Fall - A Collection of Short Stories (Almond Press Short Story Contest)

by Corrina Austin

  I still seem to sense her presence. She was mid-twenties – a couple of years younger than me – and, when she wasn`t in one of her depressions, she had the most buoyant personality you could wish to meet.

  (Who, me? That`s not what he said when he was drunk – which is a hell of a lot more often than he`ll admit.)

  I`d better admit straight away I drank quite a lot.

  (O.K., so I was wrong. Watch him though; he`s clever at disarming people. If he says he`s going to be honest - )

  To be honest –

  ( - it means he`s going to lie.)

  To be honest, I felt a bit isolated. I first met Carys on the stairs and straight away sensed a kindred spirit. Although she had large, sad eyes, she usually laughed a lot and could be stimulating company.

  (Where`s the lie? All this is true. Still, if he`s going to praise me, who am I to interrupt?)

  I think it was her sense of the ludicrous that appealed most. When we knew each other better, we`d curl up at the silliest jokes. She`d roll about, tears in her eyes and helpless with laughter. But occasionally she suffered from deep depressions – they were so black they used to frighten me. They weren`t frequent, I`m glad to say, but – there`s no point in hiding it from you – Carys was an alcoholic.

  (What! Rubbish! All right, I drank a bit but - )

  She could drink me under the table. She told me she`d been on residential cures, but none of them had worked for long. The fact is, I`m afraid she regularly stole drink from supermarkets.

  (That`s not true! He`s accusing me of his own crimes!)

  You know what it`s like the morning after? Carys didn`t. While you were blearily reaching for your alarm clock, Carys was reaching for another bottle. Day after day. When she was on a binge, there was no telling how long it would last. You`d have thought she`d drink herself unconscious and that would be that. Not Carys. The human body`s very resilient – hers was anyway. A doze for a couple of hours, then she`d start again.

  (And if you believe that, you`ll believe anything. You know why he sounds so convincing, don`t you? He believes his own fabrications. He`s frightened to face the truth.)

  I don`t deny I drank a lot too, but I did it in moderation.

  (How can you drink a lot in moderation? He downed it like a plug hole. There were times when he couldn`t go two minutes without reaching for a glass. What`s more, drink sometimes made him violent. Well, I warned you; Craig`s a liar.)

  Worse – and I don`t like having to denigrate her – Carys was a congenital liar.

  (Of all the barefaced nerve!)

  She`d be telling you about her day, and suddenly you`d realise she was in a world of her own. Pure invention. It wasn`t easy to spot at first because her normal day was often wild anyway. She didn`t have a job – she couldn`t hold one down – but that doesn`t mean she was broke; I`ll tell you why in a minute. Sometimes, after work, I`d fetch her from the betting office – a scruffy, smoky place littered with screwed up paper – and she`d talk about odds and form all the way home.

  (In case you missed the hint, he`s let you know how distasteful he finds gambling. Cunning.)

  I was working in a supermarket in Castle Street.

  (Oh yeah? So who had the opportunity to steal booze? If I let him waffle on long enough, he`s bound to trip himself up. Liars always do.)

  I wasn`t exactly a model employee. I was forever arriving late and making excuses for having days off. And the excuses I made up, well, I blush to recall them. But I didn`t dare lose the job, otherwise I`d have to live on my newly-acquired savings: four thousand pounds from selling my dilapidated, but much-loved, Lotus Seven sports car. I kept looking at my bank book, just for the pleasure of reading the figures. Carys had done even better: a couple of months after we met, she`d been left ten thousand pounds by an aunt – an abstemious one actually – and she drew out the lot simply to revel in it. To us, these sums were fortunes. But drink, even if you steal it, becomes an expensive hobby. Add Carys`s gambling and it was clear her money wouldn`t last long.

  (Sorry – I was dropping off. Craig does go on a bit sometimes. Just like some of our evenings together. No doubt he`ll get to the point soon.)

  Carys is dead now.

  (That was a bit abrupt!)

  It`s so difficult to accept. In a way, she still seems close. Oh Carys, why did it have to happen?

  (You tell me.)

  I need to understand it, get it clear in my mind. I need to make sense of it.

  (Me too. Nail-biting, isn`t it? The tension`s not too much for you? Hanging on to his desperate need to communicate, to unburden himself? Me neither. We know better than to be fooled so easily.)

  We used to spend hours discussing our circumstances. What should we do for the best? One suggestion was we move in together to cut expenses. Another was to pool our money in a joint account; the idea was that, if two signatures were required for withdrawals, each of us could restrain the other. I rejected that idea.

  (Who rejected that idea?)

  We even joked about blowing the lot on a trip to Turkey. It was a country that had magic appeal for both of us. But, as I told Carys only two nights ago, the solution to her problems didn`t lie in dreaming. We were sprawled on the carpet in my flat.

