They All Fall Down

by Cat Hogan

  ‘OK, OK, Sal.’

  They sat in an easy silence for the rest of the short trip down the lane to Sal’s parents’ house.

  When Jen pulled up, Sal gathered up her skirt and the rest of her belongings, and opened the car door.

  ‘Jen, you won’t cancel, will you?’

  ‘I won’t. Now get out of the car – I’ll be late. Give your mam and dad hugs from me.’

  Sal gave her friend a big squeeze and got out. If she makes up an excuse for Friday night, I’ll brain her, she thought.

  Sal was excited. She blew a kiss in the direction of the sea and thought: Aunty Pat, I’ve got it. I’ll get them two together, but I need your help!

  Chapter 7

  He was more than comfortable with his own nakedness, and why wouldn’t he be? He was flawless. He liked to lie there and watch their faces as they emerged from the bathroom in the cold light of day, to face him in all his glory. He liked to look at the discomfort that registered in their eyes as they came out through the door and saw him just watching. It was his house, his rules, and he would do as he pleased. Some of them would come back for second helpings before he kicked them out, some of them would be gone before he woke (that was unusual), and the small few would be dressed and fully made-up before he saw them. Generally it was the same old dance, the small talk, alluding to seeing them again as they scrawled their number on the notebook on the locker. Little did they know it was there for that exact purpose, and the page would go in the bin before they reached the ground floor.

  Sometimes he thought about getting up and looking through their bags before they woke, just to check what their name was. But that was all it was – a thought he never followed through with action. He rarely remembered their names, and he didn’t care.

  This particular gazelle emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Typical – and possibly coached from reading too many self-help books, or glossy magazines, she tried to look demure and alluring. She didn’t. The bruise had faded, thank goodness, and for a second he felt sorry for her. She looked younger now than he had originally thought. Early twenties. Young and impressionable. Young and easily led. Young and compliant.

  She was beautiful though: all legs and breasts. She looked awkward standing there, looking around in panic for her clothes. She would follow with the line ‘I’m sorry for waking you’ – they never meant it really – they always wanted him to wake, and cook them breakfast, and hold their hands and tell them he would love to see them again. Doesn’t work like that, girls. You would need to be something really special to keep up with me.

  He lay there as she sat on the end of the bed.

  She felt so uncomfortable. Dammit, she thought, what was I thinking? He is a creep, lying there like a demi-god. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. If he hadn’t got me so high last night I would never have stayed here. She looked around his room. Really spacious, typical modern man room – wealthy man room. Golf clubs in the corner, Forbes magazine on the floor, a wardrobe stuffed with expensive suits with a large selection of ties hanging on a rail. She needed to get home and get ready for the evening shift. Never again would she go home with a strange man. She wasn’t sure if it was the come-down from the drink and the coke or his presence that was making her feel ratty. She knew who he was, and she also knew that he was the most eligible bachelor in Dublin. She had heard the stories, a real-life Lothario. Funny, she had never heard any stories of how he liked to play rough. It was all a bit hazy, and she couldn’t really remember a lot from the night before.

  She needed to get dressed and get out of there. She checked her phone – lunchtime.

  This one is different, he thought. He could tell by her body language she was feeling prickly. Better sweeten her up, or she might go home to Daddy and tell him she was roughed up by a big boy but, then again, his friend owned the hotel she worked in, and she knew it. No, there would be no gossip out of her, thanks very much.

  ‘Can I offer you a coffee or some breakfast, Anna?’

  He had risen from the bed and was getting dressed.

  He remembered her name, which was a start, she thought.

  ‘A coffee would be lovely, thanks.’

  Boom. He had her reeled in again.

  She watched him as he rounded the bed, and planted a kiss on her cheek. Maybe he’s not so bad, she thought, and began to feel a bit better about herself. It was a late night, she’d had way too much to drink and, as well as her own stash of coke, they had taken more when they got back.

  They made small talk at the counter in his kitchen over a coffee. He was always the charmer and she had just opened up like a spring flower. He knew she had merely been a means of satisfying a sexual urge last night. She was beginning to think he was actually interested in her.

  They sat exchanging pleasantries for a few more minutes, before he began looking impatiently at his watch. He informed her that he really must get organised for his three o’clock meeting, and unfortunately – after enquiring where she was going – he was going in the opposite direction.

  She asked if he wanted to go out for a drink sometime this week, and he responded by telling her to write down her number on the notepad on the locker. He had a really busy schedule for the remainder or the week but would be in touch early next week to arrange dinner somewhere in town, perhaps The Dandelion: did she know of the restaurant and would she like to go there?

  This little charade of course made her eyes light up. Everyone knew The Dandelion. It was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in Dublin. It would cost more for dinner in there than she earned in a week.

  And for the finale, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Now, Anna,’ he said, ‘I must go. I need a shower to wake myself up – you wore me out last night. I’ll give you a call. Just let yourself out. The DART station is around the corner, keep left. See you soon. Ciao ciao.’

