Another Way to Fall

by Brooke, Amanda

  ‘True,’ I granted with a satisfied smile.

  Technically, it wasn’t our yacht. It had been temporarily loaned to us from a very grateful and extremely rich client of Charlie’s. My son was now a renowned photographer with a very select clientele. Whilst Ben had, to use the shopkeeper’s description, left his box unopened and an opportunity missed, Charlie had shared his amazing gift with the world and thanks to a very grateful customer, Ben and I were reaping the rewards. Apparently, Charlie’s flattering portrait had taken decades off the old gent’s wizened features. We all had our own ways of trying to recapture our youth, I supposed.

  ‘Now put your sandals back on if you want to explore the jungle,’ he said, turning his attention to the tropical island we had washed up on.

  ‘We could try living dangerously,’ I suggested.

  ‘We already are,’ Ben countered. ‘Do you realize this place has no toilet facilities?’

  Beginning our trek through the lush tropical forest, our chatter and laughter echoed off giant tree trunks, but it wasn’t long before we started to flag. Our lungs weren’t good at multitasking and we soon fell silent, concentrating solely on fuelling our bodies with enough oxygen to keep going.

  I heard the waterfall long before we saw it and as we broke through the tree cover we stepped into a fresh, cooling mist. I craned my neck to take in the full height of the crashing waters, powered by gravity.

  ‘Can I take my sandals off now?’

  ‘And anything else you want,’ Ben suggested.

  I may have been the wrong side of seventy but I blushed and Ben noticed my reticence. ‘We share everything, remember? Wrinkles and all,’ he said with a laugh as he started to pull off his T-shirt.

  We stepped into the shockingly cool emerald lagoon, and as I approached the thunderous waterfall, its power reverberated against my bare skin. Fortunately, the choppy motion of the pool banished the chill and I lifted my head up as the falling water rained down on me, washing away the years. I felt young and invigorated by the passion for life reflected in Ben’s face as he took me in his arms and kissed me.

  When we emerged from the cold, churning waters, the air felt heavy and warm. I stared up at the wall of dark trees that marked the boundaries of our little oasis, creating a barrier between one world and the next. A beautiful rainbow arched resplendently between the two.

  Emma reached her hand across the bed. ‘Ben?’ she whispered, clutching nothing except cold, empty sheets. Her groping knocked a pile of paper off the side of the bed and the printed pages of her book fluttered to the floor with the sound of angel wings.

  Emma felt a hot and clammy sensation rising up through her body. She couldn’t quite place herself as her mind stole her away towards a world of her imaginings and a future that was beyond her grasp. She thought she might be sitting in an armchair having an afternoon nap and so she waited in desperate hope for an aged and careworn Ben to switch on a lamp but the illusion refused to bring light into her life. She could feel a vice slowly beginning to tighten around her head and though her eyes were wide open, the impenetrable blackness remained.

  With a sense of rising panic, Emma’s breathing became more and more rapid and her heart started to race. ‘Ben!’ she cried. ‘Mum!’

  The door to her bedroom was flung open and a yellow light pierced the darkness but for Emma, it only revealed her worst nightmare. A shadow passed in front of her face. ‘Emma, what’s wrong?’ panted Meg as she touched her daughter’s face, pushing away stray strands of sodden hair from her sweaty brow.

  ‘I can’t see,’ Emma said. Simply saying the words out loud compounded her terror. ‘Mum, I’m scared.’

  ‘Shush,’ soothed Meg, ‘it’ll be alright. I’ll phone for an ambulance.’

  ‘No, not yet. Please, Mum, I’m not ready. Just give me some time, I’ll be OK. Where’s Ben? I want Ben,’ Emma gasped, desperately trying to calm herself as she clung to her mum for dear life.

  ‘He’s slipped out to the shop, I’ll phone him. And I’ll phone for the nurse too. I’ll be two minutes,’ Meg promised as she pulled herself away and Emma had no choice but to let her go.

  She lay completely still, focusing on her breathing, slowing it down. She felt like she was being pulled into a dark abyss so she concentrated on the vague suggestion of light, a dull yellow blur but light all the same.

