If I Fall

by Ella Harper

  ‘I was trying to protect everyone,’ Connie said hoarsely. She had gone completely pale. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I loved you; I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t think JJ would be a good father and I knew you would. I knew you’d love her and cherish her and be the best person to be in her life.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ Jonas said flatly. ‘You can’t just decide these things, Connie. You have to give people the choice so they can make their own minds up.’

  ‘Would you have stayed with me?’ Connie asked him, almost pleading. ‘If I’d told you that Bella wasn’t yours? That she was JJ’s?’

  Jonas thought for a second. ‘Maybe not. But you should have given me that choice.’

  ‘But we’ve been so happy,’ Connie said, with tears in her eyes and in her voice. ‘So very happy together. You, me, Bella and Hannah. We were meant to be a family.’

  Jonas started crying and hated himself for it. He couldn’t deny that what Connie said was right. They had had many wonderful years together and he wasn’t sure he would have changed those for anything. But he couldn’t help hating JJ right now. Hating him for being Bella’s genetic father – if not the father who had been there for her when she had had nightmares or had fallen off her bike. It hurt like hell.

  Jonas stood up and Connie shrank back from him.

  ‘I’m not going to hit you,’ he told her quietly. ‘I don’t feel enough to hit you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  Jonas shrugged, feeling numb. ‘I feel nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m dead inside. At this. With you. With life.’

  ‘Jonas…’

  ‘No. Enough.’ Jonas had to get away from her. He had to get away from Connie right now. Not because he was going to hurt her. But because she had quite simply taken everything from him. He felt humiliated. And he had felt like an embarrassing failure before he had found the letter.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Connie said, walking after him.

  ‘None of your business,’ Jonas replied, walking away from her. He heard her crying out his name and then just crying, but he walked away. He had destroyed her and she had destroyed him. It was over. They were over. Everything was over.

  Layla

  Layla sat at her desk in despair. Another two clients gone this week, due to awful interruptions and general disruption to their sessions. Her mum seemed to have completely lost control of her faculties. And her bowel and bladder control.

  The Admiral Nurse was due to arrive any minute, but Layla wasn’t feeling hopeful about the outcome. She answered the door lethargically. She hadn’t slept in weeks. Her mum was up on and off during the night, either forgetting where the toilet was or because she had already wet the bed. She would cry out and moan like a child, repeating herself over and over again with the same words and expressions. When Layla went to her, Evelyn was often abusive and rude, lashing out physically or just hurling verbal abuse at Layla, with language that shocked Layla with its explicitness.

  ‘Hello there!’ The Admiral Nurse came in with a breezy attitude and a wide smile. Layla smiled back unenthusiastically.

  ‘You look exhausted, my love,’ the nurse said. ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m Sally and I’m hopefully going to be able to give you some support.’

  ‘Great,’ said Layla weakly.

  ‘Shall we have a cup of tea and talk through how I can help? I can meet your mum and we can work out a plan.’

  Layla nodded and took Sally upstairs. It was all sounding upbeat and hopeful but Layla didn’t want to get carried away just yet. ‘Sorry about the stairgate.’

  ‘Don’t apologise! Good idea. Lovely kitchen,’ Sally said. ‘Would you like me to help with the tea?’

  ‘No, you’re OK. I’ll get Mum in.’ Layla went to get Evelyn, who was in the middle of watching one of her favourite programmes. She became rather difficult as Layla tried to coax her out of the room.

  ‘No, thank you very much. I’m fine here. I don’t WANT TO MEET ANYONE.’ Her voice got louder and louder, as it often did when Evelyn thought people couldn’t understand her.

  Layla finally managed to get her to come into the kitchen. ‘Evelyn, meet Sally. Sally, meet Evelyn.’ She set about making some tea while Sally chatted to her mum.

  ‘So.’ Sally sipped her tea. ‘Admiral Nurses are experts in dealing with these situations. We can provide one-to-one support, guidance and some practical solutions.’ She dug some leaflets out of her bag. ‘We can help with communication skills and we work on feelings of fear and distress. Here are some details of the kind of support we can provide you with.’

