Free Falling

by Ana Simons

  We all know our time together is coming to an end. Yes, he’s leaving us soon, and we’re trying our best to accept the inevitable and cherish every moment we may still have, either by keeping company and comforting him, listening to his endless tales or simply laughing along as we watch his favourite films together. Because nobody enjoys a good laugh more than he does. Even now.

  The last couple of days have been particularly difficult and he’s been feeling very weak. But today, he mustered all his strength to come here and accomplish the last one of his end-of-life plans.

  Sure, in normal circumstances there’d be plenty of time for this, as the babies shouldn’t be there before April or May, but my father has always put together all his other grandchildren’s baby cribs. And mine should be no exception.

  “No, Son! That’s the footboard. Get the headboard first and lay it there. The side facing inwards up,” he recommends when I’m still struggling to take some parts out of the huge carton packing.

  “Not seeing any manual,” I mutter, impatient.

  “We don’t need one, I’m here. Get the key and attach the latch brackets to the headboard first.”

  I nod in agreement and follow his instruction. “Hey, you? Want to watch the game together? We’re so going top of the Premier League, you’ll see! Aston Villa doesn’t stand a chance!”

  “Yeah, let’s do that! Next, you attach the rails. That one is the drop rail, it has to go to the front,” he says as he opens the white wooden box on his lap. “It’s a shame Liv can’t be here.”

  I pretend I’m focused on what I’m doing and remain silent.

  “But where is she?”

  “Excuse me?” I dodge.

  “Olivia. Where’s she? At Evie’s?”

  “Mmm-hmm. But are these even the right bolts?” I ask in a slightly irritated tone.

  In truth, my problem is neither the bolts nor the whole intricate project here. My problem is what happened earlier this morning. I’m so strung out I can barely get it together.

  “Let me take a look.” He glances over the rim of his glasses. “No, those are for the wheels. You should use the large ones.”

  I nod silently.

  “This box here is for your boys one day.”

  I arch a questioning eyebrow at him. “Boys? If you know more than I do, I’d appreciate the information.”

  “It’s just a hunch.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I asked Mum to help me sort through the albums and we gathered some photos. There are a few recent ones, but most of them are from when you were kids.” He takes out a stack of pictures, which he begins to shuffle through.

  His face brightens up with a smile when he stops at one in particular. “Look, it’s you and your sister walking around in ski boots. It was the first time you’d ever been in the snow. You should have seen the excitement on your face! Though it faded away pretty quickly when Sue scooped a handful of it and knocked you down! And look at this one, the three of us on the paddle boat. You were about eight or nine here.

  “We’ve also rounded up a bunch of Christmas photos from over the years. Here, check this one, that time we pulled a prank on Grandma Martha and wrapped up the whole Christmas tree with kitchen film during the night! Man, was she mad at me the next morning! I think she still hates me for that!”

  That memory makes me smile too. That was epic indeed, I’ve never seen her so angry. “Well, that was a bit out of line, don’t you think? I’m done here. And now comes the footboard, right?”

  He doesn’t answer at all. He’s seemingly lost, absolutely immersed in his own treasured memories.

  “Hey, and don’t you forget to show them this one. It’s Mum, when she was expecting you.” Another wholehearted smile spreads across his face. “I knew she was the one the minute I laid my eyes on her, you know? I loved her instantly that day she slipped on the ice and fell flat on her bum right in front of me. She was laughing so hard, so hysterically! Priceless! I immediately knew she was it, that I wanted to hear those laughs forever. And that was it. Next thing I know she’d become my best friend, the person I could tell anything, the kind and loving woman who was inspiring me to be a better man, my steady anchor.”

  The box’s lid falls closed with a small clack and he looks sternly at me. “I really appreciate it, that you’re all trying to help me find peace and comfort, but you don’t need to hide stuff from me. So why don’t you just tell me what the hell happened?”

  I act surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re my son and I know you well. You’re too quiet and there’s something troubling you.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in a nervous movement. “Everything’s all right. I’m just focused on th–”

  “Cut the bloody crap, you’re lying through your teeth! You barely said two words the whole way here and, honestly? You look like shit, as if you just got stomped on!”

  He waits for my reaction, peering straight into my eyes, but I keep it to myself.

  “Come on, I’m waiting.” He jerks his head up.

  “Slept very little last night, just that.”

  “If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, all right then, but keep this in mind: regardless of what might have happened, you should always get her flowers—not some silly fancy bouquet or a cellophane wrapped thing. Any idiot can slap down a card and get those! You go and cut them yourself or put them in a pot and then say the magic words: ‘I’m sorry’. There’s nothing that cannot be fixed if you do this.”

  “How about when things could be already too broken to be fixed, Dad? What do you do?”

  *

  Give her time and space but stay nearby, your Grandpa advised.

  Sitting on the nursery floor, later that night, I put the ultrasound image down, swirl the wine in the glass against the light and have another good sip.

  And that makes total sense, every guy knows that. When the woman you love is mad at you, like really stark raving mad, even if you had absolutely no intention of hurting her, you deal with it as you would in a hurricane situation: you hide in the cellar, wait until it gets quieter and then you come up to clean the mess.

