Before We Fall

by Grace Lowrie

  ‘Watch your mouth, you little shit,’ Ash said, setting aside his empty glass and rising to his feet. ‘Dad would belt you for that if he were still alive.’

  ‘I’m not a fucking kid anymore,’ I said, stepping around Cally so that she was no longer between us.

  ‘No? Grow up then! Look at this place – as far as I can see all you do is lie around getting high and sleeping with skanks.’ My free hand bunched into a fist, my teeth clenching together as the blood roared in my ears. But I was aware of Cally lacing her fingers firmly through mine and I didn’t want her getting hurt. ‘You’re wasting your life away,’ Ash went on, ‘…it would break Mum’s heart if—’

  ‘Just fuck off back to America, Ash, I’m not your fucking responsibility.’

  He stared at me for a moment, as if debating whether to push it. ‘No, you’re not. Not anymore,’ he collected up his jacket and walked towards the door. ‘You’re supposed to be family, but if that doesn’t mean anything to you, I’m better off without you.’ He opened the door and turned. ‘Cally,’ he said, stiffly nodding in her direction. Then he left, the door clicked shut behind him and he was gone.

  Picking up Ash’s empty glass I hurled it across the room with a roar of exasperation. As it exploded against the door Cally jumped and cowered behind me. Shit. Why didn’t I just let her leave when she offered to? Ash and I might’ve been better off beating the crap out of each other after all. And Cally didn’t need to get dragged into my mess. She even tried to stick up for me – me for fuck’s sake, how fucked up is that? The pitiful truth was I’d asked her to stay because being inside her turned out to be the best feeling in the world – the high to end all highs – and I hadn’t wanted our one night together to end. But with Ash’s help I’d killed it completely. I needed another drink.

  ‘Bay, stop!’ Cally cried out. ‘Your feet – there’s glass everywhere.’ With a shrug I kept walking, indifferent to the pain.

  Hoisting myself up onto the kitchen counter I poured myself more booze while Cally slipped her heels back on, disappeared next door, and returned armed with a dustpan and brush.

  ‘Just leave it,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t, you’ll cut your feet to ribbons,’ she grumbled, crouching down, sweeping up the broken shards and neatly depositing them in the bin. By the time she’d finished I’d downed enough vodka to feel comfortably numb. Kneeling down where my feet dangled above the floor, Cally gently inspected them, gingerly removing a couple of slivers of glass from my skin with her fingernails and carefully setting them aside. ‘We should clean these cuts,’ she muttered in concentration. Even through a haze of numbness the tender caress of her touch was a bitter and painful reminder of everything I was going to miss about her from now on.

  ‘Stop fussing for fuck’s sake,’ I said, jerking my foot out of her grasp. As she stood I pushed a glass of vodka along the counter towards her, but she shook her head, gazing at me with a sombre expression. ‘What? Don’t like what you see? You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I gave you what you asked for – maybe you should just go now.’

  She hesitated. ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘Yes.’ Even as I said it I regretted it – hated myself for being such a gutless bastard – but I couldn’t look her in the eye.

  ‘OK,’ she said. Collecting her bag, her dress and Sidney’s dustpan and brush, she left. The sharp click of the door as it shut behind her echoed like a gun shot in the silence.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  As usual my mind was elsewhere as I danced around a pole in the club. It no longer thrilled me the way it had in the beginning – it didn’t seem to matter who my audience was, unless it was Bay I felt nothing. Nowadays I probably carried the same bored expression as the other girls. Donning a mask of cheerful seduction was difficult to sustain for prolonged periods, and therefore best held in reserve for the big spenders. Hell, some nights it took all my effort simply to smile. But at least this punter was turning out to be generous with his cash. He was young and attractive, a suited and booted business man, who reminded me a little of Ashwin Madderson.

  The contrast between the two brothers had been a shock at first, especially since Gibbs was originally Ash’s friend – I’d been expecting someone rougher around the edges. Was Ash always as polished as he now appeared? Or might there be a rogue tattoo hidden beneath his suit; residual traces of a rebellious past?

