If Ever I Fall

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Not exactly. It was more of an absence. Your eyes glazed over. You wouldn’t respond to my questions.’

  ‘What does that mean? It’s not normal, is it?’

  ‘I’d like to ask whether you’ve experienced anything like this before, earlier in your life, but I know that’s not something you can answer. Can you tell me what just happened from your perspective?’

  ‘Like I said, another memory. I assume that’s what it was, anyway.’

  ‘A memory of what?’

  ‘I was in a boardroom: modern, simply furnished. I was facing a panel of three people. I knew they were my bosses. It was about some big change that was taking place at work.’

  ‘What was your job?’

  ‘That’s the weird thing. I don’t know. I did when I was there in the moment, but now it’s gone. I have no idea.’ My brain is fried. I rub my temples, but it provides little relief. ‘What’s happening to me, Miles?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s only so much I can see and do here. I think you definitely should have a scan at the hospital. Just as a precaution.’

  ‘Really? Today?’

  ‘No, it’ll still have to be Monday. But I’ll be keeping an extra close eye on you in the meantime. And no more solitary walks.’

  ‘A brain scan? Can you arrange that?’

  ‘I know a couple of people there.’

  Miles is all for returning to the house and leaving the trip to the village until later. But I tell him to continue, as long as he takes it easy behind the wheel, especially until we reach a proper road. I haven’t forgotten the panic I felt as we first started driving. I’m not sure where it came from, but thankfully it seems to have gone now.

  Despite the slower speed, I’m still bounced from side to side as the car makes its way from crater to crater along the track. Eventually, after every bone in my body has been shaken, I see the welcome sight of tarmac ahead. We take a right turn.

  I’d hoped that I might recognise some of the sights along the way. But other than empty fields, bushes, trees and the odd isolated house, there’s little to jog my memory. Heading inland as we are, there aren’t even any good views of the sea.

  When we reach the village, it’s not much to look at. There are a handful of small shops, a pub and a church. There’s also a primary school: a tiny one that looks like it could only accommodate a handful of pupils. But from the small number of houses I see here, that’s probably more than enough. None of it rings a bell, although Miles tells me I’ve been here plenty of times before.

  So what on earth brought me here in the first place? With no apparent ties to the area, how did I end up in the village’s only pub, the Red Lion, on the night Miles and I met?

  We park outside the small hardware store.

  ‘Are you sure they’ll have the nails you need?’ I ask.

  He laughs. ‘I’ve yet to ask for anything they don’t have. It’s one of those old school places where you tell them what you need and they disappear and find it for you. It might not look very impressive, but I think there must be a huge underground cavern somewhere nearby where they keep all the stock. It’s brilliant, honestly.’

  We both step out of the car. I’m about to follow Miles when he asks if I’d mind popping to the general store, which is immediately opposite on the other side of the road. ‘We could do with some bread and milk,’ he says, holding out a ten-pound note, only to pull it back a second later. ‘Hang on. Maybe that’s not such a good idea. Probably best we stay together.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I reply, reaching forward to grab the note. ‘I insist.’

  I cross the road, aware of Miles watching me do so, and enter the shop.

  I see her as soon as I’m inside. She’s standing behind the counter, staring straight at me. I don’t know how I know it’s her. To my knowledge, I’ve never seen her close up before.

  But there’s no doubt in my mind.

  I’m a hundred per cent certain.

  It’s the girl in red.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sunday, 9 April 2017

  Dear Sam,

  It’s 2.07 p.m. and I’m sitting in the kitchen. Ruby is snoozing on the couch in the lounge, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to write again. I have plenty to tell you, but before I start with that, I want to say how much I’m getting out of doing this.

  When Rosie, my counsellor, first suggested the idea, I wasn’t at all sure. It seemed weird. You probably guessed as much. Initially, I stonewalled her every time she mentioned it, but as I got to know her and so much of her other advice proved useful, I started to consider it.

