Coming Down

by Carrie Elks

  What kind of friend does that make me? I’m an adult, I should have known, I could have protected her. A sick feeling lodges inside me, nestling in as if it’s here to stay, and I start to think about all the times I’ve defended Daisy, and explained that although she’s an addict, she’s a good mum who really loves her daughter.

  What kind of mother allows her boyfriend to abuse her child? I don’t care if it’s just a scratch or a fracture, Darren hurt Allegra.

  When Grace calls the meeting to a close, Daisy and I walk back to the lobby, handing in our temporary passes. I’m in a daze when we finally emerge into the bright morning air, my mind full of bruises and hospitals. I can’t look at Daisy when we say goodbye. Instead I rifle through my bag as if I’ve lost something, smiling tightly at her thanks. Watching as she heads to the Tube station, punching the air as if in victory.

  I hail a cab in an altogether more sombre mood. Sliding into the backseat, I make Allegra a silent promise that no matter what happens, no matter what I end up having to do, Darren Tebbit will never, ever, touch her again.

  I mean it, too.

  19

  There’s one more thing I need to do. Even in the midst of everything else, all I can think of is Niall Joseph. For almost six weeks I’ve heard nothing from him except the occasional excuse via Michael. It’s beginning to feel as if he was a figment of my imagination.

  Christ, I miss him.

  What will make you happy, Beth?

  I want to mend my fences with Niall. I hate the way we left things, so frantic and up in the air. If I’m really going to take back control of my life, the way Louise has urged me to, then I don’t want to regret anything else.

  And I regret hurting him so very much.

  In the end, I send him a text. Simple, but effective. A few words to see if he bites, if he’ll actually speak to me again.

  I know you’re not sick.

  Of course, he doesn’t reply. I’m not sure I was even expecting him to. I just wanted to let him know I’m not stupid, that I’m thinking of him. He needs to know I won’t give up that easily.

  The following day I send another text, this time a little stronger; a question, rather than a statement.

  Why won’t you talk to me?

  Another day of radio silence. I don’t take his lack of response to heart, though. In fact, I’m beginning to look forward to it, sending these texts, letting him know I’m still around. On the third day, I try a direct approach.

  I miss you.

  I regret that one as soon as I send it. It’s a bit too forthright. I decide that will be my final attempt—the last thing I want to do is come across as a stalker. But then, a few minutes later, my phone starts to ring. I’m shaking as I lift it up, seeing his name on the caller display, my throat constricted with nauseous anticipation.

  “Hi,” I whisper. The silence that follows makes me think he hasn’t heard me. Just as I’m about to repeat the word, Niall starts to speak.

  “Beth, are you there?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m here.”

  “Christ, why can’t you leave me alone? You’re the one who walked out, the one who pushed me away. Do you want to torture me, is that it?” He has a natural break in his voice, but it sounds stronger than normal. I try not to flinch at his vehemence.

  “I’m sorry, Niall, I...” Is this what I wanted? To feel guilty and miserable all at once? My father once told me I’m my own worst enemy, and I’m starting to believe he was right. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought we were friends.”

  “You definitely seemed friendly.” Sarcasm drips through his words. “What do you want from me, Beth?”

  “I want us to go back to the way things were before.”

  There’s silence on the other end. I wait for a response, my whole body on edge.

  “Niall, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.” His voice is low, and I have to concentrate to hear him. “I just don’t understand why you’re telling me now.”

  “Because I miss you.” The words tumble out of my mouth like they’re in a rush to be heard. “The kids miss you, too. It just isn’t the same without you in art class.”

  “What do you want me to say? That I’ll be back tomorrow pretending like nothing happened? That we can laugh and joke and take the piss out of each other like that kiss was just my imagination?”

  Is that what I really want? To forget that beautiful, sensual, amazing kiss? To obliterate the words his mum whispered to me? Forget about everything except our friendship?

  “Cameron Gibbs made you a card. Cameron bloody Gibbs. The same kid who steals from art galleries and faces down coppers actually painted on a card to tell you he missed you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “Of course it does,” he replies, his voice thick. “You don’t think I miss them too?”

  Do you miss me, though?

  “Then come back. I promise not to do anything else to upset you. I don’t want to make you feel bad...”

  “You think this is your fault?”

  “Isn’t it? I’m the one who kissed you then ran away. I’m the married one. Of course it’s my fault.”

  “You know nothing. From the moment I met you at the door, I knew I was going to kiss you. I didn’t care that you were married, in fact I still don’t give a shit. All I could think about was how you looked and the way I knew you’d feel in my arms.”

  I hold my breath listening to him talk. I can almost feel the firmness of his biceps touching my sides. I remember the way he looked at me before he pressed his lips to mine. As if I was the eighth wonder.

  “I kissed you back.” My voice is small. Between the two of us, I hold the most culpability here. “I shouldn’t have...”

  “Jesus, Beth, don’t you get it? I wanted you to kiss me back. I still want you to. That’s why I can’t see you again.”

  “You could do that?” I ask. “You could walk away and forget that anything happened?”

