietly. “Speak up, man.”

  Kenneth coughs. “Yes.” “So, why did you do it?” “What?”

  “Drink so much.”

  “I don’t know, love,” hesays. He isresigned. His voice suggests that he has had this or a similar conversation countless times during their marriage. There really is no escape or victory to be gained.

  “Don’t ‘love’ me.” “Sorry.”

  The look on Dina’s face is one of pure disgust. A look that says that she won’t be satisfied until she has fully dismantled Kenneth’s self-worth. It seems that she is intent on destroying him, and if I had never met them before, I would bet my life that she categorically hated him.

  The room is silent for a moment. The kids kneel on the floor, mute. Dina lets out a loud sigh, which sounds like a full stop to the conversation. An indication that it is all over. It seems that the storm is finally moving from overhead to the outskirts of town.

  “Well, don’t think you are going to the pub again this

  Christmas.”

  “Okay,” nods Kenneth. “Tea?”

  “It’s the least you can do,” says Dina.

  After we’ve all had a cup of tea, I leave the lounge and set up my computer in the dining room. Once again, I pull up my work emails on my phone to find the office is closed. I had figured this would be the case (and it’s a good thing, as it’s already past eleven). I cannot imagine that any roads would be accessible anyway. I go upstairs and grab my notebook, which I slide down the back of my pyjamas just in case I am ambushed on my way back down.

  I left Lisa to decorate the tree with the children. Work was my excuse to escape, but the real reason is that I can’t stand the stress of being around them all. Aside from that, I also know that when I place a decoration on the tree, Lisa will remove it and hang it on the adjacent branch. She is extremely particular about where each decoration goes. The year before last, I waited until she went to bed and then switched them around to see if she even noticed. Don’t ask me how, but she did. And she wasn’t happy.

  At the dining room table, I think about my impending departure and begin to scribble down a list of pros and cons in my notebook. I write ‘LEAVING’ in capitals across the top and divide the page into two halves.

  I am both sorry and pleased to say that an hour later I have listed twenty-six reasons to leave and three to stay. I wrote the list as honestly as I could. I do have to keep reminding myself that the act of leaving is entirely selfless. I get pangs of guilt, coupled with sadness, when I believe that my actions will mean that I am weak. That somehow I couldn’t hack the family thing and basically gave up.

  This isn’t the case at all. I am doing this for everybody.

  Yes, I want the opportunity to start over. To actually live the life that I want to live, now I have finally discovered what that life is. And that life, sadly, doesn’t include Lisa, or the children. Or my work. My friends.

  But it’s not just about me.

  If I stayed here, I would be doing a disservice to everyone I’ve just named. None of them are getting the real me. They are getting a fraudulent, playing-along-with-everyone-else Richard. Family man Richard. Do anything for anyone Richard. A brightly polished wooden floor riddled with woodworm beneath. And clearly, this isn’t fair on anybody. I would rather let my wife and kids have the opportunity to live their life with somebody who wants to live that life. Isn’t giving it all up for them the ultimate sacrifice? The ultimate proclamation of love? I spend the afternoon working on my plan to escape from England to the Midwest. I decide that Lyon is indeed the place to go first. My plan is to fly out in two days’ time. I have booked myself into a well-known international hotel chain in the centre of the city for four nights. My plan is to spend two days there, ensuring that I am seen by the hotel staff. As it is wintertime, I will arrive wearing heavy winter clothes, gloves, a hat. Once I make it to my room, I will remove all the hair from my face and head. This new version of me will be the one that the staff become accustomed to during my short visit. I will leave the hotel in my suit and woollen coat the morning after I arrive, around the time that people usually leave for office work. I’ll spend the day away from the hotel, picking up some new jeans, a jumper, a t-shirt and some new footwear. Around six o’clock, I’ll return to the hotel and get ch
anged into my new clothes. I’ll ensure that I am seen in the hotel restaurant at dinner.

  The following morning, I’ll leave my hotel room in my suit and make myself scarce for the day. I’ll repeat the evening meal, and have a friendly chat with the waiter. He’ll remember me as cheerful and carefree. For years to come, there will always be an element of mystery about whether it was actually me who checked into the hotel. It will be my name, but the physical description won’t quite match. It’s enough to generate some confusion.

