Falling Over

by James Everington

  “Still five nights to go,” his grandma said, “and this one too of course.” She smiled but was obviously thinking of somewhere else, for her smile didn’t include Vince or his granddad. She seemed to realise she was being inattentive, for she suddenly smiled brightly at Vince. “Are you enjoying your holiday with your Grandma and Granddad?” she said.

  “Yes Grandma,” said Vince politely; then, because something more seemed to be required of him, “Maybe we could go on holiday together next year.”

  “Oh I should think so,” his granddad said through a mouthful of chips.

  “Vince I don’t think...” his grandma said simultaneously. She frowned, looked at her hands. She had hardly eaten anything, Vince noticed, as if she were nervous or excited about something. “People the same age as your granddad and I... Well, things can happen suddenly. That’s why I wanted to have this holiday now, just the three of us.”

  “Stop your prattle,” his grandfather said, “I’m as fit as a fiddle. Of course the boy can come away with us again. Who did you say he was?”

  Later they walked back by the river, where gnats hung like a shimmer across the path. Vince’s grandfather told him gnats only lived for twenty-four hours, but Vince didn’t know whether to believe him. “So they have to make hay while they can,” his granddad said with a smile that somehow made what he’d said rude, although it wasn’t (it didn’t make any sense to Vince). He’d expected his grandma to be annoyed again, but she just said “Amen” under her breath, and only Vince heard.

  He wondered if they’d be playing the same loud old music that night, and hoped that they would (whoever ‘they’ were) for then he’d be able to meet Alice downstairs again.

  Vince was the quickest walker of the three, but this evening his grandma kept pace with him, seemingly impatient to get back to the hotel, and the ticking clock in her room (Vince felt bored already). His grandfather lingered behind, making quacking noises back at the ducks and throwing them chips.

  “It’s because of the war,” his grandma said suddenly. “Rationing. He never likes to waste food, even if it gets eaten by birds.” She paused, sniffing heavily. “Your granddad’s not very well you know Vince.”

  “What do you mean?” Vince said, looking back. “I know his knees hurt and he can’t always hear...”

  “No, no, I mean... You can’t always tell when people are sick, Vince. I... your granddad, you know he can’t always remember your name..?”

  “Oh I know old people forget things,” Vince said airily.

  “No... well yes. But he’s not going to get better, your granddad, he’s going to keep forgetting more and more things. Do you understand?”

  Vince didn’t meet her questioning gaze, for he felt his grandma (who he loved) was being shifty, was using adult justification for something she shouldn’t be doing. Something he’d overheard his parents say when they thought he wasn’t listening came to him, and he said it out loud – “Grandma are you going to put Granddad in a home?” – even though he didn’t understand what it meant, or why ‘home’ was spoken about by his parents in a hushed voice like it was a bad thing rather than a good one.

  “What? Certainly not,” his grandma said primly, looking shocked, as if Vince had said a rude word. “No. We promised each other... He was insistent. That it would never come to that; that if I’m not around to look after him... That’s partly why... why this holiday.”

  “But you are around to look after him Grandma,” Vince said. His grandmother seemed to snap out of whatever introspective thoughts she was having.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. But will you do your Grandma a favour tonight Vince?” He nodded. “Make sure you give your granddad a big, big hug goodnight. Promise me now.”

  Vince promised, feeling confused, and then they were back at the hotel. The greasy faced young man was still behind the front desk and he smiled at Vince’s grandma as they entered.

  ~

  The music started just after eleven o’clock – it was the same tune over and over again, Vince realised. He’d slept with his clothes on so he wouldn’t feel so vulnerable outside as he had wearing pyjamas. Eagerly he got out of bed, opened the door to the hotel corridor – it was deserted and ghostly in the dusty light. Vince headed towards the hotel stairs, which spiralled down to the lobby.

  Vince was surprised that despite his haste, Alice had beaten him. She looked bright eyed when she saw Vince, and anxious to tell him something.

