Another Way to Fall

by Brooke, Amanda

  Emma’s trip to the office had been far more physically exhausting than she had imagined. She could feel the pressure building up inside her head so she abandoned her plans to start writing and spent two days recovering. By Friday morning she was crawling the walls of the apartment but still she couldn’t escape into her imaginary world. Her self-imposed break had given her time to doubt the direction her story should be taking and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the apartment was fuelling her writer’s block. She knew she didn’t have time to waste prevaricating; time wasn’t on her side so she packed away her laptop, picked up the pill box her mum had prepared for the day and called a cab.

  The Traveller’s Rest was on a leafy avenue not far from Sefton Park on the boundary of Liverpool city centre. Her sister’s restaurant had a bohemian feel to it with bare timber floors and mismatched tables and chairs. To the front, there were floor-to-ceiling windows with flowing crimson drapes and, to the rear, rows of intimate booths.

  Weekday mornings were never a busy time for the restaurant but at first glance it appeared closed and, as Emma pushed open the door, she half expected it to be locked. The temperature in the bistro was only marginally warmer than outside where winter had started to bite. There were two tables occupied so if Louise had been relying on warm bodies to heat up the place she was going to have to recruit more staff. As it was, Steven, the only waiter on duty, was at a loss with what to do with himself. He was keeping one watchful eye on his customers, ready to pounce at the slightest suggestion that they needed something, and the other on the door. He looked briefly disappointed when he realized it hadn’t been more custom walking through the door but that was quickly replaced by genuine excitement at seeing Emma.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you until the weekend,’ he explained, taking her by the arm and leading her towards one of the booths at the far side of the restaurant. ‘Not that I’m complaining, it’s lovely to see you back again.’ The look he gave Emma was enough to let her know that he was sorry to hear her cancer had returned, sorry that she may not beat it this time. As with most people, the look alone would have to be enough as he failed to voice his thoughts.

  Emma gratefully accepted the look and then moved onto safer ground. ‘I thought I’d check out business. See how Louise has been getting on without my interference.’

  Steven winced as he made a point of looking around at the empty tables. ‘She’s out at the cash-and-carry at the moment but we’re doing fine,’ he lied. ‘Here, let me take your coat.’

  ‘No thanks,’ replied Emma, pulling her jacket protectively around her. ‘It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘Cost-cutting measures.’

  Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling in disbelief. ‘It’s hardly providing a warm and welcoming atmosphere. I’m officially back on the case and here’s my first suggestion: turn the thermostat up.’

  ‘But …’ began Steven. He had been working for Louise from the very beginning and was treated like one of the family, which meant that he had experienced the wrath of both sisters. He now faced a dilemma. Louise was the one supporting his personal development by allowing him to fit his shifts around a catering course and occasionally letting him loose in the kitchens. He could stay in her good books or he could do what Emma told him.

  Emma made it easier for him to decide. ‘I was being polite when I said it was a suggestion,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what Louise says, she’ll lose the few customers she has left unless she starts taking action. Please, Steven. Turn it up, if only for me.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ Steven relented with a playful smile. ‘How about a nice hot cup of coffee?’

  ‘This place is going up in my estimation all the time.’

  The booth Emma was using had red leather benches along three sides, which would comfortably seat six and, under better circumstances, she would have felt guilty taking up so much space. The table was bare wood with a collection of condiments and menus lined up in a row along its centre. Emma pushed these out of the way so she had room to set up her laptop.

  She took a deep breath and held it as she stared at the blank page that appeared in front of her and waited for inspiration to strike. A steaming cup of coffee, complete with swirls of creamy foam and a sprinkling of chocolate appeared in its stead.

  Emma let out a sigh and her body visibly sagged as she looked up, expecting to see Steven. However, she discovered Ben watching her instead. Ben was in his early thirties, medium height with broad shoulders and dark short-cropped hair peaking through his catering hat. His eyes were the deepest brown with the longest lashes and he had the kind of expression that Emma missed. Someone was looking at her without pity in his eyes and the look lifted her spirit and her body along with it.