  And then, on my third and final morning, I’ll go down to the hotel reception in my suit, my passport in hand. There will a memorable conversation with the receptionist, who will direct me to a local notaire, and I will inform her that he needs to see my passport for ‘business and anti-money-laundering regulations’.

  I’ll become purposely confused by the directions, and she will have to repeat them three or four times. We will both laugh, and my laugh will be just loud enough to attract the attention of a few other guests in the hotel lobby, who will remember me much later on.

  I’ll leave the hotel with just my briefcase, containing some random work-related paperwork along with my new change of clothes. The rest of my belongings will remain in my room, just as I left them. Ready for the hotel staff to find them a day, maybe two later.

  Then I’ll find somewhere to change out of my suit and discard it where it won’t be found. I’ll use my bank card for the last time, withdrawing the final five hundred pounds I need. This will go with the monies I withdrew just before I left (for the ‘car repair’ and to ‘pay the expenses for the trip to Lyon’). I’ll then have about two thousand pounds in cash to facilitate my transfer to Latin America.

  My briefcase (containing my wallet) and my woollen coat and a shoe will be despatched into the murky waters of the Rhône and Saône respectively. From that moment on, I will be invisible. It will be just me, my cash, my passport and the clothes I am wearing.

  From Lyon, I will take a bus to Nice, and another into the mountains of Andorra. No need to show a passport for the trip into the ski villages. On arrival, I’ll leave again, this time on a bus bound for Spain in the west. From there…well, my notebook doesn’t quite go that far. I’m undecided what my next move will be.

  I flip open the laptop lid less than a second before Lisa enters the room, my sudden movement causing the pages in my notebook to turn. I wonder if she could see me scribbling my notes through the glass door. If she could, she doesn’t say anything.

  I smile.

  “The tree’s finished,” she says, her eyes bright.

  I edge my finger across to the power switch on the laptop. I can feel the hard drive begin to spin. At this moment, the sound of the fan coming to life is all I can hear. I cough to cover its sound. She may be suspicious that I’ve come in here to work and have only just booted up the machine. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “You coming?” she says.

  “Yep, sure.” I push my chair back and half get to my feet. “You okay?” she says.

  “Yep, just work.” I nod at the laptop and instantly realise I’ve made a mistake. Her eyes follow the nod but don’t make it to the laptop. They stop at the notebook. I can tell immediately that she’s seen my bold capitals.

  “Leaving?” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking the notebook from the table and closing the cover. I get to my feet. “You shouldn’t really have seen that.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, er…” I need to think quickly. “It’s, er, just a list of possible redundancies.”

  “Oh God,” she says, “things that bad?” “Hmm,” I nod.

  “Just before Christmas as well,” she says. “That’s sad.”

  “Yep.”

  She comes closer and we meet at the halfway line of the dining room table. “Wish they’d bugger off,” she says quietly. “Who?”

  “Mum and Dad,” she says. “Absolutely doing my head in.”

  I blow air out from my nose and smile. I know from experience that it is not safe to verbally agree. My exhalation is ambiguous enough.

  “I just want them to go now.” Lisa puts her arms around me. “I wish the snow would melt. I want it to be just us again.”

  Today is the first day that we haven’t had any fresh snow. I take a slight step backwards and Lisa releases her grip.

  “I may have to go to Lyon,” I lie. “Lyon? Why?”

  “Work,” I say.

  “When?” “Soon, I think.”

  “Oh, no. When will you know?”

  “Perhaps this afternoon. I’m expecting an email.”

  “That’s rubbish,” she says. “I want you all to myself. I don’t feel like I’ve seen you.”

  “I’ll try to get out of it,” I say. “Lyon’s why I’ve got to work all afternoon.”

  She sighs and kisses me on the lips. “Poor you.”

  I try to look sad. Surprisingly, I don’t find it too difficult. “Anyway,” she says in a more enthusiastic tone, “come and see the tree.”

  She threads her fingers between mine and we walk toward the lounge. I’m acutely aware that my notebook lies unguarded next to the laptop.

