The Harder They Fall

by Debbie McGowan

  In the event, Andy didn’t need an alarm call and was up and in the shower by 5:30. He was already enjoying himself enough to waylay any guilt he might have about his motivations for returning to Nepal, for whilst they were honourable in most senses, he was still doing it by and large for the sense of adventure, and with Bhagwan for company, it would certainly be that.

  The wet-room was quite something and typical of these kinds of places, he had come to realise on his travels. The locals could be living in relative destitution, barely enough to eat and only just keeping roofs over their heads, but the tourist hotels were kitted out to the highest possible standard. The shower, therefore, was the sort for which most British households would pay handsomely, with enough pressure to fell an elephant. Andy stepped out of the downpour to shampoo his hair, the lather disappearing immediately he put his head back under. When he emerged into the room a few minutes later, just as soon as he could tear himself away from the wondrous massaging effect of the water jets on his shoulders, he was breathless and refreshed. He unzipped his rucksack, pulled out a clean t-shirt and a pair of unnecessarily vibrant Bermuda shorts, gave his hair a quick shake and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. He managed to get the left one on before the commotion outside drew his attention and he limped to the window to see what the fuss was about.

  Adults were looking down from windows and children shouted as they ran through the streets, their faces lit with the devilish delight of those who know they are delivering news that will fill grown-ups with terror, but are yet to comprehend why. Andy couldn’t understand anything of what was being said and quickly put on his other shoe, nearly tripping over his untied laces on his way down to what could generously be described as the hotel’s lobby. It was deserted, and Andy spied the owner outside, engaged in a hurried dialogue with a boy of about ten. He wandered out onto the street, the rain immediately soaking his clothes right through, and listened in on their conversation, hoping his show of interest might afford an interpretation.

  “There is a plane crash,” Alan explained, pointing over towards the airport. Andy followed the direction of the finger, but the sky was so dark and the rain so heavy that he could barely see past the end of the building and even the thickest black smoke could readily disguise itself in amongst the storm clouds. Seconds later, Bhagwan came tearing around the corner and skidded to a stop, the spray from the wheels of the pickup missing them by millimetres.

  “A plane has crash-landed by the airport. It is very, very bad,” he shouted excitedly, his expression much like that of the children running around delivering the news. In a country with such a low life expectancy, Andy wondered if this kind of tragedy had less of an impact than back home, where longevity was the quality by which most judged their health and wellbeing.

  “There was a big explosion,” Bhagwan continued, grabbing one of two large jars from the back of the truck and handing it to Andy. It was full and surprisingly heavy, considering the ease with which his small, wiry friend had hoisted it over the side, and Andy staggered slightly under the weight.

  “Are there any survivors?” he asked. Bhagwan shook his head.

  “A plane just like the one you came in. The airport is closed.”

  Andy ran his fingers through his hair, the thoughts toppling so fast around his head he was struggling to order them into anything he could act upon. He needed to tell Dan, and to try and get a message back to Jess and Adele, but the telephones were out. Would the news have made it to the UK yet? He hoped not and began to play through the scene of what would happen when it did. He was very close to the mark: wrong location, but the imagined reactions of his friends was spot on.

  For several minutes more, the men remained standing in the street, the rain bouncing inches off the pavement, the children becoming less numerous and urgent in their proclamations. By now everyone knew about the crash, and they were treating it with a kind of boredom. Accidents were common here: trucks toppled off the mountain on an almost daily basis. Children and adults alike died of diseases long since eradicated in most of the developed world, or from malnutrition, particularly those who lived up in the mountains, and yet for all of this, the people of Nepal were so generous and welcoming. Andy recalled the kindness of those he had encountered on his last visit, offering a place to sleep and sharing their meals with no expectation that the favour would be returned. This was the real reason that they were here now, overseeing the delivery, because the young couple whose project this was were paying back. There was no profit in this venture, other than for those who believe in karma or an afterlife. Andy didn’t care much for money, but Dan did, and it was a credit to Alistair Campion that he had been able to tap into some hidden benevolence within him in order to secure his help. Yes, his little brother was a very different person these days and the changes were definitely for the better.

  They went back inside, and Andy went to tell Dan about the crash, but found him in a deep, unstirring sleep. He left him as he was and returned to the lobby, where there was a small room with old chairs and a broken TV. The two ‘cousins’ had already started on the hooch and offered up a china teacup. Andy thanked them and sniffed cautiously at the cloudy liquid, the fumes almost enough to intoxicate from this action alone. Bhagwan laughed and emptied his own cup in one go. Andy shrugged and followed suit. It didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, although the last time he was here, Bhagwan had gone to the effort of decanting it into brown bottles and it was easy to avoid the sediment. The act of pouring it straight from the large earthenware jar had stirred up the sludge in the bottom, which was bitter and tangy to begin with, but became less so as the evening wore on. Bhagwan was staying over, not that the hooch would normally have stopped him driving, but it was important that they set off as early as possible, so as to make good time. The trip took upwards of six hours when the roads were clear and dry, and at this time of year, mudslides and river floods could easily double it.