  ‘Not got anything better to do than serve front of house?’ Emma asked.

  Ben looked around the restaurant in the same way that Steven had. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I’m not here to serve, I’m here to complain.’

  ‘Complain about what?’ Emma wondered if Steven had told him about her order to crank up the heating but would be surprised if Ben would disagree. He had been in the middle of many arguments between Louise and Emma before now and, more often than not, he had sided with Emma.

  ‘I’ve been staring at the phone waiting for you to ring me with that order. I thought steroids were supposed to make you eat more.’

  Emma laughed. ‘Yes, they do, but if I give into temptation, you’d never get me out of this place.’

  ‘I wouldn’t complain and, besides, we could always roll you out when you’re done.’

  Emma’s smile was so wide that her cheeks began to ache. There were muscles being used that hadn’t been for quite some time. ‘Never mind the steroids. You’re good enough medicine, Mr Knowles.’

  She had first met Ben when she and Louise had interviewed him for the job after Joe had left. Louise had still been in shock at the time. Her heart had been broken and her confidence shattered, but Emma had believed in Louise even when Louise hadn’t believed in herself. Her sister had told her she wanted to prove that she could make it without Joe, and Emma had been determined to make that happen. So whilst Louise was assessing candidates purely on their cooking abilities, Emma was looking for something else. She wanted someone who would bring a calming influence, who would be an anchor to the occasional storms her sister could brew up and maybe, just maybe, be the person to mend her sister’s heart.

  Ben had stood out for both of them. He had learnt his trade in Liverpool and then travelled further afield to expand his culinary knowledge. Along the way he had transformed his trade into a passion, which translated not only onto the plate but came across in his whole demeanor and for once the sisters hadn’t argued about their choice. Since then, Emma had watched and waited but the only sparks between Louise and Ben were confined to the kitchen.

  ‘And you are an amazing woman,’ he said, dropping down into the seat opposite her. He rubbed his cheeks, wiping away the gentle blush that threatened. ‘I have to admit though, when I picked you up from hospital, I was scared.’

  ‘Of me or my cancer?’ Emma asked.

  Ben took off his hat and scrunched it in his hands. He looked like he was about to lose the composure that had become his trademark, in and out of the kitchen. ‘Of what the cancer might have already taken from you, I suppose. I thought you’d be a little less …’ he began.

  ‘A little less alive?’

  Instinct told Emma that the usual commiserations weren’t about to roll off his tongue and she was proven right. He rested his head on his hand as he scrutinized her face. His eyes fixed in concentration. ‘Perhaps. But you don’t look like someone who’s ready to give up.’

  Emma had always felt at ease in Ben’s company and she had often surprised herself at how much she could open up to him. She respected his opinion and his judgement when it came to the bistro and as he sat in front of her, sharing his fears, she didn’t think there was anything she couldn’t trust him with.

&nb
sp; ‘Not when there’s still so much left to do,’ Emma told him. ‘I won’t rest until I’ve knocked Louise into shape so she can run this place properly on her own, and then there are things happening at work that would have me turning in my grave, so I suppose you’re right. Giving up isn’t an option.’ Emma took an excited breath. At last she had found someone she could talk to who wouldn’t wince at the vaguest mention of death and she was tempted to take Ben hostage.

  ‘So why were you frowning at your laptop?’ Ben asked.

  As if Ben had magically summoned its return, the frown reappeared on Emma’s brow. ‘That would be because of the book I’m trying to write.’

  ‘And is this how great writers work? Direct thought transfer rather than actual typing?’

  ‘Hmm, very funny. I was waiting for inspiration to strike.’

  ‘So what’s this story about?’ Ben asked, little knowing that so far only Mr Spelling had been trusted with the premise of her opus.