  CHAPTER_FORTY

  Full speed ahead. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred pounds.

  It is during dessert that evening that I tell Lisa and the rest of the family that unfortunately I will have to travel to Lyon. I persuade her that I could have found myself on the ‘redundancy list’ had I not agreed to it. Of all my lies she really should’ve picked up on this. I am one of the least likely to be made redundant. I realise that I need to be far more careful with the flowery embellishments that I’ve begun to add to my lies for verisimilitude.

  Kenneth swallows a mouthful of apple pie and custard, then he silently burps and says, “That’s right, Richard. Make yourself indispensable.”

  “Who’s Lee-on?” asks Hannah.

  “It’s a place,” says Lisa, turning to me. “When?” “Two days,” I say.

  “Two days?” Her voice is a mix of disappointment and anger at my employers for such short notice. The injustice for me. Weirdly, I actually feel sorry for her.

  “’Fraid so. Back on the twenty-fourth. Weather permitting.”

  “Christmas Eve?”

  “Are you going away, Daddy?” asks Hannah. “Yeah, I have to. For work.”

  Hannah screws up her nose. “For how many sleeps?”

  “Only three,” I say.

  “Will you be back for Father Christmas coming?” she says.

  I swallow and nod. I didn’t expect to feel this way.

  Oscar clicks on to what is happening. He shuffles alongside Dina and snuggles into her. She strokes his hair. “Daddy going away?” he says.

  “Not for long,” I lie. “To prison?” he says. “No, not to prison.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” he says. “Stay home.”

  “I have to go. For work.”

  I’m not sure why, but I didn’t expect there to be any kind of backlash. I didn’t expect that anyone would particularly care. I smile at Oscar and he immediately turns away, pushing himself into Dina’s side. His face is hidden from view.

  “Are they allowed to do that?” asks Dina. “Do what?”

  “Well, just send you away, just like that?”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” I say. I could really do without any questions.

  “Well, that doesn’t seem right to me. They can’t just send you away before Christmas,” says Dina.

  “I think they can, Mum,” Lisa interjects. She smiles at me, and there is something in her smile that I haven’t seen for a long time. A look of genuine warmth, of admiration. Her eyes match her smile, as if she is proud of me and the person I’ve become. I smile back.

  “What is it you actually have to do when you get there, son?”

  Kenneth says.

  I am caught off guard. “Er, well, it’s complicated really.”

  Kenneth places his knife and
fork across his plate. He wipes his mouth with his napkin.

  “Try me,” he says, smiling.

  I’m not sure whether I am being paranoid or not, but there is something in his manner that is unfamiliar to me.

  “Well, er, it’s a work thing. Basically, it’s looking at cost-cutting. Margins. Staff wages. Tax. That type of thing…”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you need to go to Lyon?”

  “That’s where the cost centre is.”

  Oscar sits up and looks across the table at me. It seems that the words ‘cost centre’ have piqued his interest. It must be in the genes.

  “In Lyon?” Kenneth says.

  “Yes.”

  I don’t like the way he is questioning me. He reminds me of a TV detective who knows something the criminal doesn’t. As if he’s leading me into a trap.

  “You seem very interested in France, Dad?” says Lisa.

  He nods and smiles at her. “I just feel bad for Richard,” he says. “Especially before Christmas.” He turns to me. “Have you been out to Lyon before?”

  He knows that I haven’t. “No, first time,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. As if there is a silver lining to the trip. It comes out all wrong and my voice wavers from a baritone to a cracked, high-pitched squeal. I pat my chest, to give the impression the strange sound was physical and didn’t come purely from fear.

  “I might come with you,” he says, scratching his eyebrow. I am feeling increasingly uncomfortable and my hands begin to sweat. There is an invisible connection between us. I know. He knows.

  “You what?” says Dina. “Don’t you fancy it, love?”

  He’s rubbing his eye now. He continues: “A few nights in Lyon. It’ll be a nice break before Christmas.”

  Dina considers his comment for a second, and then squeezes his hand. “I think I’ll stay here and help Lisa. You can go, though.”

  He nips the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and pulls them the length of his nose to his nostrils. He smiles at me.

  “What do you think, Richard?”