Before We Fall

by Grace Lowrie

  But when I woke again in the evening he was gone and my skin cooled with fear. Was that a goodbye fuck? At the time it had felt natural and easy; almost unbearably so.

  As I opened the bedroom door I was greeted by the smell of toast, fried eggs, and bacon.

  ‘You hungry? I’m making breakfast,’ he said.

  Was there ever a sexier sight than that of the wild and unruly Bay Madderson stood butt naked in my kitchen, holding a spatula? I grinned as I made my way over to the breakfast bar and sat down. ‘What are we having?’

  ‘Egg and bacon butties. Unless you’d prefer cereal, in which case you can get out.’

  I laughed. ‘But I live here!’

  ‘For now,’ he muttered, returning his attention to the eggs sizzling in the pan. ‘For now,’ I conceded.

  The butties were delicious – the bacon crisp at the edges and the eggs runny in the middle. Bay mostly ate with his left hand; the knuckles of his right looked raw and inflamed and reminded me of things I’d sooner forget. But we needed to talk about them – I still wanted to protect him from what was to come if I could.

  ‘Last night, after I left…’ I began.

  ‘You want to know if I killed him?’

  My mouth went dry. ‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

  Bay shrugged. ‘Bastard’s still breathing.’ A wave of relief swept through me, but I tried not to let it show on my face. ‘Not that he deserves to be. I spoke to Leroy and he’s on their shit list now, so he won’t be setting foot inside another strip club in the city.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For being there; for what you did—’

  Bay shook his head and scowled at me. ‘Don’t do that – don’t thank me. “Violence is never the answer”, isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘Yes, but, I still appreciate it…’ We fell into an awkward silence while I tried to work out what I should say. I loved this man; my reluctant hero; my dark knight… could I really push him away?

  ‘I know you don’t want a proper relationship with me,’ Bay said bluntly, as if reading my mind. ‘I totally get it, believe me. I still worry that your hanging out with me will somehow get you killed, even though, like you said; “that’s crazy, superstitious bollocks”.’

  ‘I believe the word I used was “ridiculous”.’

  ‘Same difference. The thing is, could we just go back to how we were before? Just hang out and fuck?’

  I set down my coffee, afraid I’d drop it. ‘I—’

  ‘I’ll stop using,’ he went on. ‘I’ve been clean fourteen days already and, aside from a little weed, I managed three months before that. I’m not really an addict – I can stop with the right motivation.’

  ‘I’m not giving up my job, Bay.’ My voice sounded amazingly calm as I lied to him. I’d actually given Pavel my notice the night before, but I didn’t want Bay to know. I didn’t want him to think I was quitting for him; I didn’t want to give him hope.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And you have to promise to stay away from The Electric Fox.’

  ‘Do you promise never to walk down that alleyway again; let the doormen do their job and protect you?’ ‘Yes.’

  He shrugged. ‘OK, deal.’ He looked so serious. ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘If I behave, we can be friends again?’

  ‘I guess so…’

  His whole face transformed into a grin so rare and dazzling it took my breath away. I smiled helplessly back, determined to make Bay smile more often.

  ‘OK, what now?’ I said.

  ‘Now I’m taking you next door to shower, paint and fuck you,’ he said, a dark glint in his eye. Warm desire pooled low down between my legs. Bay was back.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  ‘Can I get you another?’ the barmaid said.

  ‘No, I’m good.’ I chucked another piece of popcorn towards my mouth, missing completely. ‘One’s my limit.’

  She pulled a yeah right face at me and went back to rinsing out glasses while I refocused on my near-empty beer bottle. I didn’t give a shit what she thought, that was my rule; my strategy; my coping mechanism – one drink in each bar – that was what got me through. I’d been working my way round Soho since 8 p.m. and I’d been hit on and sworn at more times than I could count, but I was almost there. Soon I’d see her again.

  Cally and I spent virtually all our time together now – sleeping either at her place or mine. It was almost certainly unhealthy, living in each other’s pockets all the time, but neither of us wanted to admit it. It was September, we had less than a month left together and the clock was ticking. I had no idea what would happen when Cally’s contract ran out and Sidney returned, and she refused to discuss it. Another house-sitting job in London appeared to be out of the question, though I couldn’t understand why. In all honesty I wanted her to stay on with me. Hell, I’d happily pay her to live with me, but she wouldn’t consider that either.

  The only time we now spent apart was while she was working, and those nights were proving tough. Trying to paint was pointless – I was too anxious and distracted and my desperation ruined the work. I’d never felt more like an addict. The temptation to ring my dealer and request two eight balls with a side-order of pills was immense. But I’d promised.

  On Friday evening Felix had dropped by to let me know all my pieces from the exhibition had sold, and that he had a list of people interested in seeing more. So I’d showed him a few of my paintings of Cally – not the nude ones, obviously, those were for my eyes alone – but those of her dancing, eating, brushing her hair, just to see what he’d say. I’d never seen Felix so happy.

  ‘You’re in love, Bay,’ he’d said, slapping me on the back, ‘and it’s going to make us rich’.

