The Harder They Fall

by Debbie McGowan

  “OK now, I’ll give you a little hand there.”

  The hand was strong, and warm, and pulled at his arm. He felt it rise and fall down dead. Two of them now, one on each shoulder, righting his wrongs.

  “Open your eyes, George. That’s it. Open them for me. There you go.”

  His breath was sweet, familiar, like his voice.

  “Sean? Why…”

  “He called me. He was in such a dreadful state, so worried for you. We came straight away.”

  “He was pleading. How could I…he was pleading, Sean, and I…”

  “He needed your help and you gave it. Whatever you believe at this moment, you did the right thing. You love him, so how could it be wrong?” Sean held out his hand and George took it.

  “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “No. He’s not. Not yet, although I must say you’re probably a little bit the worse for wear than he is. But he’s safe now. He’s downstairs. My Soph is looking after him for us.”

  “Sophie.” George smiled at the memory of her face and her stories. They always did make him feel like nothing else mattered.

  “We came straight away,” Sean repeated, but it still made no sense.

  “Can I go to him?”

  “Of course you can. He’ll be pleased to see you back with the living.”

  “What happened? Did I black out?”

  “You shut down. Nothing to worry about, it’s only natural. How do you feel now?”

  “Confused. In pain. Not physical, you understand.” George crumpled again and Sean caught him.

  “More than you know,” he said, holding him tightly and rocking him from side to side. “But it gets no worse than this, I promise you.”

  Some time later, George couldn’t tell how long, Sean helped him down the stairs, supporting under his arms as he led him into the lounge. There was Sophie, her face lit up in the most beautiful smile. And there next to her was Josh. As soon as he saw that George had come, he ran to him and they fell into each other, apologies and confessions of love and sorrow, joy and loss, tumbling in a torrent of tears. Sean left the room, and Sophie quickly followed.

  “I’ll make some more drinks. They’ll be needing them,” he said to her, but she just took the kettle from his hands and held him. She wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, but she had to keep it together, for Sean, for all of them.

  “I’ll make the drinks,” she said. “You do whatever you need to.” He wiped his eyes and nodded.

  Somehow they had made it to the sofa and were sitting, still and silent, giving each other the chance to recover, to build some courage in the hope that it would be enough to make it through the next round. Sean stopped in the doorway and watched them, huddled together, each with their arm entwined around the other. Josh felt his presence.

  “Can you give us a little time?”

  “Sure, Joshy. I’ll just be in the kitchen.” Josh watched him leave, then slowly drew away from George. He resisted and clung to him.

  “No. Don’t go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

  George released his grip and watched, as Josh rolled up first one sleeve, then the other. He laid out his arms, palms up, hands resting on his knees. George blinked away the tears and one dropped onto the bared wrist, snaking its way downwards, along the lifeline; Josh cocooned it in his palm.

  “How long have you known?” he asked.

  “Always.”

  The word hung in the air on a hiss of breath and he delayed so it could dissipate.

  “I always knew what, I just didn’t know how, or else I wouldn’t have pressured you to go in the hot tub. That’s when I figured out the ‘how’. You were drifting away and I kept reaching out. I wanted to tell you, and the words escaped me. You escaped me. I needed for you to see that I loved you, because…” George traced his fingertips over the long, maroon scars. “I thought I could stop you if only you knew, that you’d never try to leave me again, and it just pushed you further away.”

  “And you’ve kept it to yourself all this time?”

  “What else could I do? It was your secret.”

  “But it is such a burden to bear. That’s why I did it. It was not yours, nor Ellie’s, nor anyone else’s to carry, but mine.”

  Within these words was the key to what George wanted to understand, but should not. How could he tell him that it was because of him, that he still wished he had died, because of the love of him?

  “You wanted to know why I hated Sean. I hated him so much once, but not anymore. He did what he had to do, what he thought was right.”

  “He saved your life.”

  “Yes, you could say that. I didn’t want him to.” Josh laughed, but it was empty. “After the first time, when I took the overdose, I fooled him and everyone else into believing that it was an accident, a cry for help rather than a real attempt. The next time, as you can see, I went for the dead certainty, but he came home, and found me, pulled me out.” He pushed his sleeves even further up to reveal two very faint, banded impressions, but these were not the scars of once-open wounds. George frowned, unable to comprehend their significance.

  “Tourniquets,” Josh said. “The rest were my own doing.” He pointed to the dark circles, too numerous to count. “Cigarette burns.” And then to the diagonal slashes. “Pen knife, razor blade, letter opener, I wasn’t fussed. I even got hold of a scalpel for a while.” And finally the two-inch long scar on each wrist. “It was the only way I could ensure I did the job properly, alone for the weekend, or so I thought. And as soon as I woke up in hospital, do you know what I did? I told him I was going to do it again. Make sure he wasn’t there to save me the next time, to think he knew better than I did, because I wanted to die.”

  “Did you try again?”

  “No. And I won’t. Sean could’ve walked away. God knows most would have, but he stayed, got me through the first few months, used every trick he’d learned to try and help me to get better. I promised him I’d never put him through that again.”