  Layla looked through the leaflets, as did Evelyn, but she seemed more interested in the pictures than anything else.

  ‘Can I go now?’ she asked, sounding like a child asking to get down from the table.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Layla watched her leave the room, shuffling out in the slippers she refused to take off. Even in bed.

  Sally looked sympathetic. ‘You’re doing an amazing job.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Layla shook her head. ‘I’m really not.’

  ‘What can I help you with?’ Sally asked kindly.

  Layla sat back and considered. ‘Let’s see. I need help with her constantly wetting herself and soiling herself. Day and night. Wiping it on the walls sometimes. I need help with being woken up around ten times on average during the night, just because she wants attention or because she’s wet the bed or worse or because she’s having a conversation with herself at full volume. Or she’s upset about something and she’d like to tell me about it… over and over again. In a whiny, child’s voice.’

  ‘Right.’ Sally nodded.

  ‘I’d also quite like some help with my mum shouting in my face periodically, using disgusting words I’ve never heard her use before,’ Layla continued. ‘I’d like some assistance with the fact that she doesn’t know who I am sometimes, so she becomes very frightened and screams for the police. Or hits me. With anything she has to hand. If anyone can give me some guidance on how to get a grown woman in and out of the bath when she turns herself into a dead weight on purpose then giggles while I’m putting my back out, that would be great.’

  ‘OK, I can see that you’re struggling…’ Sally began.

  ‘And if anyone can see fit to tell me how I am going to run my business and look after this woman who I love very much but am beginning to hate because she’s so difficult and horrible, that would be fantastic.’ Layla was crying now and her voice had become shrill and loud. ‘And finally if anyone can help me see how I can possibly lead any kind of life of my own, that would be amazing. How I can meet a man and go on dates and eventually get married and have a family of my own. Why I have been burdened with this awful situation when I haven’t done anything to fucking deserve it. Sorry,’ she added, feeling bad about her language.

  Sally patted her hand. ‘No need. I totally understand. And I know you feel desperate and hopeless right now. But it will get better, I promise you.’

  ‘How?’ Layla said, tearfully. ‘Unless you’re moving in with us, Sally – I can’t see how my life is possibly going to get any better. She needs to be in a home… she needs twenty-four-hour care. I can’t provide that for her. I can’t pay for that. She has some money from selling her house, but it’s not enough. I’m not enough. I thought I was patient and kind and supportive, but I’m not.’ Layla swallowed. ‘I’m obviously just selfish and horrible because I want to run away and not deal with this.’

  ‘Who would? You’re a beautiful, young woman in your prime, ready to meet someone and settle down.’ Sally’s tone was pragmatic. ‘And you will. We just need to sort this situation first and then we can move forward and get you your life back.’

  Layla stared at Sally. She so wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that there was a light at the end of the tunnel… a way out of this. But she had read up on every aspect of dementia and care. She could barely leave the house – what better to do than get clued up about what was goin
g on? The downside to it was that Layla had learnt everything there was to know. About dementia, about frontotemporal dementia, about care homes, about costs, about support. Layla was fairly certain she was one of the most well-informed people around on all of these subjects. And now that she was armed with all the information, she felt even more hopeless.

  Sally finished her tea. ‘I can see that we have a severe case here – that’s also what it said in the home assessment that was done some weeks ago. Leave it with me; I’ll get you some help, Layla. I can see that you’re on the edge.’

  Oh, you have no idea, Layla thought to herself.

  Sally got up. ‘Trust me,’ she said, taking Layla’s hand. ‘I’ll be in touch in a few days and we’ll look at some care home options and we’ll get this situation sorted.’

  Layla held Sally’s hand. She wanted to trust her. She really did. But Layla just didn’t have faith in anything anymore. In the system, in the experts, in herself, even. All she could see was darkness ahead.

  She saw Sally out and leant against the closed door.