  “I came down here before!” she said excitedly into his ear. “I snuck down and I hid so I could be here before the music started. And guess what?”

  “What?” said Vince, catching her excitement.

  “People went in, old people from the hotel! That waiter man stood with the door open like he was greeting them, and they went in and when he shut it that’s when the music started. My granny and yours!”

  “My granny?” Vince said doubtfully. “But she’s asleep upstairs, she needs her sleep...” Alice shook her head vigorously.

  “That’s what my granny says too but they both went in there!” she said, pointing to the heavy wooden door, with its twin carved faces.

  “What about my granddad?” Vince said.

  “No not him,” Alice said. “It was weird, but for all the granny and granddas here, only one of each went in. Like only one was allowed.”

  They stood for a minute in the dull darkness of the hotel reception, neither speaking. The same tune was still repeating itself, muffled by the door. Alice hugged herself; Vince wondered if he should hug her to warm her up, but he didn’t dare. For some reason his heartbeat was up and audible to him, like the ticking of those annoying clocks.

  “Shall we open it?” Alice said. Vince gawped. “Just a peek? It’s my last night, how else will I find out what’s going on? Just a peek Vince, please?” One look at her bright eyes and Vince realised he was going to say yes to her, despite the nervous dizziness in his stomach.

  They went up to the old door with its grinning faces – the dull light played tricks and they both looked like Comedy. The music was still playing the repetitive tick-tock tune, and it still sounded like it was coming from both just the other side of the door and a long, long way away.

  It’ll be locked, Vince thought as Alice reached out for the doorknob, it won’t open... But it turned easily in her hand, and with some effort the two of them opened the heavy door.

  It opened onto stone steps, spiralling down into what was presumably a cellar or basement; the steps were worn and dusty. There were footsteps in the dust, but already partially obscured; how could there be so much dust already? Vince thought. His nose tickled.

  There was a glow of light coming up the stairs, and oddly the music sounded quieter now they’d opened the door, and less muffled. It was a different tune too, Vince realised, he must have been mistaken before.

  “Shall we go down?” Alice breathed in his ear, sounding excited. She’s holding my hand, Vince thought, how long has she been holding my hand? He felt giddy and sick, and knew he wasn’t going to refuse her. They both took their shoes off, to be quieter.

  Tip-toeing, holding hands, they cautiously descended the staircase. Alice screwed up her face as her bare feet touched the dusty stone. There was a rusty iron banister which Vince clung to as they descended; it was loose and moved in his hand. Dust hung in the air, seemed to fall from the ceiling and walls, and catch in the back of Vince’s throat.

  About half-way down they found a comb that looked like it had been dropped by someone; it was already half-covered in dust. Alice picked it up; it had a few grey hairs entangled in it. “Weird,” she mouthed, dropping it. She wiped her hand on her dress.

  They froze at the bottom of the stairs; there was no door, the stairs just opened out into a large room, which was lit by lamps and candles. Vince and Alice crouched down just outside the circle of light but could see almost the entire room. Tables had been pushed up to the walls to clear the middle; on one side the tables had been laid with
a whole range of delicious and exotic looking food; on the other stood twinkling glasses and lots of different bottles of alcohol. There were also packets of cigarettes and boxes of cigars, and a gramophone, from which the music still played.

  And the room was full of young people.

  Their young forms were smooth and soft in the candlelight, and most were dancing elegantly in the centre of the room. The men wore spotless evening suits, crisp black and white except for notes of individual colour – a scarlet cummerbund, a crimson bow-tie, a blood red rose at a lapel. The women all wore long, flowing dresses, and although Vince knew nothing about fashion, when he heard Alice gasp in admiration he couldn’t mock her for being a girl, for even he could see that none of these women would ever wear a dress that suited them this well again... Some wore the fur of dead animals around their shoulders; some wore long feathers in their hair, which caught in the light as they danced with the men. In the background of discrete shadows one of the couples had stopped dancing, and the young lady had her leg raised up to be grasped by the man’s squeezing hand; her thigh was the same soft black colour as the stocking screwed up in Vince’s pocket...

