If I Fall

by Ella Harper

  Connie was out somewhere. Jonas wasn’t sure where, but he assumed – hoped – it was job-related. She hadn’t secured a position yet and whilst Jonas wasn’t immediately worried on the financial front due to the selling of some of his precious shares, he hoped Connie sorted herself out soon.

  Jonas shook his head. He was doing his bit, so Connie better do hers, he thought, feeling a flash of anger. He didn’t know why he felt so deeply resentful, but he did. Every day. His shares would tide them over for a few months – tops – but after that, Connie was going to have to step up. If she didn’t and they had to sell the house… Jonas felt his hands curl into fists. If they had to sell the house after all the years he had spent paying for it, repairing it and maintaining it, Jonas would literally lose his shit with Connie. No two ways about it. He felt fired up about the thought of it for some reason, although he hoped of course that it wouldn’t come to that. He didn’t want to hurt Connie. He just wanted her to pull her socks up and stop lazing around spending his money.

  Jonas thought about making a cup of coffee, but he was rather enjoying the comfort of the sofa. He had put a wash on that day, which he felt rather proud of because Connie had left some notes about how to use the washing machine like he was some sort of retard, but he had managed without them. Connie had left him lots of lists, but Jonas was buggered if he was going to do more than give them a cursory glance. It was running a house, for God’s sake! It really wasn’t that hard.

  Jonas piously made a mental note to speak to the girls as they didn’t seem to know where the linen basket was and just left clothes all over the show. What sort of ship was Connie running? Jonas tutted and shook his head smugly. He felt quite superior about the house husband thing. It really wasn’t that hard – organisation was key and once he got himself together, he was pretty sure he’d have the spare room re-painted, the new shed he’d bought months ago erected in the garden and he’d be in a regime of working out and cooking fabulous dinners on a daily basis.

  Jonas consulted his recipe book again. He didn’t have half the ingredients he needed to make the luxurious Jamie Oliver lasagne he’d decided upon for dinner. Why didn’t Connie have these things in the fridge and in the cupboard? Jonas thought, conveniently forgetting that it was his responsibility now to plan the shopping and the meals each week, order online or go to the shop itself and keep on top of what they all needed as a family.

  He gave JJ a call. Maybe he would fancy coming over for a coffee. Men could do coffee afternoons as well, right? And he wanted to talk to him about some personal training to get back in shape. Connie would have to pay for that, the way he had paid for Connie’s gym membership, he decided. Well. Connie had only had a gym membership once and he had bought it as a birthday present one year, but that wasn’t the point. He had always paid for the extras, so she would have to now.

  JJ’s phone went straight to voicemail, as it had been doing a bit of late. Jonas frowned. Oh well. JJ was probably doing his personal trainer thing. He tried Layla. She answered, but said she was tied up with her mum. Yawn. Jonas was rather bored of Layla’s issues. So what if her mum was going bats? It happened to a lot of people, the whole dementia thing. Jonas was sure it couldn’t be that bad.

  Did he have time for a little nap? He was sure he probably did. He lay back on the sofa and within minutes, was snoring away happily. He woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. Christ! Did they have to slam the door like that?

  Hannah came in, dropping coats and bags as she went.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, throwing herself into an armchair. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Lots of things,’ Jonas said, sitting up and raking his hands through his hair. ‘Housework… planning meals, that kind of thing. You need to pick all that stuff up, Han.’

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ Hannah asked, as if he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Probably this lasagne,’ he said, showing Hannah a picture.

  ‘Bella won’t eat that,’ Hannah informed him, flopping back into her chair.

  ‘Why not?’ Jonas felt affronted. Bella could be so difficult.

  ‘She just won’t. And doesn’t lasagne take ages to cook? It’s nearly five o’clock now. Has my dance stuff been washed?’

  Nearly five o’clock? Jonas inwardly swore. Shit. He hadn’t been shopping yet and he hadn’t taken that wash out of the washing machine. Would he need to wash it again? He needed to go and grab some bits otherwise dinner would be a wash-out and he wanted to show how brilliant he was at all this stuff.