  There was something in Ben’s eyes that made Emma pause only briefly before opening up her heart. ‘OK, this is top secret. You tell no-one,’ she said, as if he had spent hours trying to wear her down into a confession. ‘It’s a story about someone like me, who has battled illness but, in her case, she wins. She gets the one thing I never did, the all-clear.’ Emma paused long enough for Ben’s nod of agreement, which he dutifully provided. ‘I need to write about what she would then do with her life. I know you’re supposed to write about what you know but that’s the whole point, I’m writing about what hasn’t happened in my life.’

  ‘Your life? So this someone that’s like you, is you?’

  Emma pursed her lips but it was too late to take it back. ‘I still can’t escape the fact that I haven’t experienced enough to draw upon,’ she said.

  ‘Somehow I think you’re doing yourself a disservice. I would have thought that someone who’s gone through what you’ve been through has had more than their fair share of experiences.’

  ‘Experiences of facing death, yes, but not of living. I haven’t been anywhere, I haven’t done anything,’ Emma said, almost in a whisper that sizzled with emotion. Her head dropped, as she felt the little hope she clung to fizzle and die.

  Ben leaned over and, hooking his finger under her chin, lifted her head so she had to look back at him. ‘I thought we had just agreed that you hadn’t given up on life yet. There’s still time to make those experiences happen and write about them.’

  Emma dropped her eyes and tried to lower her head but Ben’s hand remained firmly in place. She turned her head to escape him. ‘Time to write about them, perhaps, but not time to experience them too,’ she said softly.

  Ben took his hand away and Emma’s gaze came back to meet his. ‘Tell me what I have to do to stop you simply frowning at that computer all day and make something happen,’ he demanded.

  ‘I need to do some research, I suppose,’ conceded Emma. ‘Trying to decide on the plot is hard enough but I can’t even describe the places I want to go to.’

  ‘And where do you want to go?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ Emma said, as if it would be that easy. Her imagination was supposed to be limitless but her experiences weren’t. ‘I’m on my way to New York but I don’t want to stop there. I want to see, I don’t know, the Seven Wonders of the World and then some. But in reality I haven’t been further than Spain.’

  Ben grimaced. ‘I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I’m afraid the only one of the original Seven Wonders of the World still in existence is the Great Pyramid at Giza.’

  ‘See! I don’t even know where I can go.’

  ‘May I?’ he asked, turning Emma’s computer towards him.

  Emma watched as he tapped a few buttons. There was a look of concern on his face that didn’t fill Emma with confidence.

  ‘It doesn’t have an Internet connection,’ he complained.

  ‘Because the bistro doesn’t have WiFi,’ Emma said, making a note to develop that thought later when she was a little less preoccupied.

  It was Ben who was wearing the frown now as he returned his attention to Emma’s laptop. Emma watched him work his own magic tapping away at her keyboard. He was too deep in concentration to notice that she was staring at him. ‘Voila!’ he said after a couple of minutes of concentrated effort. He turned the screen back towards Emma to show her that he had miraculously connected to the Internet.

  ‘How did you do that, or shouldn’t I ask?’

  ‘I’ve got a wireless connection upstairs. Well, technically, Steven has, but he won’t mind. I’ve logged you onto the network, so you’re in!’

  Emma felt a pang of guilt as she was reminded that Ben and Steven had become the new residents of the flat above the bistro whilst her sister was now technically homeless. She briefly toyed with the idea of trying to persuade Ben to squeeze in another lodger who also happened to be his landlady but she reined in her predilection for solving other people’s problems and returned her attention to the problem at hand. ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  ‘The Traveller’s Rest is aptly named in my case. Here, let me take you on a journey of discovery.’

  Ben had logged into a photo-gallery site to access his online photo albums. Emma braced herself to be bored to tears by a collection of holiday snaps of drunken friends with cheesy grins and bottles of beer, posing in front of an assortment of bars or sprawled across nondescript beaches.

  ‘New York!’ she gasped. Even with her limited experience she recognized the Manhattan skyline.

  ‘Apparently, the design of the Statue of Liberty was based on the Colossus of Rhodes, which was another one of the Seven Wonders of the World.’

  Emma was too engrossed in the photographs she was flicking through to be impressed with the wealth of Ben’s knowledge, which he was determined to share. ‘These are amazing.’