  The evening passed by so quickly, with Bhagwan narrating sagas of confiscated distilling equipment and arrests, each more elaborate than the last. Andy was enjoying himself so much (and was so drunk) that he almost forgot about the plane crash and the worry it would be causing back home. The phone lines were still out and looked set to remain that way for at least the next twenty-four hours, by which point they would be up in the mountains and far from technology. He tried waking Dan a couple of times, partially succeeding on the second, when he rolled over and swore. Andy decided it was safer to let him sleep; the news would keep. He went to bed himself just after eleven o’clock, leaving Bhagwan and ‘Alan’ to their songs and the remaining dregs of the first jug, saving the second for their planned return in a couple of days’ time. And boy did he sleep; the next thing he was aware of was Bhagwan shaking him awake at fifteen minutes to five in the morning. He sat up carefully in anticipation of a thumping head and the dizziness that generally accompanied a night of heavy drinking, and was pleased to find that he felt perfectly well, other than some general stiffness from too much time sitting in budget airline seats. A quick shower and he went to check on Dan, to find he was already outside, policing Bhagwan’s shuffling about of fuel and basic supplies to make room for the equipment they were to collect from the airport.

  “Morning,” Andy greeted his brother. Dan paused and glanced at him disdainfully.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the crash?”

  “I tried, but you were dead to the world. Feeling any better?”

  “A bit.” He attempted a smile, which only served to clarify that it was a lie.

  “This isn’t the place to come the hard man, you know,” Andy warned. He’d watched a few people go down with altitude sickness and other illnesses that were relatively minor with the right medicine and plenty of bedrest, neither of which would be available to them once they were up in the mountains; thus, the best preventative measure was for Dan to be upfront about his symptoms, and about as likely as Bhagwan’s truck suddenly transforming into a Lambo
rghini.

  “I’m fine,” Dan snapped, his neck muscles tensing.

  “How’s your head?”

  He ignored this and went back into the hotel to collect their bags. He was feeling really rough, and just wanted to get on with the job without the constant enquiries about his health. He didn’t travel well at the best of times, but the turbulence coming in to land hadn’t helped, and he was trying his hardest to forget about the nightmare, or hallucination, or whatever it was, because it had been so real; his relief at finding they’d landed safely, however, was short-lived, replaced as it was by the return of the nausea and then the news of the actual crash. He even wondered momentarily if it was some kind of premonition, which wasn’t the sort of thing he usually held any stock in.

  Once everything was strapped down in the back of the truck, Andy climbed into the cab, shuffling across as far as he could without getting in the way of the gear shift, leaving Dan to take the seat closest to the door, for which he was glad, just in case the urge to vomit overpowered him again. Bhagwan checked everything was secure and started the engine; not the quietest or smoothest of runners, but reliable nonetheless and the local people took little notice of the noise. Dan took a deep breath and held on to the door, as the truck once again rattled its way along the main drag back to the airport, the complex in darkness apart from a few vehicles in the distance, working through the night to clear the debris and return to normal operations as quickly as possible.

  It wasn’t until they neared the warehouses that it became apparent that the place was shut down, which didn’t make much business sense, as it was only really the runway that was out of action. Bhagwan pulled over and shouted to one of the drivers of the many trucks parked along the opposite side of the road, who confirmed that they weren’t expecting any change for another eight hours at least, by which point it would be too late to start driving up the mountain. Bhagwan conveyed the news to his passengers, and Andy agreed that leaving it until tomorrow seemed like the most sensible strategy, so back they went to the hotel, where Dan went straight to bed, leaving Andy to see if he could find a way of getting a message home. After trying several local businesses, he gave up and decided to go and catch up on some sleep himself.

  The airport was still closed the next morning, although the haulage warehouses were all lit up, now with twice as many articulated lorries lined up outside in varied states of loading, and men barking instructions at boys carrying sacks across the paths of ragged forklift trucks. Andy had memorised the number of the container and scanned the dark crates until he found the correct run of prefixes, pointing it out to Bhagwan at the last second. He slammed on the brakes and turned hard to the right, stopping a few feet from the container. Dan swallowed and opened the door. He was starting to worry about the logistics of the journey ahead. He’d seen the mountain roads on TV and it could only get worse, but there was no way he was going to be beaten by a bout of food poisoning, or whatever this was.

  Andy was completely tuned into his brother’s state of health, thus took more than his share of the weight of the enormous catering oven, walking backwards and balancing it on the dropped tail of the truck so he could climb up and pull it on-board, while Dan and Bhagwan pushed from the other side. It just about fitted widthways, but there was no way the tailgate would fasten, not without jettisoning the fuel and water, which would be somewhat counter-productive. Instead, Bhagwan took a rope from the cab and looped it around the back of the truck as best he could. Dan raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

  “It’s OK. I do this many times,” Bhagwan assured him, with a tug on the tied end to remove any slack, before they all climbed back in the cab and started their journey up towards the mountain pass. By now it was light enough to take in the final remains of the crashed jet, not that it was recognisable as such. A few bent panels and some torn seats—a devastating reminder of the lives lost and a thought for the families left behind.