  Vince felt the tickle of dust in his nose and throat again, which was odd, for down here there was no dust; everything was clean and fresh and new looking.

  The record playing on the gramophone came to an end and a man moved over to change it – Vince recognised the young lad who was seemingly the hotel’s only employee; for once his face seemed devoid of the greasy residue of whatever ointment he used on it. His shining shoes clacked against the smooth wooden floor as he moved to the gramophone, and in the gap in the music people changed partners on the dance floor. Priority was given to those who had stood this dance aside – all seemed amicable. Even the kissing couple in the shadows separated, the woman to be kissed by a different man, the original gentleman to examine the cigars, one of which he lit and smoked with as much relish as he had stroked the woman’s thigh seconds before. Then the music started again, and all the couples began dancing...

  Vince rubbed his nose to try and stifle a sneeze.

  “Oh shall we dance?” Alice whispered in his ear. “Do you think they’d mind?” No one had noticed the two of them yet. But they all looked so kindly and good that Vince didn’t think they would mind or tell them off or send them to their beds. But he dance, with a girl! He had the usual scorn of a boy his age at the notion, and yet beneath these automatic thoughts was the idea that yes, he could; she was holding his hand and he could dance with her to this lilting music, in the candlelight and exotic smelling cigar smoke. Vince found himself tensing to step forward and lead Alice by the hand onto the dance floor...

  He didn’t meet the lady’s eyes, for he was still too nervous to want to draw attention to himself, but he saw the sparkle of a brooch on her dress, the string of pearls around her throat. She was young and very pretty, Vince thought, pretty like Alice was with a soft, rounded face. She wore a long blue dress, a soft blue that suited her, as did her muted red lipstick and...

  “That lady’s stolen my granny’s brooch!” Vince shouted. And her necklace. He had stepped out into the light of the room without realising it, and was pointing an accusing finger at the woman; he’d let go of Alice’s hand and had left her in the shadows, from where he heard her gasp as he spoke. He felt shockingly indignant – the brooch was so distinctive there could be no mistake, and this woman who looked so fresh and pretty and danced so nicely had stolen it. Vince was aware of Alice coming forward to his side, and he wondered if she’d be mad at him for ruining things, but she took his hand like before.

  Everyone in the room had stopped dancing or eating or kissing or drinking and turned to stare at Vince. They looked shocked – speechless rather than angry. The woman he’d accused tried to speak but didn’t seem to know what to say; her face had flushed prettily with anger or guilt. Then she ducked behind some of the other young people, as if wanting to hide herself from Vince...

  Then Vince heard Alice take a little intake of breath; she took her hand from his and pointed accusingly at one of the ladies too – a different one; the one who had been in the shadows and kissing so many of the men...

  “Granny?” Alice said.

  Vince turned to gawp at her – why was she calling someone so young her granny? He was about to say something when the lingering sensation of dusty air made him sneeze; his eyes closed and filled with tears as if to wash away the non-existent irritant of the dust...

  He opened his eyes and everything looked different.

  It was just the basement of the hotel, lit by weak and flickering electric lighting that was strung unsafely from the crumbling plaster ceiling. The floor people were dancing on was unswept bare boards, thick with dust (bits of dead people, Vince thought). At the edge of the room there was food on rickety tables; plates green with age and mould. The drink bottles looked cloudy and stagnant. There was a record player but its needle scratched and slipped across the disk, creating an arrhythmic and discordant ticking sound.

  And the room was full of old people.

  Vacant and wrinkled looking faces stared at Vince, their mouths hung open, their eyesight not reaching him; bodies bent over, wearing old clothes that no longer fitted their figures – either too tight over their bloating, or too big hanging from their fatless bodies. One lady had stockings curled like dead skin down to her knees; one man’s dentureless mouth was clasped tight round an unlit and spittle-wet cigar like it was a dummy. Clumsy feet shuffled in time to a beat Vince could no longer hear (there was none in the discordant scratching that played now); hems of dresses and faded suit trousers brushed against the dust.