  ‘Dad.’ Hannah got up and waved a hand in front of his face. ‘My dance stuff.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Stop waving your hand around like that. I did a wash earlier, but it’s still in the washing machine.’

  Hannah pulled a face. ‘Great. That’ll stink.’

  The door went again. It was Bella.

  ‘Hey,’ Jonas said, plastering a smile onto his face.

  ‘All right, Han,’ Bella said, looking away.

  Hannah poked Bella with her foot. ‘Dad said hi, Bells. He’s cooking lasagne.’

  ‘Gross. Not for me, thanks.’ Bella sat on the arm of the armchair. ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘No idea,’ Jonas said, feeling irritated.

  OK, so Bella didn’t want to be in the same room with him anymore. But she didn’t have to be so rude all the time. Did Bella know how much he’d done for her over the years? Did she know how hard he was trying now to do the right thing? It wasn’t his fault he’d been fired; it was that bastard Lukas’s fault.

  ‘I have to hand my science project in tomorrow,’ Bella said, throwing Jonas a hostile look. ‘Did you managed to get those bits I need for it?’

  ‘What bits?’ Jonas was beginning to feel hounded. Why hadn’t Connie told him about Bella’s dumb science project?

  ‘Mum said she was going to leave you a list with the details.’ Bella got up and went into the kitchen. ‘Do you think this might be it?’ she said, holding up a piece of paper covered in neat writing. ‘And Mum writes everything on the calendar – see? All the dates things need to be handed in, what we both need for school. Me and Hannah have loads of after school classes and projects to hand in before the holidays.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Loads.’ She looked far less bothered than Bella about the mechanics of getting things in on time, but she didn’t exactly look impressed.

  Jonas gritted his teeth. Jesus. OK, so maybe he should have checked Connie’s list. If only so he didn’t look like a total doughnut now.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll pop out now and get your stuff and something for dinner.’

  ‘Thanks. No lasagne for me, though.’ Bella stared him down. ‘It’s full of saturated fat and I’m on a health drive at the moment.’ She looked pointedly at his tummy as if suggesting that he could benefit from doing the same.

  Jonas sucked his tummy in then he sat up. He’d had enough of this. Just because he wasn’t going out to work anymore and bringing the money in didn’t mean that he wasn’t important around here.

  ‘OK, girls. While I have you both here, let’s have a little chat.’

  Hannah brightened; Bella gave him a withering stare.

  Jonas felt a red mist coming on, but he continued. ‘Obviously your mum has told you that I lost… that I’m no longer employed.’

  ‘You got fired,’ Bella said sarcastically.

  ‘Yes I did,’ Jonas said, thinking that Bella could do with taking down a peg or two. ‘It happens and it’s not great. But your mum is now going to step up and take a turn at earning the money and paying the bills.’

  Hannah picked at her nails. ‘I quite liked things the way they were.’

  Jonas wanted to hurl something across the room. Not Hannah as well! What was the matter with these two? They were so ungrateful.

  ‘OK, well, we can’t always have what we want, can we? This is the way it’s going to be from now on.’ Jonas made his tone firm.

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Wh
atever. Are we done, Dad? I have some homework.’

  ‘Yes. And you should do that before you do anything else,’ Jonas stated, feeling like the best parent ever for remembering the line. ‘And while we’re on the subject of… getting things done, can you please work out where the linen basket is? I don’t know why your mother hasn’t shown you before, but it’s on the landing.’

  ‘We know where the linen basket is,’ Bella told him coldly. ‘It’s just that everything has gone to pot around here lately.’

  Jonas narrowed his eyes. Was Bella saying that they were doing this shit on purpose? Being extra difficult because he was in charge now? Before he could say anything, Hannah sloped away and Bella made to leave.

  ‘Hang on, Bella,’ Jonas said, getting up. He closed the door. ‘I think we need to clear the air, don’t you?’