  To which I simply replied: ‘I’m already rich…’

  But I could no longer paint on the nights that Cally was dancing at the club, so I’d taken to bar-hopping instead; staggering from one hell-hole to another and counting the hours, minutes, seconds until I could reclaim her.

  At 2.30 a.m. on Sunday morning I made my way home to meet her, slightly inebriated, admittedly, but having successfully survived another weekend without stalking her, abusing narcotics, or topping myself. When she stepped out of the taxi I was waiting for her and kissed her hard, right there in the street. I kissed her all the way up twelve storeys in the lift before pulling off all our clothes and dragging her straight into the shower. In my addled state I imagined I could smell the club on her, the stench of other men’s eyes on her skin, and it made me crazy. Thankfully she let me soap every inch of her beautiful body without a hint of reproach, and I knelt down and worshipped between her legs with my tongue until she climaxed, crying out my name.

  By the time Cally returned from dressing next door I’d sobered up somewhat. I had Nine Inch Nails playing and the large canvas I was currently working on laid out on the floor where I could work at it from all angles. She was wearing one of my old hoodies over a pair of leggings and carrying a punnet of nectarines. The sweatshirt was her colour – a washed-out crimson – but it swamped her completely.

  ‘Does your grandmother know you’re visiting me, Little Red Riding Hood?’ I said, pulling the hood up over her damp hair – she looked cute, rosy-cheeked and good enough to eat.

  She laughed. ‘I always preferred the wolf in that story anyway,’ she said, leaning up on the tips of her toes and kissing me.

  But my baggy clothes couldn’t disguise the fact that she’d been losing weight. Cally had always been slim but now she was slender – verging on too thin. When I picked her up she felt feather-light and her skin was too tight over her cheekbones, wrists, and knees. I thought at first it was down to all the stress I’d caused her, but now I wasn’t so sure. Some days she had little appetite, as if nauseated, though she would never admit to it.

  On my bed, Cally settled herself cross-legged as if painting was a spectator sport. She held a nectarine in one hand and a small, sharp-looking kni
fe in the other. Pausing in my work, a loaded brush in my hand, I stared as she carved the fruit into quarters, the juice trickling down the blade and dripping into her lap. Removing the stone she discarded it along with the knife, before reaching out and popping a piece into my mouth whole. The ripe sweetness exploded on my tongue while I watched her bite into another segment. Fluid escaped down her chin before she could catch it with her tongue, but her attempts had me rock-hard in my pants. Why was every single thing this woman did so damn seductive? Vibrating with barely-suppressed need, I waited as she polished off the next two pieces, but when she began to suck the sticky pulp from her fingers it became too much.

  Throwing my paint brush aside I dragged her down onto the wet canvas with me and kissed her, the syrupy sweetness tasting even better on her lips. She shrieked and giggled as I peeled off her clothes, the paint sticky on her skin and in her hair. ‘Hurt’ played out over the loud speakers; Trent’s melancholic lyrics underlining my pain as I entered her. With wet, black hand prints, I branded her body; her milky white breasts, hips, and thighs, while thrusting and grinding inside. And with her fingernails she dragged scarlet paint across my naked chest, as if clawing at my heart.

  But we never fucked anymore; no matter how rough it got and no matter what we called it – I made love to Cally each and every time. She had become everything to me; I’d never been as genuinely, frighteningly happy as I was with her. And when I was inside her, I could swear she felt the same. Yet every exquisite, mind-melting, earth-shattering orgasm was tinged with sorrow, and I couldn’t shake the terrifying feeling that, one way or another, I was losing her.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  He was absolutely dead on time. I’d only been sat in the coffee shop window for a few minutes, when a sleek black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the kerb and Ashwin Madderson emerged from the back, smoothly buttoning the jacket of his navy three-piece suit. He stood the same way Bay stood; shoulders back and feet firmly spaced and planted, passers-by parting like a sea around him. I should have known that a man as rich and successful as the CEO of The Madderson Corporation, would be punctual.

  But I had hoped to have a few moments to myself to prepare for this meeting; I wasn’t feeling well, and being apart from Bay only made me feel worse. Having worked out my notice at the club I was free to sit in all-night diners and quietly work on my book while Bay assumed I was off dancing. But deceiving him was taking a toll on my emotions. It didn’t bode well for September the twenty-eighth when I would have to move out, leaving him behind forever.

  Ash clocked me as he entered, his shiny leather shoes ringing out on the tiled floor as he approached.

  ‘Cally, lovely to see you again.’ He towered over me, handsome and intimidating, one hand casually placed in his pocket.

  ‘You, too,’ I mumbled, blushing and reverting to shy mode. As he pulled up a chair and sat down beside me, the BMW glided away into the traffic and I tried to collect my thoughts.

  ‘So what’s this about? Do you want money?’

  ‘No!’ I was as shocked by his assumption as much as his directness. ‘As I said in my email, I want to talk about Bay.’

  ‘Why? Does he need money?’

  ‘Not at all – why do you assume this is about money?’

  ‘Because it usually is, but OK, if it’s not that, what is it?’ This wasn’t going well. The way Ash was staring at me, I was starting to feel like an insect pinned to a board.