  And despite their age, Vince could feel the seething of their emotions like an electric hum in the room: the jealousy when the person with whom they wished to dance danced with another; the shame and pettiness of their lust for drink and narcotics and each other; their desperation not to be left to one side of the room, not to be the one who did the stupid thing or spoke out of turn. They weren’t even enjoying what they’d come here to do, and they couldn’t even admit they weren’t enjoying it.

  “What are you two doing here?” – the young waiter moved in front of Vince, blocking his view of the old people before he’d had a chance to properly take it all in. He still looked young, although his face was all greasy again, Vince saw; the grease almost coating his face, his hands too, and it made him look grey and sick, for it was studded from all the endless dust which fell from the ceiling and swirled from the floor.

  Vince tried to answer, but his throat was still itchy and his nose ticklish, and he closed his eyes and sneezed again...

  When he reopened his eyes everything was back to how it had been just seconds before – the room full of young people and his finger still pointing at the pretty thief of his grandma’s jewellery; Alice still incomprehensibly accusing some youthful stranger of being her granny.

  “What are you doing here?” the young boy was still saying. His face no longer looked grey with dust but it seemed pulled taut with anger, stretched over something livid beneath. He seemed barely in control of himself as he span round to look at everyone else in the room; they shrank from his gaze. “You all know the rules,” he said accusingly to the crowd, then he seemed to tremble as he controlled himself, spoke in a more measured tone. “Did either of you two tell them about... this?” he said.

  He looked in turn to the woman who had stolen the brooch, and the one Alice had called ‘granny’.

  “No, no,” they said from opposite sides of the room, in fluttery voices that didn’t seem to fit their fresh and youthful aspects.

  Everyone was staring at the seething, twitching young waiter, as if he wasn’t the one who took orders but the one who gave them. He was sweating now, and Vince noticed his sweat cut a path through the grease on his face; his skin didn’t seem the same colour underneath.

  “Well,” he said, “well. You’ll have to leave early of course. And pay early.”
>
  The atmosphere in the room changed, although Vince struggled to understand exactly how. It didn’t make sense; these people weren’t even staying at the hotel! The young jewellery thief was dabbing her eyes with an old-fashioned lace handkerchief; Vince recognised the handkerchief too.

  The other lady seemed more composed; she smoothed her dark green dress and walked towards Alice. Her pretty face now seemed another creation of makeup and ointment; Vince wanted to sneeze again. He wanted to run out the basement and up the stairs, but now these grownups had spotted them both he and Alice had lost all volition.

  Alice clasped his hand again, was leaning to whisper something in his ear... but the lady in the green dress rudely pulled her away. Alice’s fingers slipped through his like someone falling.

  “Granny?” Alice said tremulously to the lady who was leading her away, who couldn’t be more than twenty-one. There was a muttering around the room – “for shame!” one of the young men said quietly. But no one moved. All Vince could think was that he didn’t want to get told off; he felt confused and close to tears.

  “Granny!” Alice said in pain as the woman yanked at her arm again; she was pulling Alice across to where the waiter stood.

  “As you’ve so often reminded me you ungrateful brat,” the woman said, “I’m not your granny.”

  Alice looked back at Vince as if appealing for him to do something, but he didn’t know what and so he did nothing.

  “Perfect,” the hotel boy said as he laid a hand on Alice’s shoulder. She stopped pulling away at his touch, and when he let go she stood stock still with her back to Vince. He saw a greasy mark on her dress where the boy’s hand had been.

  “And you?” the boy said to the lady wearing the stolen brooch. She was still in tears and didn’t respond; the boy shrugged and walked towards Vince, leaving Alice motionless in the same statue-like pose. He was grinning and had tracks of grey scored through his greasy face.

  “Wait! No!” the lady he’d addressed cried out, snapping from her thoughts. “Not... for mercy’s sake! My husband will pay!” She looked round the room as if seeking approval. “At the end of my week... He’d got... He’s not got his wits, he...”