  ‘Clear the air?’ Bella shot him a look of pure dislike. ‘I wouldn’t call it that. I think you probably need to explain why you hit Mum, if that’s what you’re getting at.’ She folded her arms, the picture of hostility.

  Jonas sat on the edge of the sofa, feeling uptight inside. Bella was really beginning to wind him up. Who did she think she was? At the end of the day, whatever domestic issues he and Connie were having, Bella was a minor. She was almost sixteen, but she was a child. She didn’t pay her way because she was still at school, but she was acting as though she had the right to ball Jonas out.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry you had to see that…’ he started.

  ‘You should be sorry you did it, not sorry I saw it,’ Bella interrupted. Her cheeks were flushed and her body language suggested that she was as uptight as he was.

  ‘Well, that too, I guess,’ Jonas said. He felt ashamed for a moment. Bella was right. Was he sorry he had done it? Or was he apologising for Bella witnessing something she shouldn’t have done? Jonas knew he shouldn’t have done it, but Connie did rile him; he was sure she did. It wasn’t simply that he was taking things out on her. Was it? No. He was always trying to talk to her and get her support and Connie would say things that sent him into the stratosphere.

  ‘You don’t seem sorry,’ Bella said, staring at him. ‘You seem like you think you have every right to act like a bully and get away with it. You’re just gutted I saw you, because it meant you didn’t get away with it.’

  Jonas recoiled. Act like a bully? How dare Bella accuse him of that! He wasn’t a bully. He had always been a mild-mannered man, with a calm outlook on life and a temper he had always kept under wraps. It was Connie… goading him, pushing him to a place he didn’t want to be. It was Connie who belittled him and made him feel like shit all the time. It was Connie who…

  Jonas faltered. It wasn’t Connie. It was Lukas. It was Lukas who did all those things, not Connie. He felt himself go pale. He had taken all of his rage and his resentment out on her instead of on his boss, who he wasn’t allowed to punch.

  ‘I see you’re not denying it,’ Bella said, looking disgusted. ‘Just make sure you get some help, Dad. Because it’s not OK for you to do this to Mum. It’s not. And you should know that I told her she should leave you. To find true love. Because that’s not bloody well you, is it? If you love someone, you don’t do this to them.’

  Bella backed away from him and Jonas could see tears in her eyes. ‘When you love someone, you protect them and care for them and appreciate them. You don’t hurt them. You just… love them. Mum deserves that. She deserves better than you!’ Bella yanked the door open and Jonas could hear her running up the stairs.

  He sat in shock after Bella had gone. What she’d said had cut him deeply. But she was wrong. He did love Connie. He did. And he had spent years protecting her and caring for and loving her. He had. He had been a good husband. Jonas suddenly felt tears coming into his eyes and he ran a hand through his hair. Jesus Christ. What had happened to him? What had he turned into?

  Jonas leant over and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t a bad man. He was a good man who had become stressed out and tired and over-worked. And yes, he had let Connie down. Yes, he had done some bad things to her. But it wasn’t all his fault. He had done so much over the years. Surely a few bad moments didn’t outweigh all the good he’d done? That wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

  Jonas lifted his head. He had to get that washing out. He had to get whatever stuff Bella needed for her science project. He needed to sort dinner. He needed to make sure the girls had clothes for the morning and he needed to check Connie’s list to see if he needed to urgently do anything else today to get everything ticking over smoothly.

  The trouble was, Jonas didn’t know if he had it in him to get everything done. He didn’t know what he was good at anymore. He had thought this would be easy and it wasn’t. He was failing at it and he was smart and organised normally, so Jonas guessed he was just rubbish at everything right now.

  And what about Connie? Jonas pulled wet washing out of the machine and sniffed it. What was he supposed to do about Connie? Was it all too late now?

  Layla

  Layla put the phone down despairingly. They had the diagnosis now. It had been a tense, awkward meeting with the specialist who had worked out fairly quickly what the problem was. He had requested an MRI just in case and had checked the results of the blood test (they were clear), but he knew. Layla could tell that he knew almost immediately and she had felt herself plummet when she received the confirmation.