  She says a lot of my problems stem from what happened with you. I mean, of course they do. I don’t need a counsellor to tell me that. Not that I hold you in any way responsible, Sam. I’m the one to blame. I should have seen it coming. I should have been there to stop it. I know Dan feels the same. As your parents, how could we not?

  I’ve told Rosie on countless occasions how much I miss you and how I wish I could talk to you. That’s what led to her suggestion. She said writing in this way would help me reconnect with my memories of you at the same time as finding a pathway through my issues.

  Even after opening up to the idea, I was sceptical.

  ‘What will it achieve to write a letter to my dead daughter?’ I asked. Two words I never thought I’d have to say side by side. They sounded horrible in my mouth.

  ‘You won’t know until you give it a try,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, come on. You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to have a go. You must have tried this with other people.’

  She shrugged. ‘Why do you think it might help?’

  ‘That’s the problem. I really don’t see how it will. Sam’s never going to read the letters.’

  ‘Don’t you think there’s a certain freedom in knowing that, Maria?’

  ‘But what’s the point?’

  ‘You could say the same about writing a diary.’

  ‘Sam was only fourteen when she died. You want me to use these letters as a way to disclose my innermost thoughts and feelings. But I wouldn’t realistically share such things with my teenage daughter, would I?’

  ‘Fair enough. How about you imagine writing to an older version of her, then? A future version, if you like: the woman you imagine she would have become one day, if things had been different. Does that sound like something you could try? That’s all I’m asking.’

  So I did try – and it’s working out well. I find it cathartic and, against all odds, I think it’s helping me to feel close to you, Sam. As stupid as it sounds, I feel like maybe I am, somehow, getting through to you with these letters. Even though I’m not posting them anywhere and I know you’re not around to read them. It’s ridiculous, but sometimes I get the feeling you’re reading over my shoulder as I write.

  I can’t believe I put that. It’s as well I’m doing this in longhand, not on a computer. Otherwise, I’d have probably deleted it by now, together with all the other embarrassing things I’ve written. That must be why Rosie told me to do this with a pen and paper. It feels genuine and more personal. Plus it’s harder to edit myself.

  I’m sure Rosie also knew that doing it this way would be a greater challenge to my OCD. More messy. Less control. Less order.

  ‘Try to make it as much of a stream of consciousness as you can,’ she said. ‘Let it all out: whatever you’re thinking; whatever you want to tell Sam.’

  I’ll tell you about yesterday, shall I? That was when Ruby and I went for some food at Rick’s place.

  Ruby was grumpy because of her arm. It’s going to take her a while to get used to the inconvenience of having to do everything one-handed and needing help with the things she usually does alone. Washing, in particular, is tricky. She really wanted a shower that morning, but I told her it wasn’t possible and she had to have a bath instead. She was still sulking when it was time to go to Rick’s for lunch.

  It was the last thing I felt
like doing after Ruby’s palaver. I’d hardly even had a chance to spruce myself up; I almost phoned to cancel. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew that Ruby was looking forward to seeing Anna. She needed brightening up and I couldn’t face any more tears.

  Rick wasn’t lying when he said he could cook. He’d prepared a huge roast dinner for us: beef, homemade Yorkshire puddings with gravy, and possibly the best roast potatoes I’ve ever eaten. Honestly, the food was perfect. Even the delicious apple pie we had for dessert was homemade.

  Anna took Ruby off to her bedroom after we’d finished eating, leaving the two of us alone at the dining table.

  ‘That was superb, Rick. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to have company and, well, I wanted to do something to make up for the other day. I know a roast is usually more of a Sunday meal than a Saturday one, but I thought what the hell – let’s go for it.’

  ‘Why not? I could eat a roast every day of the week. It’s one of my favourite meals.’

  ‘Me too. I hope Ruby liked it. She didn’t eat a lot.’

  ‘Of course she liked it. It was lovely. She’s under the weather, that’s all.’

  Rick nodded. ‘I know I wasn’t very helpful when she broke her arm. Like I said on the phone, I’m a bit squeamish. Not very manly, I realise, but I’ve always been that way. Show me the slightest hint of blood or anything like that and I’m useless.’