  Three, two, one, she counted in her head.

  ‘Layla. I’m all wet. Help me!’

  Right on cue. Layla took a breath but felt rising panic in her chest. How on earth did anyone cope with this? If they did, they were better people than her, because Layla wanted to throw the towel in. She quite simply didn’t want to do this anymore. And even if she wanted to run away, Layla knew she couldn’t. Which didn’t leave too many alternatives.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Layla paused. She had been having some terrible thoughts lately. Thoughts about putting her mum out of misery. She had no idea how and she knew from some investigations online that euthanasia was still illegal in this country. They could go elsewhere, but it cost money and Layla had no idea how she would transport her mum anywhere. She could barely get herself to the shops, let alone to Switzerland.

  But maybe there was a way, Layla thought to herself numbly. Maybe there was a way for them both to check out and then it wouldn’t matter about legalities. Because despite Sally’s chirpy optimism, until she came up with something concrete, Layla wasn’t buying into what she was selling. It would be weeks before she heard from Sally again… weeks before she had even a glimmer of hope that life might get better. The system was slow when it came to dementia cases and it was exceptionally slow when money wasn’t available to fund the care.

  All Layla could see in front of her was thousands more sleepless nights and messing the bed and screaming and crying and whining. No fun, no love, no romance, no dates, no wedding, no children. No life. Or – she could see escape and relief and peace. It suddenly didn’t seem like that hard a choice anymore. It actually seemed like the best one available.

  JJ

  JJ put his key in the lock and opened his door. Lugged his gym bag in behind him and let the door swing shut behind him. He sighed. He felt pretty desolate. He and Connie hadn’t exchanged any texts since the lunch the other day and JJ felt horribly let down, as well as horribly guilty about not telling Connie in the first place. Now it was all too late and he only had himself to blame.

  JJ dumped his bag and walked towards the kitchen. Hearing a noise, he stopped dead. What the hell was that? Picking up a nearby statue from the table in the hall, JJ took the last couple of steps stealthily. Stepping into the kitchen, he nearly dropped the statue in shock.

  ‘Hello, son.’

  Standing there as bold as brass was his dad, Bill. He was drinking a cup of coffee nonchalantly, as if it was his kitchen, not JJ’s. As if he deserved to be there.

  Jesus Christ. JJ realised he was holding his breath; he let it out noisily. ‘What – what the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘Came to see you. Thought it had been too long.’ Bill put his coffee cup down. ‘And you’re ignoring my phone calls, aren’t you, son?’

  JJ thought he might be sick. His dad was here, in his apartment. In his space. He had probably looked around and touched everything, tainting it.

  ‘H-how did you get in?’

  ‘I have my ways.’ Bill touched the side of his nose and smirked.

  JJ stared at him. His dad looked the same as he always had. Dark, greasy hair, worn too long. Beady, dark eyes that had a glint of sadism in them. Scruffy clothes – today, a dirty tracksuit and big, builder-style boots, caked in mud and dust. There were clumps of dirt all over the pristine, grey tiles on the floor… and, no doubt, throughout JJ’s apartment.

  And the smell of him. His dad had always smelt strongly of some cheap, nasty aftershave, worn mostly to mask the musty smell he had, a smell that suggested he badly needed a wash and always wore unkempt clothes. It was one of the reasons JJ was so fastidious about cleanliness – well, that and the fact that he realised he had been trying to scrub off the filth of his past ever since it had happened.

  The smell of him was the same. It was pungent and disgusting. JJ’s stomach threatened to let him down and make his poached eggs and spinach make a reappearance.

  ‘Get out,’ he told his father.

  ‘Well, that’s not very friendly, is it,’ Bill said, perching on a stool. ‘Don’t you want to know how I am?’

  JJ made a mental note to burn the stool later. ‘No. Why would I? I know how you are. You’re sick and perverted and disgusting.’

  Bill grinned and it was a rictus grin, like one of those scary clowns in a horror film. ‘Well, you always did know me well, didn’t you, Joshua Jack.’