  They fell for the same bullshit every time. He was growing tired of it. He had started to notice lately that he was feeling slightly guilty as they left. But easy come, easy go. They were all the same, gave in to the chase too easily. The women who stank of desperation. They wanted a man, and no amount of mascara could hide that look in their eyes. They all wanted a man, more specifically him.

  The hot jet of the power shower washed away any feeling of guilt.

  Suited and booted, ready to go event-manage for Mother, he stepped out into the daylight to meet the first client of the day. Weybridge Estate was an incredibly exclusive property and all his clients had deep pockets.

  As he drove, he passed her on the road walking. Keep walking, girl, he thought, keep walking.

  He was looking forward to the dinner party in Jen’s with Andy and her friends. It all sounded very cosy. He might make a weekend out of it. He would book the usual place and just play it by ear on Friday night – surely he could get a taxi out of Hicksville at some stage?

  He was looking forward to getting out of Dublin and seeing Andy. He was the only person whose company even registered as being anything worthwhile. It was up to him as his friend to always make sure he got what he needed. He was his protector. He was his friend.

  Jen intrigued him. She was completely immune to his charm, which always made it interesting, and although she was pretty hot there was something a bit too frumpy and bland about her to even bother with the games.

  He had to hand it to her though, she knew her own mind and, from what he had heard through Andy, was a great mother to that little rug rat. Andy seemed taken with both of them. That was something he would have to remedy – he had the trip planned and no woman was going to get in the way of that. He would make sure of it.

  Chapter 8

  Doc stood on the front doorstep of his home, wondering whether or not he should ring the doorbell. His bag sat beside him on the concrete.

  This is all your fault, you know, Doc, said a voice in his head. You need to clean up your act and save your marriage.

  This had been
the general train of thought since he left his home the previous evening, albeit not a strong enough thought to keep him away from his fancy woman. He loved his wife more, and he had come home. He made a promise to himself – that was the last time – he would tell her soon it was over.

  He turned the key in the door and walked in. He could hear Hugh up in his bedroom, playing on his drum kit – Tess had been less than impressed when he arrived home with that for Christmas. Hugh loved it, and all was forgiven in the end. He wanted to shout out to him, but he needed to face his wife first.

  The sound of the television wafted from the sitting room. This in itself was unusual: she hardly ever watched TV and never during the day.

  He opened the sitting-room door, to find her lying on the couch in front of a roaring fire. Crumbs were all that remained of the plate of biscuits and her cup was empty.

  ‘You look cosy.’ He was trying to be nice.

  ‘I am.’ Her eyes didn’t leave the television.

  He knew that this was a good sign: she hadn’t launched into a tirade of shouting. He offered to make tea, she accepted.

  When Doc returned from the kitchen, she had come out from under her blanket. He sat down in the chair beside the fireplace.

  ‘Where did you stay last night, Doc?’

  ‘In a B&B.’ He cringed as the lie was said. But he couldn’t tell her the truth, could he? ‘Tess, can we talk now? We need to sort this mess out.’

  ‘Doc, I don’t know where to even start. Everything has gone to shit and I’m tired of it all.’

  Her tone was gentle. She seemed to be beyond fighting. The drama of the day before had depleted her energy – she looked as though she didn’t have the strength to argue. She was drained – and pliable.

  ‘I did a lot of thinking last night, Tess. Most of what you said is true. Things are crap between us and we don’t make time for each other any more. I love you and Hugh more than anything in the world, you have to believe me when I say that. I want us to get back to where we were, and you to see me as you did before – instead of the musician stereotype you now see me as.’

  She shook her head and looked at him in amazement. ‘Musician stereotype? So it’s all my fault, is it? The problem is that I see you as a stereotype? What about the affair, Doc?’

  ‘As God is my judge, Tess, you are the only woman for me.’

  ‘That’s not answering the question though, is it?’

  She stared at him and his stomach turned to lead.

  ‘Tess, I’m not having an affair. I swear on my life. You have to believe me.’

  ‘How can I believe you? You did it before! You’ve been acting so weirdly lately, you can’t blame me for jumping to that conclusion.’

  He then knew by the tone of her voice that she didn’t know for sure. She was guessing. He needed to convince her that she was being paranoid.

  ‘Tess, I swear you’ve got it wrong. I nearly lost you the last time. It was a long time ago and I learned my lesson – you know that. I swore to you I wouldn’t do it again and I meant it, and I promise you now there will only ever be you.’ He meant that last statement with all his heart. He loved his wife, and they had been together for so long. No one knew him better than her, and she deserved to be treated right. He wouldn’t tell her about his affair, but he would, from today, be the perfect husband and father.

  ‘I don’t know, Doc. I want to believe you, I really do, but I feel like we are housemates, living totally separate lives. You make me feel like I bore you to tears, and you can’t wait to get out of this house and go where the wind blows you.’