  Part of me wanted to agree, but in light of the amazing meal he’d cooked, I smiled and bit my tongue. He’d earned himself another chance. I’d had a little wine and as I stared at the gorgeous man across the table from me, I couldn’t stop myself imagining what he might look like with his shirt off. You probably think I’m exaggerating about how good-looking he is, but really I’m not. He must spend hours in the gym every week to have such a sculpted physique. And then there’s that smile; those eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘It’s in the past.’

  I must just point out here, Sam, that I do feel a little guilty thinking about Rick in this way. It hasn’t escaped my attention that I’m still married to Dan, although he was the one saying he wanted a divorce the other day. The situation between us feels so fragile and complicated, but Rick is a distraction from all that. I can’t help but enjoy his company.

  Anyway, Rick looked at me in that intense way of his, like I was the only other person in the world. ‘It’s important to me that you like me, Maria. I feel I let you down.’

  ‘I do like you,’ I said, the words slipping out before I had a chance to analyse them. Next thing I knew, we were staring into each other’s eyes – neither of us saying a word – and it seemed for a moment as if something was about to happen. But any illusion that we were alone was shattered an instant later by the shrill sound of Anna’s voice.

  ‘Daddy,’ she bellowed from upstairs. ‘Can Ruby and me watch telly?’

  ‘You mean Ruby and I,’ Rick shouted back, a grin and a raised eyebrow directed at me.

  ‘Can we?’ Anna asked. ‘I was telling Ruby about that dancing film you recorded for me the other day. She really wants to see it.’

  ‘Is that all right with you?’ he asked me. ‘They’re always the same, aren’t they? They beg for a friend to come over and then all they want to do is watch TV together. I can say no if you like. Don’t worry, I won’t blame you. I’ll take the heat.’

  I smiled. ‘It’s fine. Ruby can’t do much with her arm like it is and she needs to rest.’

  Once the girls were settled in the lounge, their film underway, Rick and I went to the kitchen to do the dishes. He was all for leaving them until after we’d gone, but I insisted; partly, I must admit, because I was keen to spend more time alone with him.

  Gosh, I must sound like a teenager. It’s exciting to have someone interested in you when you’re not used to it, though. Especially a man like Rick.

  I had visions of a movie-like scene: something straight out of a Hollywood rom com. I pictured him standing behind me, embracing me with those big arms of his as I did the washing up. Then I imagined turning around, playfully wiping soap suds on his nose before being pulled into a passionate kiss.

  But it didn’t go quite like that. Instead, I slipped on a patch of something greasy on the tiled kitchen floor and lost my balance. I did manage to stay upright, but only by dropping the two items I was carrying back from the dining table and catching myself on a nearby section of worktop.

  You’re probably wondering what those two items were. Well, unfortunately, I had a gravy boat in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. Both were still around half full and they each went flying. The gravy boat smashed into pieces with a loud crack on the floor and splattered its contents far and wide, including up two of the walls. The bottle went the other way, crashing into the fridge, shattering and spraying all over the place. It was like a shit storm meeting a blood bath, with me and Rick caught in the middle.

  I’ve not mentioned yet that Rick’s house, although rented, is brand-spanking new and immaculate throughout. It’s part of this enormous modern estate they’re still finishing off about a mile away from our place. Do you remember that field we used to walk through near the river: the one where we flew a kite a few times? It’s there. Not that you’d recognise it. Apart from the tiny patches of turf they call gardens, there’s no green in sight any more. Just row after row of houses: mostly finished, but some still mid-construction.

  There’s never a good time and place to hurl gravy and red wine everywhere, but you’d struggle to find worse.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, horrified at the sight of the mess.

  Rick’s eyes were on stalks as he surveyed the damage.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I told him, grabbing at a roll of kitchen towel on the window ledge and diving into the mess. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll sort it out. I’ll clean it all up.’