  Josh was fighting his guilt, the constant reminder that he had hidden so well now in plain sight. George pulled down the sleeves and took hold of his hands.

  “What made you do it?”

  Such a simple question that could be asked of any and every activity. Why did you choose one tie over the other, to stay for that one drink too many, to die instead of live?

  “Lots of things. The bullying, as I perceived it, was a big part of it, because I didn’t know how to answer their questions. Have you got a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Everyone else was doing it, all the time. At school you all talked of losing your virginity, your little trophy for your triumph over adolescence. In university it was even worse, the prerequisite for every relationship, meaningful or otherwise, but what did I know? To feel the way I did about you and that it couldn’t go any further—I wasn’t in love, because being in love means giving yourself, entirely, over to another, and the world said I was incomplete. So I started to read up and found out it was true. I was abnormal. Every book told me so, thrusting its empirical arrogance into my life, making me dredge through my past, turning it into a pack of lies. There was no abuse, and whilst I would have liked to have known my mother better, I was hardly starved of affection. Of course it was devastating when Dad died, but my grieving followed a normal pattern. And yet, they all wrote, there must be some reason. My obsession with Freud was a form of self-flagellation, I think, in retrospect. For his verdict was the most damning. Because I loved you, and I wanted to be in love with you, but I was flawed, broken, worthless.”

  “I wish you’d trusted me to make that judgement.”

  “It would have been selfish, and not just because of the sacrifices we each would have needed to make. I convinced myself that whatever I felt for you, however much I thought I loved you, I wasn’t in love with you. I kept waiting for that feeling to come, to feel like everyone else told me I should feel, to want to be with someone, with anyone. I was so lonely.
I didn’t even think what it would do to you, or to Ellie. It took me months to realise what it had done to Sean. In fact, I didn’t truly appreciate the way it affected him until he told me—”

  Even in the state he was in, Josh was aware that his defence of keeping a confidence would be an outright lie.

  “Sean’s an alcoholic, because of what I did. Because he’s had to live through seeing what I did every day, over and over again. That’s how I knew he wouldn’t have deliberately overdosed last Christmas. That’s why I hated him, because every time I saw him I remembered what I’d done, and how I ruined his life. He had a brilliant mind. They wanted him at Cambridge and he wouldn’t leave me, but in the end he had to, for his own survival. When I came out of it, and started to realise how things would’ve been if I’d succeeded, I knew I had to find a way to stop the loneliness. So I kept on caring for you all the only way I knew how. I had to, so that I could keep going, so that I’d never break my promise to Sean. I convinced myself I didn’t love you, and I truly believed it. But you never gave up. No matter how hard I pushed, you never really went away. You never left me. Even when you were in America, you were always there, waiting, and loving me. I called out to you and you came back. For everything you saw of how I lived, and everything you’ve seen since, you stayed, and you still love me.”

  “Yeah, I’m a stubborn bastard.”

  “I never wanted you to feel that you were the reason why I did what I did. Those were dark days. It was out of my control.”

  “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “Oh, I did. It was the hardest part of all.”

  “I need to…” George began, but Josh squeezed his hand to silence him.

  “I know, but I’m not sure you’re strong enough.”

  “Nor am I, but what are the options? We pretend it didn’t happen and hope we can keep on ignoring it forever, or we face it down now and go forward knowing that we are free of the past.”

  George was seeking to liberate them both, to fully comprehend how it could be that Josh attempted to take his own life, less than a year after graduating with top marks.

  “Tell me about Sam,” Josh said. George frowned at him in puzzlement. “Please? I need you to tell me, because—I just need you to. I don’t know why.”

  He was trying to delay. That much was obvious. George took a deep breath.

  “He was a veterinary science lecturer. I used to see him in the bar on a Wednesday, when all the athletic teams were in after a hard afternoon’s sport. I thought he was a bit of a perv at first, but then one Wednesday he came over when I was waiting at the bar and asked me if I wanted a drink. So I said yeah, why not? We went and sat down, and he told me all about his partner, launched straight into it, like he needed me to know before things went any further. He came home one day, he said, and all of his partner’s things were gone, and I felt sorry for him. He looked so sad.

  “So anyway, we had a few more drinks, left and got a takeaway, and he was after an invite back to mine. I didn’t really want to, but, well, it was sex and he was a nice-looking guy. Next morning he was gone before I woke up, so there’s me thinking that’s that then. I went off to uni, didn’t see him around on the Thursday or Friday, which was normal, and pretty much forgot about it.

  “Saturday nights, me and my housemates, because we were skint, would club together and buy this bloody awful cheap lager from the supermarket. Honestly, there’s more alcohol in piss after a night on real lager than there is in that stuff, and it’d probably taste better, but it was a laugh. This Saturday, after the Wednesday I took him home, he turned up. It was late and I was in bed, but I let him in, and—you can work out the rest. Next morning, he’s gone again.