  ‘I’ll give up the music.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean it, Tess. You and Hugh are my number-one priority. I’ll give up the gigs and get a job somewhere else – a “real job” if you want to call it that. I heard the fish factory is looking for staff.’

  He looked at her, and he saw how his suggestion had affected her. She looked shocked, to say the least.

  ‘It would kill you to give up music, Doc. It’s part of your DNA.’

  ‘Well, I’ll only do local gigs then. I will do whatever it takes to fix this, Tess. I swear to God. If I have to get a job and hang up my guitar to prove that to you, that’s what I’ll do.’

  ‘Doc, I just want us to be happy. You, me and Hugh. I want us to be a family again. And now ...’

  ‘And now what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter … The pub is struggling, Doc, and I’m under huge strain. I need to know we can support each other and take care of each other.’

  ‘I promise, Tess. Things are going to be great from here on in. I’ll be fecking Superman and you will be my Lois.’

  He smiled at her and it was reciprocated.

  ‘Teamwork, Tess. That’s what it’s all about from now on. I love you, you know that, don’t you?’

  He looked at her. She nodded her head and began to cry.

  ‘I love you too, Doc, and I just want us to be happy,’ she said between sobs. ‘I can’t expect you to give up music, it’s your livelihood. We just need to figure everything out and make sure we put our family first.’

  He joined her on the couch and hugged her. ‘We will make this work, Tess, OK?’

  She hugged him back. ‘OK.’ She hesitated. ‘Doc, I’ve something to tell you.’

  ‘What is it, love?’

  Before she could continue, the sitting-room door flew open and in marched Hugh kitted out in his football gear.

  ‘Dad! We need to go training. I’m going to be late, and I’m goalie tonight and I’m going to save all the goals and be the hero. Come on, Dad, quick, quick!’

  ‘All right, mister, let’s go. What were you going to say there, Tess?’

  ‘It can wait, Doc. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Mam, do you want to come too?’ Hugh was hopping from one foot to another, and nearly fell over his laces.

  ‘I’ll stay here and make something nice for dinner. I’ll have a big bubble bath ready for you when you get home, OK? Now come here until I tie those laces for you.’

  ‘OK, Mam.’ He stood still just long enough for her to tie the laces on his football boots.

  Doc looked at them, and in that moment he knew that things would be OK. He would put things right and wouldn’t fuck up again.

  ‘See you later, Mam!’ Hugh gave her a hug and a kiss then scarpered in the direction of the car.

  ‘I’ll see you later, love, OK?’

  ‘OK, love. I’ll make dinner and we can just take it easy tonight. I’m exhausted.’

  He went to kiss her goodbye but she turned her face and offered him her cheek.

  Doc walked out the front door and felt lighter. He had dodged a bullet. He felt his guilt abating slightly and he knew he was out of the woods, so to speak. It would take time and effort. He would make it up to her if it killed him. His Tess, his one and only.

  Chapter 9

  He ended the call with his mother as he pulled into the wide drive of Cherry House Nursing Home. The modern building looked warm and inviting, as the windows took on the same colour as the evening sun.

  The nurse on reception nodded to him as he walked down the corridor to room 17B, his shoes squeaking on the polished non-slip floors. The same faces greeted him on the corridor. It was a pleasant place, Cherry House: new, private and very expensive. The art work on the walls, the communal courtyard and the dozens of potted plants disguised the institution well.

  He knocked gently on the door before opening it. It was just after five, and a rattle of crockery and a tea trolley could be heard in the distance over the din of the television immediately opposite him. This was the usual carry-on, until a nurse or an orderly came in and turned it down. As soon as they left, someone would turn it up again. Others would be sitting facing the window overlooking the courtyard, seeing nothing, oblivious to the chat-show theme tunes.

  He pushed open the door and went in.

  ‘Hello, Arthur, how are you this evening? I brought your fa
vourites – Liquorice Allsorts.’

  He sat in the chair at the side of the bed, and laid the sweets down on the locker.

  ‘Evening, Scott laddie – how are you?’

  He was really lucid and in good form this evening. That was a good sign: it hadn’t progressed.

  ‘Is that mother of yours looking after my garden properly up there?’

  ‘She is indeed, Arthur. She has a young fella up there at the weekends, and she has left strict instructions for him to maintain everything exactly as you left it.’

  This pleased him. Arthur Jenkins had been the gardener on Weybridge estate for decades. He had grown up with Scott’s father and had watched Scott grow up. He knew that Scott was a cold fish and fond of the highlife but he understood how he had turned out the way he did. His mother was an awful wreck, and she had put his father in a grave too early. Young Scott had always been a pleasant chap in his company, and he looked on him like family. The Carluccio Randalls were the only family he had known. He had never married. Scott continued to visit him after he retired, and when he started to get a bit absentminded, and not quite able to look after himself, he would have been left alone only for him. Scott had found this lovely place for him, and he was only paying a few euros out of his pension every week for it.

  ‘You’re a good chap, Scott – you never forget my sweets.’