  By the time her mum returned, Emma was much calmer. ‘I’ve got you some water,’ Meg said and helped Emma take a sip. ‘Help’s on the way.’

  ‘And Ben?’

  ‘He’s on his way too,’ Meg answered as she slipped onto the bed so Emma could rest her head on her lap. Meg began to stroke her hair gently as if Emma was so fragile that the merest touch might break her.

  ‘Do you think I’ll need another operation?’ Emma asked when she felt composed enough.

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  The question sounded simple enough but it had taken Meg an immense amount of courage to ask it. This wasn’t about whether Emma was ready for another operation to relieve whatever pressure was building up in her head. Meg was asking her if she was ready to die.

  Emma had been determined to finish her book, almost at the expense of anything else. She had given Ben permission to continue the story but she really wasn’t sure she was ready to hand it over yet.

  ‘I want you to know how much I love you, Mum,’ Emma began. It wasn’t a direct answer to the question but it was an answer.

  ‘And I love you too, Emma. So, so much,’ replied Meg, choking back the emotion with a painful sob.

  ‘I worry about you,’ Emma said and her fear for her health lessened as she concentrated on the fear for those she loved.

  ‘Please don’t, not now,’ Meg whispered.

  ‘But I know you. You’ll blame yourself.’

  ‘Of course I’ll blame myself, I already do. I made you, sweetheart. I gave life to you, I gave you the body that’s letting you down. I wish I could have done better for you.’

  ‘Don’t ever question what you did or didn’t do.’ Emma had planned this speech for a very long time and it seemed strange to be finally speaking the words out loud even if it was only in the barest of whispers. It was a surreal moment where she could almost step out of the moment to listen to herself talk, watching from a safe distance. ‘You did everything you could and you couldn’t have done more. You fought for me long after I’d already given up the fight. I know I gave you a hard time about it but it gave me hope even when I didn’t recognize it, or appreciate it at the time. You’re the best mum I could have wished for.’

  Meg gulped for air before she was able to speak. ‘And you’re the best daughter.’

  ‘But don’t forget Louise. She needs you too and I’ve taken up too much of your attention for too long.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ argued Meg. ‘I’d give you all the time I had, if I could.’

  ‘But it’s been at Louise’s expense. You have to be strong for her now, strong for each other. Promise me, Mum.’

  Reminded of her obligation to stay strong for her children, Meg pulled back her shoulders. ‘I promise,’ she agreed.

  ‘And you’ll look after Ben too, won’t you?’

  ‘He’ll be like the son I never had. He already is.’

  ‘Then make sure he doesn’t waste the life he has grieving for me. And encourage him to do something with his photography, he has talent,’ Emma said.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘But only if it’s what he wants. I wouldn’t want to be pushy.’

  ‘You? Never. Now stop panicking, Emma.’ Meg’s voice had taken on a familiar firmness. ‘There’ll be time to talk all of this through.’

  Emma relaxed a little, knowing that she had said everything that needed to be said for the moment at least but she knew her mum was wrong. They didn’t have time, not any more.

  Chapter 18

  Emma’s room was crowded and although she couldn’t see a single person, she knew their faces would be etched
with anxiety. She sensed each of them holding their breath, trying desperately not to breach the silence. As she fought through the fog, she felt two hands holding onto hers, guiding her towards consciousness. She knew that one hand belonged to Ben, the other to her mum and she tried to work out which was which but her thoughts kept slipping from her grasp. She squeezed her right hand.

  ‘Emma?’ It was Ben’s voice and the sound made her smile drunkenly.

  A wave of whispers lapped against her ears and she fought an impulse to giggle. ‘Where am I?’ she asked, her words slurred, making the effort to talk harder still.

  ‘You’re in the hospice,’ replied Meg. Although sensations on her left side were not as distinct, Emma felt her other hand being squeezed.

  ‘Is Louise here?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied softly from the side of the room. ‘Gina and Ally are here as well.’ There was a stifled sob, then another.