  I’d dreamt about the two brothers after their altercation the night before. Meeting Ash had come so closely on the heels of sleeping with Bay that the two things had tangled in my head. The dream was a strange, confusing and erotic affair, in which I slept with both men at the same time. In reality I wasn’t the slightest bit attracted to Ash – he’d come across as a pompous arse – but I couldn’t deny that aspects of the fantasy itself were exciting. Three months ago I never would have entertained the notion of a threesome, and now, with what little time I had left, it seemed unlikely I’d ever get the chance to try one – it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I could stick on my bucket list. Had I ever really known myself at all?

  Bizarre, inappropriate fantasies aside, it seemed ridiculous to me that the Madderson brothers were so antagonistic towards each other, especially if they were all the family each other had. I longed to know more about their history and to understand how Ash could be so blind to his sibling’s considerable artistic talent. Did their father really used to beat them? With an actual belt? The idea made me ache with sorrow.

  Smiling half-heartedly over my shoulder at the customer in the chair, I wrapped up my routine. He appeared to be sober and had followed my moves with an oddly courteous attention rather than the usual vacant stare I’d grown accustomed to. As I was about to walk away he stood up and straightened his tie.

  ‘Luna?’ He leaned closer, raising his voice above the music. ‘Can I speak to you for a moment?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I just wondered if you choreographed your routines yourself?’ He was well spoken, with a transatlantic accent and kind eyes.

  ‘Oh, yes, why?’

  ‘They’re fantastic – you’ve clearly had professional training, but the way you’ve put everything together is inspired.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ His compliment surprised me.

  ‘Listen, I’m not coming on to you, I promise, but I’d like to give you my card – I own several clubs, a bit like this one, but all over the world, and I want my dancers to be the best they can be; elegant; classy; a cut above the rest. Have you ever done any teaching?’ ‘Teaching?’

  ‘Yes – have you taught dancing or choreography before?’ I shook my head, dazed. ‘Would you like to give it a try? I’m not knocking your job here, but I’d love for you to come and teach my dancers how to move the way you do. I’d pay well – I can offer you a good salary, health benefits, travel expenses…’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I stared at him in shock, gutted by his generous offer. ‘I’d love to, but, I’m so sorry, I can’t.’

  His disappointment was clear in his face, but no match for my own. ‘Well, will you take my card and think about it anyway – just ring me if you change your mind…?’

  I struggled to keep my deep regret from spilling into tears as I accepted his card, said goodbye and hurried back to the changing room. Could life really be this cruel?

  *

  Bay’s front door was firmly locked when I got home in the early hours of Thursday morning. I could hear music through the wall and fervently hoped he was painting or working out rather than drinking himself into a stupor or getting stoned. But when I ventured onto the landing to check his door later that evening it was still closed. And that hurt.

  Clearly Bay was still angry with me and he had a right to be. Using all the skills I’d learnt at the club I’d shamelessly manipulated him into sleeping with me to satisfy my own selfish curiosity – risking our precarious friendship in the process. And now, when he was upset and needed
a friend, he was shutting me out. It was what I deserved but I couldn’t help fretting about him. Bay had several good friends he could turn to – Willow, Gibbs, even his agent – but in my gut I knew he wouldn’t. He was stubborn and hurting and had gone back to hiding himself away again.

  Almost without meaning to, I found myself calling Marguerite. Her phone rang several times and when she answered she was shouting to be heard. ‘Cally? Is that you? Finally! How are you?’

  Just hearing her voice, so warm and familiar, almost had me bursting into tears. ‘I’m good! Sorry I haven’t been in touch, how are you? Where are you?’

  Marguerite giggled. ‘I’m at a wine tasting in a bar in Ealing and—’ she broke off to speak to someone else, her words drowned out by music, chatter and clinking glassware, and then she was back again. ‘Cally, you should come down! There’s still a few rounds to go and I haven’t seen you in so long!’