  “I have walked away. I’m not the kind of guy that chases married women. I don’t see a thrill in pursuing something that’s not mine.” He sighs deeply. “I won’t be the one who ruins everything for you.”

  “You’re too nice.” My voice breaks.

  “I know.”

  The pressure in my chest builds. “You’re not the one who ruined everything, it was me.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” His tone softens. “You take the blame where it’s not needed. Sometimes life is crap, it isn’t anybody’s fault, it just happens. I hit on a married woman; that’s not your fault. You staying with Simon isn’t your fault either. As much as it kills me to say it.”

  I don’t try to correct him. I don’t want him thinking I’m only calling him because I’ve split with Simon. That’s the furthest thing from the truth. I’m calling because I want to be happy; because I want my friend back. Even if that’s all we can ever be.

  “Please think about coming back to class, if only for the kids’ sakes. I’ll even get Cameron to make you another card.”

  For the first time his laughter sounds almost genuine. “I’ll think about it.”

  We’re both silent for a moment. Not because there’s nothing to say—at least not on my part. It’s because there’s everything to say, but I know I can’t do it. I can’t tell him how much my life is changing. There are some things you can only tell somebody face to face, when you can see their reaction, understand their emotions. So I force myself to maintain my equilibrium, when all I want to do is let everything out.

  “I suppose I should go,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Maybe we’ll see you soon?”

  “Maybe.” His voice is soft. “I really do miss those guys, too.”

  And me, I want to ask again. Do you miss me? Of course, I don’t. I bite my tongue and try to breathe, reminding myself this is just a start.

  “Okay then, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

  “You do that.” A pause. “And what about you? Are you okay?�
��

  When I answer him, I can feel myself smile. “You know what, Niall? I really think I’m going to be.”

  20

  Niall comes back to the clinic the following week. I’m sitting at the little desk in the corner of the classroom, making seating plans for the gala. Between the catering, auctions and entertainment, I’m not getting a whole lot of sleep. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice him at first. I’m too busy scratching off the O’Donahues and moving them to an empty table nearer the stage.

  “Hi.” His voice is soft, but there’s a swagger to his gait as he walks into the room. It doesn’t seem like the walk of shame.

  “You should have called,” I say. “I would have prepared a fatted calf.”

  He glances down and smirks harder. “I’ve always thought you had slim legs.”

  I’m taken aback, not only by his sudden reappearance, but also by his relaxed banter. His sudden volte-face is confusing. I shake my head, looking down so he can’t see my grin, and slowly write the O’Donahues’ name on their new table.

  Play it cool, I tell myself.

  “So what were you planning to do today?” I’m still staring at the table, but my smile hasn’t left. When I finally look up at him, he’s perched on the table, looking at the paper.

  “What’s that?” he asks, ignoring my question.

  “Plans for the clinic’s gala. I’m trying to work out the best placement. The poor Smithsons have been moved three times already.”

  He laughs and pulls the paper toward him. “Where have you put me?”

  “You’re coming?”

  “Yeah, Elise invited me.” He notices my raised brow and quickly adds, “There’re a few of us from the gallery going. She’s asked me to donate a painting for the auction as well. I was going to talk to you about that.”

  “About what?” I’m still shocked he’s even here. Let alone talking to me.

  “The sort of painting I should donate. Whether there’s anything in particular you’re looking for.”

  “I don’t know. I...”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea, why don’t you come and take a look at the studio. I can show you what I’ve been working on and a few of my old sketches. You can help me choose which one to donate.” He looks at me expectantly.

  “What?” A few days ago he was telling me he couldn’t bear to see me again. Now here he is, sitting on my table, a sexy smile playing at his lips. I know I should prefer cocky Niall to the broken one I glimpsed before—and I do—but I still can’t work out what has caused such a transformation. “I don’t know if I have time.”

  He leans forward until his face is inches from mine, so close I can feel his breath warming my cheek. “Make time,” he whispers, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to shiver. He hasn’t lost any of his potency in the few weeks I haven’t seen him.

  I think about all the things I still have to do: visits to the hotel where we’re holding the gala, meetings with musicians and organising the printing. I’ll barely have a spare minute to myself in the next two weeks.

  Damn it, I’ll make time. Of course I will. “Okay.”

  I can only describe his resulting grin as “shit-eating”. I try to ignore the effect it has on me. Try to forget the last time we were in a studio together, when he pushed me back on a table and wrapped my legs around his hips. Repressing those memories is easier said than done.

  I’m almost relieved when he pushes himself off the table, and walks over to the door to grab a box of supplies. I catch myself following him with wide eyes, watching the way the seat of his jeans tightens as he bends down, willing his t-shirt to rise up enough so I can get a look at his skin.

  “I thought we’d study some Klimt,” he shouts, his voice almost absorbed by the cardboard. It’s enough for me to pull myself together and remember where we are.

  “They’ll love the colours,” I say. “Not sure the boys will like the hairstyles, though.”

  Twenty minutes later the kids arrive. At first, their attention is taken up by Niall’s sudden reappearance, their responses ranging from delighted to muted, depending on their age and perceived level of coolness. Cameron gives him a nod, which is pretty much the Oscar of cool-kid recognition, and I’m reminded of something I’ve wanted to ask him since last week.