  ‘Jean and Iris were here earlier,’ said Meg in a hushed tone. ‘Steven’s been in too. They said to give you their love.’

  ‘Can you please stop whispering,’ Emma told her. ‘I’m not dead yet.’

  ‘Still can’t help bossing us around,’ Ben replied, raising her hand to his lips. His remark hadn’t quite disguised the muffled sob from her mum.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ Emma said as she tried to pull herself out of the haze, but it was as if she was wading through a syrupy sludge. ‘Did someone bring my computer?’

  ‘What? You can’t want it now, can you?’ replied Meg, the panic in her voice telling Emma that she hadn’t. ‘I never thought …’

  ‘It’s here,’ Ben said. Emma heard shuffling and imagined him taking her beloved laptop out of his rucksack. She tried to look at him but saw only a vague image, a mixture of light and dark, mostly dark. Her blind spot had extended its territory once more.

  ‘Give it to Louise,’ Emma said and waited for the wave of mutterings to ebb away before she spoke again. ‘It’s up to you to organize everyone.’

  ‘For what?’ asked Louise.

  ‘I want you all to read to me,’ Emma explained.

  There was a squeal of delight from Gina and she clapped her hands. ‘At last, I’ve been dy—’ There was a sharp gasp of pain. ‘I’ve been desperate to read your book.’ Then in a whisper, ‘Ally! That really hurt.’

  ‘I’ve been dying to read it too,’ smiled Emma woozily. She felt herself slipping back into unconsciousness but she didn’t want to float into an abyss that had no sense of beginning or end. She wanted to stay with the people she loved and if she couldn’t find the strength to keep the fog from consuming her thoughts, then she wanted to be led towards dreams of her own making, where night followed day and where autumn knew its place. ‘I want you all to take turns reading to me and it doesn’t matter if I’m asleep or awake, I’ll hear it.’

  ‘Then I’ll go first,’ Louise told her. ‘Shall I start now?’

  Emma smiled as she began her journey anew. She was back in Mr Spelling’s office and the sun was shining through the window.

  Emma’s words took on a life of their own as they danced across her mind, which added colour and depth to the world she knew so well. She lost all sense of time and wasn’t sure if her journey through the chapters of her life was being told over a matter of hours or days. To her, it lasted a lifetime. And when her words came to an end and silence fell, Emma found herself outside her beloved cottage, enjoying the spring sunshine. She was busily tending her garden as her grandchildren played around her. In a repeat of history, her children’s children were now fighting over the swing.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you two push me on the swing for a change?’ Emma suggested.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Ben.

  Emma frowned as she tried to distinguish one world from another but she wasn’t ready to leave her garden. ‘I could do with a sit down, just don’t push too high.’ There was a pause. ‘How did I get this old, Ben?’

  ‘You’re not …’ Ben said before stopping himself, not ready to extract Emma from the safety of her world either. ‘You’re still as beautiful as the first day I saw you.’

  ‘Thank goodness that taxi had good brakes.’

  Emma groaned as she tried to straighten up her arthritic joints. Thanks to the morphine, the pain was as imaginary as the butterflies that chased each other from flower to flower. Their white wings fluttered across her mind, whipping up confusion but slowly sweeping away the fog.

  ‘Is the blossom out yet?’ she asked Ben, holding desperately onto a brief moment of clarity.

  ‘I can see apple trees from the window,’ he assured her. ‘The sun’s shining and there’s white blossom everywhere. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘You will think of me, won’t you? When you see the blossom trees.’

  ‘I’ll think of you all the time, blossom or not.’

  The room felt very quiet. ‘Are you on your own?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m here,’ Meg said. ‘Steven’s bringing Louise back later and your dad’s been in touch. He said he would come if you wanted him to.’

  ‘We’ve said our goodbyes,’ Emma said and she felt certain that the time for all her goodbyes was close. She had been told that she would more than likely slip into a coma and each time she drifted back to sleep, there was less and less chance that she would wake up again. ‘I’d like to go outside. I want to sit under the blossom trees.’

  ‘Emma, you’re too weak,’ Ben said.