  Except that, I might just go insane if I have to go another day without seeing her.

  That’s why I just called her.

  Again.

  But of course, Dr Olivia Burke must be incredibly busy working and can’t take my calls!

  Dammit, your mother is giving me the silent treatment and I feel like throwing the goddamn phone against the wall!

  I’m texting her.

  Sunday, December 13 | 23:40

  Sweetheart, I just finished...

  On second thought, I am not.

  I’m actually tossing the bloody sodding phone!

  Fuck this!

  Sorry. I didn’t just say that.

  Another sip. Over the rim, the elephant hanging on the tree I finished painting a little while ago. I lean my head back against the wall, take a deep breath and close my eyes against the gut-wrenching pain that’s rippling through me right now.

  All right, Aston Villa 0 - Arsenal 2! I force my mind to think of something else.

  What a game, huh? The Gunners really kicked their arses today and that first part was just amazing, we never took our foot off the gas! And Aaron Ramsey? Man, was he on fire! And after having gotten us that place in the Champions, Wenger takes us now to the top of the Premier League? You should have seen the glimmer of happiness sparkling in my father’s eyes this afternoon.

  Cheers to that, mate! I raise my glass to the wall and finish my third glass in one gulp.

  Wait, what? I’m talking to you? To a bloody elephant? Oh God, is this sad.

  I refill my glass.

  Another sip.

  Another squint over the rim of the glass.

  Why are you smiling at me, you little shit? You think this is funny? Well, why don’t you go fuck yourself?

  My eyes fall to the ultrasound image again.

  Sorry. I take that back
too.

  I glance at the pictures scattered on the floor. One by one, I take another look, revisit some old memories I had long stored away, and begin to gather them carefully back into the box.

  Grandpa teaching me to ride a bike. And kicking a ball.

  Visiting Arsenal Stadium—oh that was cool!

  Family holidays in Spain. Paris. Prague. I’m taking you there one day too.

  Getting on Nana’s nerves. Yeah, filling the fridge with toilet paper is a whole lot of fun!

  Another swig.

  Getting on Aunt Sue’s nerves? That’s even funnier! Want to scare the shit out of a girl? You leave a fake spider on her bed! Want to piss her off really badly? The possibilities are infinite: you put salt in her cereal, you give a few good shakes to her soda, or you dot her face with a red marker while she’s sleeping.

  I let out a laugh.

  You know, most times it was Grandpa who started all this! He’s such a crazy prankster.

  I find a selfie taken on Jimmy’s wedding day and this pain overtakes me again, making me yell at myself in rage.

  I have to swig another gulp.

  That’s when it all started, you know? I had no idea I was going to meet your mother again that day, she wasn’t supposed to come…

  My mind is reeling and my head is throbbing. To the point, I almost feel sick. I hold it between both palms and wait for a little while.

  Needless to say, I had to drag her out of the house this morning, what else was I supposed to do? Worse than knowing there’s another woman in your bed is seeing it, I suppose. So I put her in the car right away, with some dumb excuse I was preparing another surprise in our room and that she could only return in the afternoon.

  “Sweetheart, you know I love you, don’t you?” I began, at Grandma Evie’s front door, she was still rummaging for the keys in her purse.

  She reached out to brush her fingers against my stubble and left a peck on my cheek. “I love you too. Hey, want to come in? Let’s have breakfast together… Dammit! Where are the goddamn keys?”

  I held her hand. “And you know you can trust me, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got a few things for the nursery upstairs, want to take them now? Or maybe later today, when you come back to pick me up?” She lifted her eyes to mine. “Why you’re acting so weird?”

  “Hypothetically speaking—if that old boyfriend of yours came to your door one day, completely wasted, I mean, like totally dead drunk, asking for shelter, what would you do?”

  She shrugged and then continued her search. “I’d leave him to rot in the gutter. Why?”

  “No, I’m serious. What would you do?”

  “I don’t know. I’d send him to his parents? To some friend? What crazy talk is this?”

  “No, no parents nearby. And you don’t know who his friends are anymore.”

  She froze, on her face a grimace of worry threatening to morph into hurt. “What are you trying to tell me? “

  “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry...”

  “Just say it, you’re making me nervous now!”

  Which I did. I gave her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth—but she couldn’t handle it.

  “Oh my god.” She covered her mouth, in shock, and leant against the door for support. “You’re telling me she’s still there? In our bed?”

  “Liv, please. Try to understand. I didn’t know what to do with her. She was in really bad shape…”

  Tears formed in her eyes as she looked up at me, her hands shaking. “I think you should go now. I’m tired and I need to get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

  “Liv?” Before I could add another word, she left, the door closing behind her.

  And that was it, I swallowed it hard and came home to clear last night’s mess.

  I finish my glass and pour some more wine.

  The sodding bottle is almost empty. But where were we?

  Oh, the wedding photo!

  So, who do we have here? Well, this is Grandpa John, that’s Pete and–

  What?

  You don’t understand why Mama’s not here with us and this is all too confusing?

  Okay, boys, let’s go all the way back. Let’s look again at the selfie Grandpa took at Uncle Jimmy’s wedding.