  ‘Did you want a coffee or anything?’ I gestured at the counter across the room.

  ‘Not particularly, I’m a little pushed for time, why don’t you just spit it out?’

  ‘Actually I’d rather show you,’ I said, collecting my bag and standing up. Ash’s eyes narrowed with suspicion but he followed me out the door, across the street, and into the up-market gallery opposite without argument. Once we were stood in front of Bay’s paintings, Ash gazed at them with a stunned expression, before moving closer to carefully scrutinise each canvas, one by one. Eventually he returned to my side, looking lost in thought.

  ‘This is really Bay’s work?’

  His name was printed clearly for all to see, but I confirmed it anyway. ‘Yes.’ ‘And the red dots…’

  ‘They’ve all sold,’ I said, pride creeping into my voice. He nodded. ‘I—’

  ‘Cally! It’s so good to see you again, how are you?’ Felix said, appearing at my shoulder and smiling warmly. We exchanged pleasantries and he gently boasted about all the rave reviews the exhibition had received. ‘Bay’s not with you this evening?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not, but let me introduce you to Ashwin Madderson, Bay’s brother.’ Felix’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Ash, this is Felix Sandon, Bay’s long-time friend and agent, and the curator of this exhibition.’ The two men appraised each other as they shook hands.

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you. Your brother’s exceptionally talented – you must be very proud.’

  Ash was caught off guard. ‘Well, yes, I am actually… yes, I am.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Felix said. ‘Well if I can help with anything, please just let me know. Cally, always a pleasure.’ He bowed to me before moving away.

  ‘You like them, then?’ I asked once Felix was out of earshot.

  Ash nodded. ‘I think I recognise some of these trees…’

  ‘Yes, you probably do… I don’t suppose you know who the girl is?’ I added on impulse.

  ‘I would guess it’s that girl Bay lived with for a while, I can’t recall her name; Vanessa… Veronica… something like that. She was a singer in a rock band if I remember rightly.’ Jealousy stabbed viciously at me and I mentally chided myself for it. Of course Bay had ex-girlfriends lurking in his past – he was an attractive thirty-six year-old man – and he wasn’t mine, not really. I had absolutely no right feeling jealous at all… ‘She died about three years ago under suspicious circumstances. I think it was ruled a suicide in the end. Bay was a suspect for a while, but he was never charged so… I guess he didn’t do it…’

  Ash didn’t sound nearly as convinced of his own brother’s innocence as he should, and it made me angry. ‘You guess?’

  My raised voice surprised him. ‘I don’t really know much about it – I was getting married around that time and the company was involved in a hostile take-over…’

  ‘You mean you weren’t there for him,’ I said, trying not to shake with indignation.

  ‘I offered my help and he didn’t want it,’ Ash said stiffly, an edge of warning in his tone. ‘Not that I have to defend myself to you, Cally, but if Bay had been charged with anything, I would have been here.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, wondering if I should change the subject. ‘Why are you trying to take Bay’s home away from him?’

  Ash sighed heavily and looked down at the floor. He was counting to ten under his breath and I hoped he wouldn’t walk out. ‘He told you about that, huh?’ I nodded. ‘Because it’s wasted on Bay. Aside from living off the rent, an office block is no use to him. It’s prime real estate, right in the heart of the city, worth billions in the right hands…’

  ‘But he doesn’t live off the rent – there is no rent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean he leases out those offices to charities, and only charges them enough to cover the maintenance.’

  ‘But… that’s just stupid,’ he said.

  ‘Or incredibly kind and generous.’

  ‘So how does he pay for all the drugs, booze and women?’

  ‘I’m not aware that he has to pay for women,’ I said pointedly.

  ‘Sorry, maybe not women, but you know what I mean. He must be getting money from somewhere.’

  ‘Yes – the sale of his paintings I would imagine. That’s what I’m trying to tell you – he’s not what you think – he’s not a lost cause – he’s a successful artist, his work sells all over the world.’

  ‘If that’s the case I’m genuinely happy for him. But he could live anywhere and do
what he does, it doesn’t have to be there; and we can easily relocate the charities to more suitable premises.’

  ‘And the garden? The trees? The memorial tree? According to Bay it’s all that’s left of your Mother’s legacy…’

  ‘We are my Mother’s legacy – me and Bay and my kids. If my Mother were still alive I’m sure she’d agree we were more important than a few trees hidden away in a sentimental garden nobody ever uses.’

  ‘You have kids? I didn’t realise, Bay never said.’

  ‘That’s because Bay doesn’t know.’

  My mouth dropped open and I gaped at him.

  ‘Come on, Cally, you know what Bay’s lifestyle is like, artist or not, he’s a drug addict – I don’t want my kids exposed to that sort of thing.’

  ‘But he’s a good person. Maybe your kids would be a good incentive for him to stay clean…’

  He shook his head. ‘Look, I love Bay, I do, and I know he’s had it tough, but I have, too; I lost a brother and a mother as well. But ever since she died, Bay’s hated me. I don’t know if he blames me for her death or—’

  ‘No, he blames himself for your mother’s death, and he pushes you away because he loves you.’ ‘That makes no sense.’