  JJ recoiled. No one called him by his real name. No one. Only his dad. He clenched his fists. ‘Get out. I’m calling the police.’ He took his phone out of his pocket. There was a message from Jonas, but he ignored it.

  ‘And what are you going to say?’ Bill asked, drumming his dirty fingers on the table. ‘That your old pa has come to visit and you want him to go? The pa you have never reported or pressed charges against?’

  JJ’s fingers curled around his phone. Fuck.

  ‘And why didn’t you press charges?’ Bill asked, leaning forward.

  JJ caught a whiff of his breath and gagged at the hideous memories it brought back.

  ‘Maybe you actually liked it,’ Bill said with another sickening smile. ‘Maybe you liked it and you just couldn’t admit it to yourself.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ JJ said, feeling breathless. God, what the hell was happening here? How could this evil man be in his apartment? How could he be back in JJ’s life after all these years? All the feelings of shame and humiliation and embarrassment rushed into JJ’s body, charging around it like hot flames licking at wood. JJ wanted to curl up in a ball the way he had as a child, covering his face and his ears, blocking out everything bad that had happened to him. Everything bad that this man had ever done to him.

  ‘I was a child,’ he said suddenly, facing his dad. ‘I was a little boy. How could you do that? How could you live with what you did? What kind of sick, perverted bastard are you?’

  Bill got off the stool and walked towards JJ. ‘The worst kind,’ he said, fixing JJ with a stare that made him go cold all over.

  ‘You’re an old man,’ JJ told him, lifting his chin. ‘And I’m twice the size of you. You can’t do this to me anymore.’

  Bill considered him, looking him up and down lasciviously. ‘Hmm. Good point. I guess I’d have to bring some friends, wouldn’t I?’

  JJ’s stomach dropped.

  Bill sauntered past him. ‘Some nice clothes you got in that closet,’ he commented. ‘Might help myself to a few things. To tide me over before I come back with my pals.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘And don’t think I won’t find you if you run away, Joshua. Because I will. I tracked you down here and I’ll track you down again. Toodle pip, son. Don’t let the bed bugs bite and all that shit.’

  JJ stood still while his father walked to the front door, then he heard it bang. He walked to the door and locked it up, with all the bolts and chains. Then he slid down the door to the floor and sat there, in shock. Tears were rolling down hi
s cheeks. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He and Connie would never be together, even if they might still be in love. And his dad was back in his life. He was back and he wanted JJ all to himself again and he would do it, doing whatever it took to make that happen.

  Could he go to the police? Would they even believe him? It was so long ago and they would ask why he hadn’t reported him years before. JJ got up and walked back to the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey. Cracking it open, he grabbed a glass and poured a huge measure into it. Drank it down in one. Poured another. And another.

  There was only one way out of this situation, and out of the future that had now presented itself. And JJ was going to take it.

  Falling

  Jonas couldn’t understand why JJ hadn’t responded to his text. It had been a pretty strong text – one that demanded an answer. Jonas wasn’t sure that he would ignore a text saying ‘Hey. Did you know that my daughter is actually your daughter?’ He sent another text to JJ, one that was even more obvious, but quite frankly, Jonas had far bigger things to worry about. He had hit rock bottom. And Jonas was fairly sure he didn’t have it in him to care about any of it. What did any of this matter anymore?

  * * *

  Connie sat in the garden smoking a cigarette in shock. She had never felt so wretched in her life. She had thought she was doing the right thing not letting on that she thought JJ was Bella’s father all those years ago. But seeing Jonas’s reaction… God. How awful. Poor Jonas. Connie had no idea what was going to happen now. Would Jonas tell JJ? And if so, what would JJ do? How would he feel? Connie felt panicked. She wanted to talk to someone, but she wasn’t sure who could help her anymore. Connie dissolved into tears, hating herself. She could only think that everyone – Jonas, JJ, Bella – wouldn’t want her around anymore. How could she put any of this right? Should she try, or should she just disappear?