  And they were. His collection of photographs marked a journey that had stretched to all four corners of the globe. They were a mixture of panoramic views and colourful close-ups, breathtaking scenery, wildlife in motion and wizened locals, all taken with the kind of precision that needed an artist’s eye to choose the right lighting, the right focus and the right moment. They were photographs that wouldn’t look out of place in National Geographic magazine.

  ‘I was a bit of a photography geek for a while.’

  ‘You should take it up professionally,’ Emma told him.

  Ben shrugged off the suggestion. ‘It came in useful during my travels but it was only ever my second love. My first love is food.’

  Emma was starting to warm up at last, so she shrugged off her coat and settled back in her seat as she turned her attention to Ben’s life. ‘But you could really make something of your life,’ she insisted, all thoughts of not interfering long gone.

  ‘I am making something of my life,’ corrected Ben. He tried to look offended but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away. ‘I travelled the world to discover new cuisines. Now don’t laugh, but goat’s cheese and chutneys are my speciality. I’m experimenting for now but my long-term plan is to go into partnership with a farm and sell my own produce.’

  ‘But …’ began Emma.

  ‘But we were sorting out your life, not mine,’ he said.

  Emma nodded obediently, having the good grace to let Ben keep his own dreams. ‘You’re right. I’ll have a proper look at your photos. Seeing the world through your eyes is better than not seeing it at all and I suppose there’s always Google Earth.’

  ‘How about a trip to the museum? It’s not exactly travelling the world but it has to be better than relying on a computer for all your inspiration. The World Museum has tons of exhibits that might give you more ideas. You can take a notebook and I’ll take my camera.’ The enthusiasm in Ben’s voice was being exaggerated to make up for the lack of reaction from Emma.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Emma replied, not quite knowing why she was unsure or at least not acknowledging that it was more than Ben’s offer attr
acting her.

  ‘OK, I won’t push but if you’re at a loose end on Sunday, give me a shout.’

  ‘Thank you, Ben,’ Emma said, and she felt her heart lighten a little.

  ‘Any time,’ he said with a wink.

  ‘Any time except maybe now,’ added Emma. Louise had appeared and was busily looking for her wayward chef. Dutifully, Ben disappeared back into the kitchen and as Louise made her way over to join her sister, Emma felt ready to face a world where she would choose her own wonders at which to marvel.

  Chapter 4

  Kate Barton had made the transition from forties to fifties with effortless ease. Her blonde hair was clipped back in a tight French bun as always, her makeup immaculate and her dress understated but somehow still making a bold statement. I felt a familiar sense of awe. This was the woman who I had aspired to be and, once upon a time, I had felt I was getting close, but now the gulf seemed unassailable.

  ‘More champagne?’ she asked.

  I looked down at my empty glass; nerves had clearly got the better of me. ‘Maybe I should keep my head clear,’ I told her. I wanted to pinch myself but, with the view I could see out of the window, there was no doubt about where I was. The night was anything but dark as the Manhattan skyline stretched out before me, a myriad lights sparkling in eclectic symmetry. A manmade universe where the stars could be commanded by the flick of a switch.

  ‘Well, you won’t mind if I indulge, will you?’ she said, nodding to a waiter who immediately picked up a bottle and began to pour. ‘Alex? Can I tempt you?’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ He grinned.

  I grimaced.

  It had seemed such a good idea to bring Alex along on my life-changing journey. We were a partnership and it had been a long time since I had taken on any kind of new project on my own. When Alex had arrived at Bannister’s, I had wanted to resent him for getting the job I thought I deserved but he had been genuinely surprised when he realized how experienced I was and wanted to involve me as much as he could. I liked the idea that he recognized my abilities even if Mr Bannister had not and, when our unofficial union extended beyond the confines of the office, it became the perfect arrangement. I could continue with the day job as office manager and also be involved in marketing without the pressure or the responsibility. When things went well, and they usually did, I could revel in my boyfriend’s successes as if they were my own.