  “Cameron,” I say when I reach his desk. “Can I ask you a favour?”

  With a dramatic flourish, he raises a single eyebrow and winks with the other eye. “You only have to say the word.”

  “Not that kind of favour, Cameron,” I sigh. “You live on Allegra’s estate, right?”

  He immediately looks suspicious. “Yeah.”

  “Do you think you could keep an eye on her? Let me know if anything happens, or if you see anything strange going on.”

  “You want me to spy on her?”

  “No,” I reply, although that’s exactly what I want him to do. “I only want you to look after her and tell me if you see any men going into her mum’s flat.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because you owe me?” I suggest. “Because I’m worried about her and want to know she’s okay?”

  He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as if he’s considering my request. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Oh I don’t know, maybe the knowledge you’re doing something nice for somebody? Or if you prefer, you can think of it as payback for me sitting with you for hours in a London nick when I could have been at a dinner party.”

  “Oh la-di-dah. I’m so sorry I ruined your night, your majesty.”

  “You’re forgiven. Or you will be if you do this for me.”

  He gives an exaggerated sigh. “All right, all right. I’ll be your spy if you insist. Can I call you Miss Moneypenny?”

  I try not to laugh. “No.”

  A mock-pout. “Drive an Aston Martin?”

  “Don’t even think about it.” I start to walk away.

  “Can I shag loads of women and have a speedboat chase?” he calls after me. This time I choose to ignore him, but it’s almost impossible to hide my smile. Cameron may be a cheeky little git, yet I can’t help liking him.

  When class ends, the kids pile out noisily, shouting and pushing in an effort to be the first out of the door. Cameron sends me an exaggerated wink, and Allegra runs over and throws her arms around my waist. “Did you hear?” she asks breathlessly. “I’m going to stay at my mum’s this weekend. She says I’ll be living with her soon.” She looks up at me, her face glowing and her eyes bright. I feel the slightest twinge of shame at the way I cajoled Cameron into spying on them.

  “I heard, are you excited?” I try to echo her enthusiasm but it sounds fake to my jaded ears. That nagging feeling in my gut just won’t disappear.

  “I can’t wait. Mum says we can decorate my room and buy a new bed cover.”

  See? I tell myself. No mention of Darren. I’m not heartless enough to put a dampener on her enthusiasm by sharing my concerns.

  “Wow, what kind are you going to buy?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, definitely something pink. I love pink.”

  Her stating of the obvious makes me smile. I’m about to reply when her support worker pops his head around the door and looks at Allegra. “Are you ready? I’ve got a cab waiting outside.”

  “Sorry. I kept her back.” I flash him a smile and grab a piece of scrap paper from my desk, hastily scribbling my mobile phone number on it, passing it to Allegra. “Here, make sure you keep this number with you in case you need anything,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “You could always call me and tell me what bedding you choose.”

  She stuffs it in her pocket and runs off, and I make a bet with myself that it will end up in the washing machine by nightfall, the ink bleeding into the water as it spins round and round. I’d give her a phone if I could get away with it, one with my number pre-programmed in, but that would look a bit weird. A lot weird.

  “You okay?” Niall stops
next to me, his arms full of paint pots. “You look miles away.”

  Only about ten miles, I think. In a crumbling concrete tower block where people can be beaten up and almost die and even their neighbours don’t notice. Where kids wear bruises like armbands and nobody blinks an eyelid.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m okay. There’s just so much to do in the next couple of weeks. I’m not sure how I’m going to fit it all in.”

  “Can I help with something?”

  “How are you at seating plans?”

  “Pretty shite?” he offers. I try not to laugh.

  “Dealing with hotel managers, fussy eaters, musicians, printers?” I start to reel off my list of woes. “Creating auction catalogues...”

  “Now that I can help with. I’ve worked on enough exhibitions to know how to catalogue.”

  I look him square in the eye. “Who are you and what have you done with Niall Joseph? You know, that mean, moody asshole who wouldn’t return my texts?”

  “I’m trying to be your friend,” he admits. “I said I would, and I failed miserably, so I’m giving it a second go, friend.”

  We stand there for a moment, staring at each other. I feel stupid, because I can’t think of anything to say in response, so instead I stand there looking dumb and trying not to grin.

  “Can I walk you out?” he asks. For a moment I think of Victorian gentlemen courting chaperoned ladies.

  “No... I... um... have to finish up here. I’ll be another couple of hours at least.”

  “No worries. I’ll finish clearing up and then be out of your hair. Are you free on Monday to come to the studio? We can pick out a painting and talk catalogues.”

  I smirk before I reply. “Would you believe it if I told you that’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks?”

  * * *

  After an hour of staring at names on the seating chart I realise I’m now just gazing into space. My eyes are stinging and I’m starving hungry, not to mention the fact I need a caffeine injection. So I head for the tiny kitchen on the first floor, hoping against hope that somebody hasn’t eaten all the Bourbon biscuits before I get a chance to snaffle a few.