  Now that I had her attention I realised that calling her was pointless – I couldn’t share any of the things I wanted to – not the amazing choreographer job offer I’d received, not the stripping, and definitely not Bailey Madderson. ‘Thank you, but I was just calling for a quick catch up.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’re welcome to join us…’

  ‘Another time maybe.’

  ‘Really? I’m holding you to that! We need to talk in person – soon – I worry about you – that man you were with last time I saw you—’

  ‘I’m fine – really,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘See you later, take care…’ Once I’d hung up I felt desolate and resolved not to call Marguerite again if I could help it.

  At around 9 p.m. as I was fixing myself a sandwich, I heard someone leave the flat next door and the whirr of the lift as it bore them away. Rushing to the window, I leaned outside and was rewarded with a glimpse of Bay as he emerged on the pavement, twelve floors below. I would know him anywhere. Dressed all in black with a gym bag over one shoulder, he paused to light up a cigarette, then shoved a hand in his pocket before sauntering away out of sight. It was a relief to see he was alive and not limping, but I wished he’d taken me with him.

  A couple of hours later my buzzer rang and it took me a second or two to place the face I saw on the screen. It was Gibbs’ partner, Trudy.

  ‘Hi, Bay’s not in, if that’s who you’re looking for.’

  ‘No, I’m here to see you, actually.’

  My mind hummed with impatient curiosity as I stood at my door waiting for the lift to carry Trudy up.

  ‘I’m sorry to just turn up like this,’ she said as I ushered her inside.

  ‘Not at all, it’s nice to see you – what can I do for you?’ She was breathing hard, her bosom heaving as if she’d been rushing, and fear prickled at the back of my neck. Having offered her a drink I fetched her the requested glass of water while she sat down heavily on the sofa.

  Taking a long swallow she looked at me as I sank into the seat beside her. ‘It’s Bay. I don’t know what the deal is between you two – whether you’re really just neighbours or… or whether you have any influence over him.’

  ‘Influence?’

  She took a steadying breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Bay’s at the club right now, volunteering to stand in for someone who’s dropped out last minute. I know because I sell tickets on the door.’

  ‘Sorry… the club…? What club? What do you mean he’s standing in—’

  ‘Fight; he’s going to fight. It’s a club for white-collar professionals to train up like boxers and beat the hell out of each other.’ My mouth fell open and I gaped at her. ‘The thing is, I know Bay; he’s been fighting since he was a kid and I know he can handle himself, but Gibbs doesn’t like him doing it, and she’ll kill me if she finds out I didn’t try to stop him. But he won’t listen to me, he never has. And then I remembered the way he was with you the other day, and I wondered if he might listen to you?’ She took another sip of water while I tried to process what she was telling me. ‘How’s your shoulder by the way?’

  ‘It’s fine, thanks,’ I murmured. ‘What…? Is this club legal?’

  ‘Yeah, the club’s all above board and they have rules and regulations and so on, but it can still be pretty brutal, and the mood Bay’s in tonight, I’m afraid he could do some real damage.

  ‘You’d better take me there,’ I said, rising to my feet in a daze. ‘I don’t know if it will do any good but…’ I glanced down at my skimpy top and floaty red skirt. ‘Should I change into something else?’

  Trudy looked me up and down. ‘We don’t have a lot of time…’

  Shoving my feet into the pair of heels by the door, I quickly slipped my handbag on over my head and locked the flat behind us. As we stood side by side in the lift, I tried not to picture Bay lying beaten to a pulp while a crowd of people looked on for sheer entertainment. The thought of mindless violence had always turned my stomach, but imagining Bay in pain was worse.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know why he’s so riled up?’ Trudy said, distracting me from my building anxiety.

  ‘Maybe. He fell out with his brother a couple of nights ago…’

  ‘Ash? He’s here?’ She tutted. ‘That would explain it – like chalk and cheese those two.’

  ‘I don’t know, they both seem pretty stubborn.’