  His mouth was wide open, like he was about to say something. Then the phone in the hall started to ring. He looked in that direction and back at the havoc in front of him as Anna and Ruby appeared at the doorway, jaws on the floor.

  ‘What happened?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Don’t come in, you two,’ Rick said quickly. ‘There’s broken glass everywhere. Anna, could you get the phone, please? You need to leave us to clear this mess up.’

  ‘But, how—’

  ‘Do what I ask, Anna. The phone.’

  ‘We’re going to need a lot more kitchen towel,’ I said, throwing the soggy, stained sheets I’d already used into the sink. ‘Where do you keep it?’

  ‘I, um—’

  ‘It’s Mummy on the phone,’ Anna said, reappearing at the door with the portable receiver held to one ear.

  ‘Tell her I’ll call her back. Explain we’re having a situation here.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a crisis,’ Anna said into the phone as she walked away into the hall. ‘Dad’s busy with Maria. He says he’ll call you back.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Rick said. ‘I’d better speak to her. Can you manage here for a minute?’

  ‘Sure. As long as you’ve got more kitchen towel. And some cloths maybe.’

  ‘Under the sink. I won’t be long.’ He left the room quickly, frowning.

  I was a little surprised he was so bothered about what his ex thought. Mind you, I know from my own experience how tricky it can be to keep the peace when there’s history and emotions and children involved. So who am I to judge? I grabbed more kitchen roll and cloths and got on with the clean-up from hell.

  By the time Rick returned, which must have been about ten minutes later, things were already looking much better. The walls were still wet from being wiped, but neither the gravy nor the wine seemed to have stained them, probably because I’d acted so quickly. I’d found a dustpan and brush under the sink and was busy sweeping up the shards of glass and crockery pieces.

  ‘Wow. You’ve done so much already,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for taking so long on the phone.’
r />   ‘Don’t be silly. I should be the one apologising. It’s my own clumsy fault.’

  He moved to kneel down next to me. ‘Here, let me have a go with the dustpan and brush.’

  ‘No, I’m fine, really. And be careful. There could still be bits of glass. It needs a good vacuum.’

  ‘I can do that. Gosh, I can’t believe you’ve got rid of all that gravy and wine. It looks almost back to normal. You’re a miracle worker.’

  ‘That’s not exactly how I’d describe myself right now,’ I said. ‘Clumsy oaf would seem more apt.’

  ‘Nonsense. You slipped. I spilled some vegetable oil on the floor earlier and, like an idiot, I didn’t clean it up properly. Thankfully you didn’t hurt yourself. You didn’t, did you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Good, good. Definitely nothing for you to apologise for, anyway. Especially after all that cleaning up when you’re my guest. I’m the one at fault. It could have been Ruby who slipped; she could have broken another limb! I’d never have forgiven myself.’

  I stood up. ‘Let’s agree to stop apologising to each other. Have you got some newspaper for these broken pieces? It’s safer in the bin that way.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get that now. Then the vacuum cleaner. And if you want me to stop apologising, go and put your feet up in the lounge with the girls. I’ll take care of the rest.’

  I nodded, but once he’d gone, I continued with the clean-up. My OCD insisted on me giving the walls another wipe to ensure there was no trace of debris. And I wasn’t leaving that room until I was one hundred per cent sure there were no shards left on the floor for someone to step in. If it had been my own kitchen, I’d have been stuck in there for hours to come. But I couldn’t let Rick see me like that, so I tore myself away and moved to the lounge.

  Not that it was easy. The whole time he was finishing up in the kitchen, I was twisting my fingers anxiously in my lap. The girls were busy watching the movie, but I didn’t take in any of it. I was too busy trying to extricate my mind from reruns of the disaster that had just played out.

  Eventually, Rick appeared with a coffee for the two of us and, as he sat down, I finally felt able to relax a little. I did ask him about the phone call; he said it was fine, not volunteering any more information. Whether that was simply because of the girls being in earshot, I’m not sure, but I took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it.