  Her mum had dementia. Frontotemporal dementia, as suspected by Dr Fern. FTD, as it was sometimes known. The difference between this and normal dementia was that it was rarer. It affected the front and sides of the brain (the frontal and temporal lobes, to be exact) and it caused more problems with behaviour and language than the average kind of dementia. It was caused by clumps of abnormal protein forming inside brain cells. These were thought to damage the cells and stop them working properly. These cells were responsible for controlling behaviour, language and the ability to plan and organise.

  It also affected people at a younger age, so at fifty-five years old, Layla’s mum was a prime candidate. The other thing was that it tended to develop slowly and gradually worsen over the years. That was the only thing that was different here. Because her mum’s dementia might have developed slowly, but it was now gathering pace at quite a rate. Her language issues had escalated: she was using incorrect words now, or saying them in the wrong order. Her organisational skills had gone out the window; she was unable to plan anything. Bladder and bowel control had unfortunately started to weaken as well – even though this wasn’t thought to happen until much later on in most patients.

  Layla tried the phone number again. It was engaged. She slammed the phone down. She was trying to get her social assessment organised so she could get some help. It wasn’t anyone’s fault as the system was absurdly over-loaded, but right now, Layla felt as though she was at the bottom of the pile and was wading through quicksand to get any higher up. She needed help. Desperately. But until she got the social assessment sorted, she was no closer to getting support from Admiral Nurses or charities. She was no closer to working out if a residential home was affordable or even a possibility.

  Layla stood up. She wasn’t sure if she should move her office upstairs into an area of the lounge so she could get to her mum quicker during appointments if need be, but she figured it would be worse to have her mum wandering in and out of the lounge and causing disruption that way. After a bad fall recently, Layla had put a stairgate at the top of the stairs as a precaution. She hated doing it; it felt as though she was treating her mum like a child, not a grown up, but it was too dangerous to just leave the stairs unattended when she was with clients.

  ‘Layla!’

  Layla sighed. She hadn’t ever thought she would feel sick of hearing her own name called out, but these days, she was. And usually, nothing particularly positive followed.

  ‘I’m dirty, Layla. You have to come and help me.’

  Layla closed her eyes. Oh God. This had happened four or five ti
mes in the last fortnight and she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t her mum’s fault. She couldn’t help soiling herself, it seemed. But it was hideous to deal with. Her mum would often laugh when Layla cleaned her up, but she would sometimes become aggressive and difficult, pushing Layla away constantly, slapping her now and again.

  ‘I’m coming, Mum.’

  Layla unenthusiastically went up the stairs and opened the stairgate. Closing it, she paused, with her hand on the wooden frame. She hadn’t ever imagined having a stairgate, but if she had, she knew she would have thought of it in relation to a child. Not to one of her parents. It was a bittersweet thing, walking through the stairgate each day. It was a reminder that she might not ever need one in the conventional sense.

  God. Layla had to keep pulling herself out of the negative frame of mind she kept slipping into. It was a daily battle not to spiral into some sort of depression; she had to work hard at it. But as soon as she thought of an aspect of her life that had become limited by her mum’s illness, it was incredibly tricky not to let it take hold and take over.

  ‘OK, Mum. Let’s get you cleaned up.’ Layla took her to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

  Evelyn was in a docile mood today. She allowed herself to be undressed and even helped put her clothes in a plastic bag (Layla kept a stash of them in the bathroom cupboard now).

  Doing her best not to hold her nose at the terrible stench, Layla helped her into the shower. Evelyn squeaked as the water hit her (apparently it was too hot, although Layla had checked it twice beforehand) but she managed to wash herself with a sponge and some shower gel once the water was turned down a notch.

  Helping her out, Layla dried her mum, who stood like a child, giggling now and again as she accused Layla of tickling her. Layla laughed; there were moments like this still. Moments she enjoyed and could find fun in. They weren’t that frequent, but she grabbed them while she could.