  “It went on like this for weeks. Wednesday night: bar, takeaway, back to mine. Saturday night, or sometimes in the afternoon when no-one was about, he’d come round, usually stay over and go early in the morning. And I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t cotton on for a while. Stupid, I know. So, I figured it out and—remember I was only twenty at the time—I thought what the hell? So he’s got a partner. Not my problem. If their relationship was OK, then he wouldn’t be having an affair with a student. We carried on, same thing, Wednesday, Saturday, for the rest of the term, I came home for Christmas, and…”

  George stopped and covered his face with his hands, not because what he was saying was bothering him particularly, even though he’d had much time to think about what happened and realised that he had been at great risk. All the while he’d been narrating the story, the full truth of why Josh tried to kill himself had been sinking in and he was suddenly overwhelmed by such grief that he almost couldn’t bear it.

  “Keep going,” Josh urged gently. George sniffed and continued, his voice quivering with the effort.

  “And I thought what’s the point? Yeah, he’s attractive, and intelligent, but I could be doing this with anyone, and probably people I like more. It’s just sex.”

  The words were a revelation.

  “Ha. It’s just sex. That’s all it is. Anyway, the next Wednesday after New Year, we were on our way back to the house, and I told him how I felt. He seemed a bit disappointed, but not upset as such, said he’d walk me back and call a taxi. But as soon as we got inside, he pinned me to the wall by my neck. I couldn’t believe it and it took a minute to get my head around it. I kneed him really hard and he doubled up. I pushed him out the door and locked it. I can look after myself, so I wasn’t that worried, but I should’ve known, I guess. He was always so intense, so serious, although he didn’t try coming back and didn’t turn up on the Saturday, so I thought it was finished. Back to normal.

  “The following week, I’m in the bar again, and I was a bit nervous, wondering how things would be after what had happened. He came in as usual, and ignored me at first, but then he walked over and sat next to me. And he’s smiling and laughing, so it looks to everyone else like we’re having a nice friendly chat, but he’s saying, ‘I’m going to get you when you’re sleeping, no-one makes a fool out of me,’ and stuff like that. As far as everyone else is concerned, there’s nothing going on, so I slipped out, telling him I was going to the toilet, which is where I went. Next thing he’s in there too, smashing my head into the cubicle door. See that scar? That’s from the lock. When I finally got free, I punched him in the stomach and he fell backwards, hit his shoulder on the sink. I left him there, told my housemates not to let him in if he came round.

  “Needless to say, it wasn’t over. He came round on the Sunday morning, when everyone was still in bed, and kicked the front door in. This time he punched me in the face, and one of my housemates rang the police, who turned up about two hours later, said they didn’t like to get involved in domestic disputes, and fucked off again. It just went from bad to worse. Apparently, if he was telling the truth, his partner had found out he was seeing someone else and left him. So that was my fault, obviously. Not that I thought that. To be honest, it was pissing me off more than anything, and it had got to be almost every day. He’d come to the house, or follow me around the campus. I lost count of how many times he hit me, but I wasn’t going to be his victim.

  “Eventually, after about three weeks of this and he still wasn’t giving in, I phoned Kris and told him what was happening. Right after I put the phone down, Dan rings back and says he’s coming to ‘sort it out’. Well, I don’t even want to know how they got from London to Aberdeen in under five hours. And predictably as ever, Sam turns up, thinking I’m going to be on my own, because it’s Saturday afternoon, and he hammered on the door for ages. I shouted to him to go away—we’d put loads of bolts up by this point. So he’s outside, kicking the shit out of the door, and Dan’s inside, getting all worked up and me and Kris are looking at him, thinking he’s gonna kill him.

  “The banging died down and I thought maybe he’d given up, but the next thing, the back window goes through and he’s in the house and he looks wild, like he’s on drugs. I’m not sure what happened next, beca
use Dan was on him and the noise was unbelievable. I’ll never forget the sound of Sam’s head smashing into the floor. He didn’t stand a chance. Of course, I know now why Dan was so angry. He was like an animal and it took both me and Kris, plus one of my housemates who’d just got back from football, to pull him off.

  “And that was the last trouble I got from Sam. I saw him once or twice around uni after that, but he wouldn’t even look at me, and Dan’s never mentioned it since.”

  As soon as he stopped talking, George wished he’d thought ahead and fabricated a more pleasant version of his relationship with Sam. Even so, it was a necessary distraction, and far less horrific than what they were about to face. Josh gently cupped George’s cheek in his palm and stared deep into his eyes, seeking confirmation that he still wanted to go through with this. The answer gazed back at him; resolute, unwavering.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  George nodded. “I know.”

  Josh smiled and released him. “I’ll tell Sean it’s time.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:

  FIVE ACTS

  Part I

  Sean had forgotten his notes, which was a sure sign he was either working too hard, or losing it, seeing as he could essentially have taken them and nothing else and have been entirely equipped to speak at his first conference. So that was a wasted journey: two and a half hours’ drive to the host university, only to get right back in the car and drive two and a half hours home again. If only Josh had been about, he could have faxed them, but he must have gone home for the weekend. The house was silent and horribly empty without his frantic typing and reading and pacing to and fro, as he tried to get theories straightened out in his mind. Sean chuckled at the thought, grabbed his notes from the desk and threw them on the passenger seat. Except that these were not his notes. They’d come from his printer, sure enough, for that dratted black line ran through each and every one of the meticulously typed sheets. But these were not his notes.