  Thankfully, Emma didn’t need to argue, her mum was going to do it for her. ‘If it’s what you want, we’ll get you outside.’

  Emma heard the door open and footfalls receding into the distance.

  ‘Thank you for making my dreams come true,’ she told Ben. ‘I’m sorry if all I’ve given you in return are nightmares.’

  Ben didn’t answer immediately but she sensed a shadow over her face, smelled his sweet breath on her cheek and then the touch of his soft lips on hers. ‘I’m not ready for this, Em,’ he whispered.

  ‘Me neither,’ Emma agreed, ‘but I’m almost there. I need you to be strong for me. I need you to help me get to the end of our story in a blaze of glory.’

  ‘Only if you promise me you’ll never leave me, not completely. I couldn’t bear that,’ he said, panic rising in his voice.

  ‘I promise,’ she began. ‘I’ll be there in your dreams. You’ll see my smile in every rainbow and you’ll hear my voice in every love song. If there’s a way to connect to you, I’ll find a way back.’

  In the distance, Emma could hear a heated discussion between her mum and a man who Emma assumed was in charge of her care. ‘I don’t care about policy!’ shouted Meg. ‘Either you help us do it or we’ll do it ourselves.’

  Emma smiled to herself. Her mum was still fighting her battles for her.

  Emma could feel herself floating. She was dimly aware of light and shadow but not the regular flashes of strip lights. She wasn’t being hurried down a hospital corridor, not this time. She was basking in dappled sunlight and she could hear the branches swaying above her, laden with blossom and trembling in the breeze. She was lying in Ben’s arms and her mum was close by, stroking her hair.

  Emma’s fingers tingled as they instinctively searched out the smooth resistance of a keyboard but she knew she wouldn’t be the one to continue her story to its natural conclusion. Fear overtook her as she imagined the power she had held at her fingertips disappearing into the ether. She struggled to move, desperate to look at her hands. Out of the darkness, a flash of orange and gold caught her eye and the small gift-wrapped box that the shopkeeper had given her came into view. The fiery wrapping paper sparkled in the palm of her hand.

  ‘It’s time to open the box,’ she whispered to Ben.

  I had been truly blessed when I met Emma, humbled that she would return my love, astounded by her strength of spirit and immensely privileged to share my life with her. However, it wasn’t only her spirit that was strong, so were her opinions. In short, my wi
fe was pushy.

  There was one thing we had never been able to agree upon and I was finally getting the chance to make my case. I would never forgive myself if I failed. Emma had argued that springtime, that vibrant eruption of life bursting out of the darkness to chase away the last remnants of winter, was the season to be celebrated. I couldn’t disagree with that but what I wouldn’t accept was that autumn was the season to be mourned. To prove my point, I was about to take her on a voyage of discovery. We had returned to Paris one last time, only this time there was no blossom fluttering in the breeze like wedding confetti. We were no longer looking forward to married bliss but marvelling at the life we had shared together.

  ‘I’m out of breath already,’ Emma complained.

  Although I knew she was finding our walk through the streets of Paris a struggle, I suspected her reluctance had more to do with a stubborn refusal to accept my opposing view of the seasons but I wasn’t about to give up on the challenge. I knew Emma wouldn’t want me to.

  ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the park,’ I said, daring her into action.

  We set off at a sprint or at least what counted as a sprint by the standards of two octogenarians. When we eventually arrived at the gates to the park, we were both unarguably out of breath but somehow uplifted.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ I asked as Emma tried to slow her breathing. She was leaning against one of the large wrought-iron gates, her grey hair having fought its way free from her woollen hat and falling across her beautiful hazel eyes, which were surrounded by a feathering of well-earned wrinkles.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, staring in awe at the russet-red trail of fallen leaves that led into the park. The path was lined with maples, burnishing leaves of golden yellows, oranges and reds, the exact same tones as the wrapping on the gift box the shopkeeper had given her. The occasional pine tree peaked out from the shadows and their inferiority was telling. They may remain forever green but they looked a tad worn and dull.

  ‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down,’ I said, leading Emma by the hand and taking her through our enchanted forest.