  See this guy here on my left? All dressed up, with a swanky haircut and idiotic blank stare? That’s Pete. His wife left him the other day, he still feels like shit. And this guy here on my right? That’s Uncle Jimmy. We’ve known each other since forever...

  40 Trust

  A soft soothing voice tries to reach out to me through the light buzzing in my ears. I strain to turn my head. My pulse is thumping in my temples and I’ve got a god-awful headache screaming inside, demanding I leave my head right where it is, burrowed into the pillow.

  I think it’s raining. Yes, I can hear a soft patter of rain against the window and even that, along with a sour mix of regret and self-resentment, makes my head pound even harder.

  Where am I? Is this hell?

  Shit. My mouth tastes like sawdust.

  Yes, this is hell for sure.

  “Brian?” Another whisper.

  Who’s this?

  My eyes struggle to open against the blistering daylight, but, dammit, the ceiling doesn’t stop spinning and I’m so drowsy! My eyelids fall shut again.

  What the eff happened last night?

  Leave it, I don’t want to know. I can’t deal with this right now, my head is really banging like crazy, I think it will explode.

  “Love?” The same familiar voice murmurs, its warm breath caressing my face and rocking me gently, one hand on my chest, the other stroking my hair. “Hey, wake up. You fell asleep on the sofa again.”

  Olivia, is that you? Oh, my God.

  My eyes flicker open, but I remain still, completely still, just looking at her. There are many emotions coursing through me right now, mostly relief, but also a mix of anger and frustration I can hardly contain.

  “Why’re you sleeping here again?” Her voice is soft, as soft as the hands that stroke my stubble. She lets out a nervous giggle. “Please, don’t tell me there’s another woman in our bed.”

  “What? No.” The words struggle to escape my throat.

  “I know,” she says, with another nervous smile trembling on her lips. “I must have called you a thousand times. Why didn’t you pick up the phone? What happened?”

  You called?

  I need to sit.

  Based on the severity of the state you’re in, sitting is usually a stunt that can take anything from a couple of minutes to twenty-four hours. May God help me, my head is throbbing, everything is fuzzy and the dizziness in my brain is nearly killing me. I have absolutely no idea of how I ended up sleeping here, all I know is that I’m about to find out how massive my hangover is.

  I force my battered body up. “I don’t know, the last thing I remember I was in the nursery room, flipping through some old photographs, drowning my misery in red wine and talking to a wall,” I tell her, evenly, rubbing my palms against my temples. “I need a coffee and a shower. What time is it anyway?”

  “I’m getting you a warm mug of ginger tea to settle things down. Coffee will only dehydrate you more.”

  The idea makes me shudder. “That shit you drink when you’re not feeling well? Thank you, but no. I’m so not going to–”

  She has already disappeared into the kitchen.

  I push myself up from the sofa and stagger along the corridor towards the bathroom, the awareness that I no longer master the fine art of recovering from a night of drinking dawning hard on me.

  I reach the basin and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and horribly sunken, my face so pale, my lips so dry. I rub my cottony tongue over my lips and it feels like sandpaper on raw wood.

  You’ll never do this again, I keep telling myself as I down the aspirin I’ve just taken out of the cabinet and drink water, a lot of water, directly from the faucet.

  Resolutely, I
take my clothes off, step into the shower and let the warm stream run down over the top of my head. My eyes close against the water and I breathe slowly through it. For a good couple of minutes, I let it run over my face, across my chest and drip down over my whole body, hoping it soothes my thudding head and my aching muscles. Hopefully, it’ll also wash away the pain and anger seething within me since the moment she slammed that door in my face.

  When I’m about to finish, my eyes meet hers. She’s leaning against the door waiting for me with a towel slung over her shoulder, a trace of a nervous smile playing across her lips.

  When I open the glass door and step out of the shower enclosure, I can’t bring myself to return that smile.

  “Thank you for the flowers. That was really sweet of you.”

  “Was it?” I throw her an ire-filled glance and yank the towel from her hand, then dry myself off fast enough it almost burns.

  “Another twenty minutes and you’d have found me at home… at my Grandma’s,” she corrects, with a soft voice, trying to ease the tension. “Actually, I was at your parents’ when you went there.”

  My eyes seek hers in the mirror as I wrap the towel around my waist. “You were?” Though surprised, I try to sound unaffected.

  She hums in agreement and tilts her chin towards the countertop. “Look, your tea. Yes, your father invited me for a cup of hot chocolate. My soft spot, he knows that!” She flashes a nervous smile. “I was hoping to see you there…”

  “And?”

  “And we talked. We talked for quite a while, about a lot of things. About when we were kids, about our story and our life now, about the future... Oh well, about how important it is that we always try to look at things from different angles and–”

  I narrow my eyes at her and hiss under my breath, “And now what?”

  “And now I’m here, aren’t I?” She takes two steps closer to me, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder.

  I step aside, my face impassive.

  She casts her eyes down, on her face a pained expression. “And just like that, it was almost seven and I was already late for work and didn’t have the chance to call you or anything. I’m so sorry if I–”