  “Surely the phone lines must be working by now?” Dan asked distractedly, unable to look away from the crash site.

  “We can stop and see, maybe?” Andy suggested. Bhagwan shrugged and pulled up next to a group of drivers congregated around their wagons, gabbling incomprehensibly and pausing only to smoke or spit. He shouted to them and they all stopped talking at once. One of them nodded. Bhagwan said something else and the man pointed to a window in a building a couple of hundred yards from their location.

  “There’s a phone in the office there,” Bhagwan explained, putting his foot down and driving the entire distance without changing gear.

  “Do you want to do it, bro?” Andy put his hand out to brace himself against the dashboard. It was already an instinctive response.

  “No, you go,” Dan muttered through gritted teeth. “You’ll get more sense out of Jess than I will from Adele.”

  “I was going to ring Josh, actually,” Andy said. “Safer all round.” Dan gave him a swift nod in agreement and rotated on his seat to let him pass.

  It took several attempts to get a connection, and several more before he received an answer; not surprising, as it was the middle of the night in England. The conversation was economical enough to have been a telegram. Andy reassured Josh they were both safe; Josh explained that the accident had been all over the news, but that they’d checked the flight numbers, so knew it wasn’t theirs within a couple of hours of hearing about it. Everyone was fine; Eleanor had threats she would see through if they didn’t get back for the wedding. Andy laughed, although was quite sure that it was no joke. They said their goodbyes and Andy returned to the truck, nodding to Dan to indicate that all was well back at home. Bhagwan gave him just long enough to get settled back into his seat and they were off again, heading for the pass and pleased that the rain had stopped, at least for the time being.

  CHAPTER SIX:

  A CASE IN POINT

  George tiptoed into the hallway and placed the brand new suitcase against the wall. In the time it took him to close the door, Josh had put the old suitcase next to the almost identical one George had just bought. He turned back and nearly tripped over it.

  “Oh. You found it.”

  “Yes. It was in the shed, along with three others.”

  “What were you doing in the shed?”

  “Looking for a paste brush. More to the point, what were they doing in the shed? Any idea?”

  “I, err, well I guess I must’ve put them there.”

  “And you didn’t happen to notice them, right in front of the lawn mower, you know, the last time you mowed the grass? Now when was that? Last weekend?”

  George had nothing to say. Of course he’d known the suitcases were in the shed. He’d fully intended to dispose of them at the first opportunity, but with Josh taking a few days off work he hadn’t got around to it. Now here was the evidence, right in the middle of the hallway, and he’d been caught out. On the plus side, the key was safely hidden away, so at least he knew the contents hadn’t been discovered.

  “I’ll take it upstairs, shall I?” George said, reaching for the handle without waiting for an answer. Josh put out his foot and folded his arms.

  “Not so fast, Morley. What’s inside?”

  “Nothing important. In fact, so unimportant I can’t remember exactly what. Old documents. That sort of thing?”

  Josh glared at him and he smiled nervously, fully aware of the colour rising in his cheeks. He really didn’t want to share what was inside the suitcase. Josh moved his foot out of the way and stepped aside. George stayed where he was.

  “Off you go then.” Josh turned back towards the living room. “And when you’re done you can come and give me a hand with this last wall.”

  George picked up the case and scurried away up the stairs, grateful to be let off for now, but knowing it couldn’t last and hoping he could come up with something more convincing than ‘old documents’ before it was brought up again. He left the case behind his bedroom door and retrieved the key from the back of his underwear drawer, pushin
g it deep into his pocket before returning to the lounge, where Josh was pasting the last section of bare wall. The rest of the room was covered in pale cream paper with a singular red stripe running through it, and on the final wall hung one length of deep red, with a swirly, black, embossed pattern.

  “What do you need me for?” George asked. “You’ve done perfectly well without me and I’m useless at wallpapering.”

  “I need you to check the pattern matches, because I can’t tell close up.” Josh said this in a tone that implied it was the most obvious thing in the world. He handed George a spirit level. “You know how to use this, I take it?”

  “I can probably figure it out,” he replied dryly. Josh grinned at him, picked up one of the pre-cut lengths and climbed halfway up the stepladder, from where he unfolded the paper and positioned it against the previous piece. George stood watching from across the room.

  “You might need to come a bit closer,” Josh suggested. George obliged and climbed the other side of the ladder, spirit level at the ready. Josh smoothed the top of the paper and moved his arm away so George could check the pattern: almost level, but not quite. They repeated this action a few more times, both becoming increasingly irritable the more their arms ached. Eventually George backed off and nodded.

  “It’s as good as it’s going to get, I think.”

  “OK,” Josh said, smoothing the paper down and trimming the ends. He stepped back and stopped alongside George. “What d’you think? Nice, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but didn’t we only paint this about three months ago?”