  ‘Yeah, true, and they’re both experts at pushing each other’s buttons. They used to be close, but Ash changed when their dad died; moved overseas to run the family business. Now whenever Ash comes back, he and Bay are at each other’s throats.’

  ‘Bay said that Ash and Gibbs used to be friends…?’

  ‘High school sweethearts.’

  ‘Wow, really?’

  Trudy nodded grimly. ‘Like I said – Ash has changed a lot, but Gibbs still considers Bay the little brother she never had.’

  *

  The club was a dark, crowded basement with a smart, corporately-branded boxing ring lit up in the centre like a stage. A match was in progress; two men in sports clothes, headgear and gloves were going at each other with focused intent. Until now the only real violence I’d known was second-hand from TV news reports or fictionalised in books and films. I stared in shock as two real live fighters, amped up on adrenalin, attacked one another in a brutal competition to see who could damage each other the most. The standing, predominantly male audience was loving it; the atmosphere was thick with primitive excitement, it was almost animal, and the din generated by the bellowing crowd was immense. I could almost taste the testosterone in the air.

  While I was frozen in fearful fascination, as out of place as a little girl in a den full of wolves, Trudy was consulting a match schedule.

  ‘We’re too late,’ she said, her voice raised over the noise.

  A chill swept through me. ‘What?’

  ‘Looks like we already missed Bay’s fight.’

  ‘Oh god, is he OK?’

  She huffed out a breath. ‘Probably – I’m more concerned about the other guy,’ she shouted. ‘Looks like Bay took him out cold in the first round.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m going to the office to find out more details – check his opponent is still breathing,’ she added, turning towards the ticket booth.

  ‘OK. Wait,’ I put a hand out to stop her. ‘What about Bay?’

  ‘He won’t be fighting again tonight – club rules. Changing rooms are back there.’ She pointed to a dimly-lit doorway just visible in the shadows towards the back of the basement, and when I nodded my understanding she moved away. The spot-lit brightness of the boxing ring made it virtually impossible to make out anything beyond or around it. Clinging on to my handbag I plunged into the gloom, avoiding the animated faces around me as I burrowed my way through the crowd. The door wasn’t labelled, and I’d been expecting it to lead to a corridor and a further choice of doors beyond – so it was a shock to find myself bursting straight into a men’s changing room lined with lockers and benches and several large men. Conversations broke off and all eyes turn
ed in my direction as the door swung shut behind me, muffling the din of the arena.

  ‘Hey there, gorgeous, you lost?’ the nearest guy said, taking a step towards me. Thankfully he had clothes on, I didn’t dare check the others as I tried to formulate a reply.

  ‘She’s with me.’ Bay’s voice, deep with conviction, sliced through the room, brooking no argument. My eyes found his and while the other men returned to their conversations, I clung to the sight of him as if he were a rock in a stormy sea. The sexiest and most frustrating man alive was standing alone, at the back of the room, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, a sheen of sweat, and an uncompromising expression. His arm and chest muscles looked harder and meaner than ever, the distinctive ink of his tattoos reading like a health warning. Any normal person might have hesitated to approach such an individual, but my relief at finding him conscious and not bleeding made me brave. Ignoring the other men I walked up to him, scanning him for signs of injury, while trapped in the laser-like beam of his stare.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Trudy said you were here.’

  ‘So?

  ‘So, I came to talk to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I… I was hoping to talk you out of fighting.’

  He snorted. ‘Bit late for that. What’s it got to do with you anyway?’

  His face bore faint red indentations, presumably left behind by the head gear in his hand, and the boxing gloves, discarded on the bench behind him, seemed to have done a good job of protecting his knuckles, but an area of pink inflammation was slowly blooming across his ribs. Confronted with Bay’s blunt question I decided to be honest. ‘I don’t know I just… you’re pretty much my only friend right now and I didn’t want you getting hurt.’

  The shouting in the arena rose to an almighty roar preventing Bay from delivering what was almost certainly a mocking retort. He eyeballed me until the noise level had subdued again but seemed to think better of saying whatever he was going to say, opting for a warning instead.