  (At last.)

  When I say carpet, I mean a faded pattern of stains puddled with threadbare patches.

  (Oh, oh. Sounds like a bout of metaphors on the way.)

  The curtains were drawn. They billowed with each gust from the ill-fitting windows. Their flowers sucked up moisture like the real things, except the moisture was from the damp walls.

  (He used to go on like that for ages, if I let him. No wonder I suffered from depressions. I notice he hasn`t mentioned his poems. At first, he recited them to me, but later he kept them to himself. I don`t know why. Perhaps my fits of uncontrolled laughter had something to do with it.)

  We must have looked a funny sight. There we were, huddled in front of my electric fire, its glowing bar drawing us like a magnet, with Carys`s money scattered over the floor. We rolled in it and threw it into the air. Carys had been drinking for two days. I don`t deny that I too, in fact –

  (A dead giveaway – like `to be honest`.)

  - had been drinking as well. To be honest, more than was good for me. Sleet rattled on the window. Carys took out a couple of her poems and read them to me. They were awful. I don`t know much about poetry, but I know hers was embarrassingly bad.

  (Thanks, Craig.)

  We`d eaten a meal earlier – some days Carys didn`t bother – which I`d brought home from the supermarket. I usually cooked our meals.

  (Ha!)

  My head`s aching again. It`s not that I`m holding back; I need to get things in order. The shock of what happened forces me to keep questioning myself.

  (Here we go; soul-searching time. I should go and make a cup of tea if I were you.)

  I was tired. I wasn`t thinking as clearly as usual.

  (Here come the excuses.)

  It`s not that I`m trying to excuse anything. I won`t alter a word of what took place.

  (As I say, here come the excuses.)

  I tried to discuss investment with her. It was impossible. She persuaded me to join her in a sort of snowball fight with the banknotes. We romped like children. Although Carys appeared flippant – you may laugh at my amateur psychiatry –

  (I am.)

  - I`m sure her flippancy concealed something dark inside her she was frightened of.

  (He sounds so reasonable, doesn`t he? Paradoxically, drunks can be experts at sounding reasonable.)

  To tell you the truth – I don`t want you to think I`m bending the facts to show myself in the best light – I didn`t love Carys. I needed her sometimes, and she needed me, but I didn`t love her.

  (I loved him. I
really loved him. Would I admit that if I intended to fool you? Of course not. Far easier to joke about it and laugh it off. Listen to me, then decide who`s telling the truth. Reverse what he`s told you. It was I who worked in the supermarket in Castle Street and Craig who had the serious drink problem. He told me he`d been on residential cures, but none of them had worked for long. All this about selling a sports car is pure invention; he didn`t own a car. As for a Lotus, well, is it likely? It`s true I liked to gamble a little, but he makes it sound as though I spent half my life in the betting shop. Most of my betting was on card games – like the one we played that night.)

  I never really knew where I was with her. So much of her was a facade, so how could I be sure her deeper feelings weren`t false too? If you ask me, her depressions were a kind of self-inflicted punishment. I`ll tell you something else – something I never expected to have to divulge –

  (Craig, no! You promised!)

  I`m sure she was telling me the truth because she showed me the scar. She`d attempted it about a year before I moved into Bryn Street. A razor blade. Just one wrist. Apparently, she hadn`t cut deeply enough.

  (The one time I want him to lie, he tells the truth.)

  Can you imagine how I felt when she had one of her depressions? She`d disappear into her room upstairs and lock the door. There was no telling whether it would last hours or days. I tried to talk to her through the door; the best I could hope for was a brief response which at least told me she was coping. And then, quite suddenly, she`d reappear, freshly showered, her face animated again. The funny thing was, she never touched alcohol during these depressions; she`d return with a joke about gasping for a drink.

  (Now he`s back to his psychopathic lying. Meanwhile, the stakes in our card game were getting higher.)

  We were playing three- card Brag. Suddenly she said, `You wanted to talk investment. O.K., we`ll talk investment. I`ve got a plan.` Those were her exact words. `I`ve got a plan.` I don`t want to mislead you by recalling it inaccurately.

  (God forbid.)

  If only I`d known what she had in mind.

  (Me too.)

  `This isn`t one of your jokes, is it?` I asked. `You`ve really thought of a sound investment?` `Oh, it`s sound all right,` she replied. `Very sound. For one of us.` Despite being a bit muddled with drink, I got the meaning straight away. For one of us. It was startling. The trouble is, it wasn`t as startling as it ought to have been. I`m aware it would be sensible to exaggerate now; I should describe how I ranted and protested – and I did.

  (Of course you did.)

  But, somehow, not as much as I should have done. I refused, I promise you. But, well, she taunted and mocked and, what with the drink ...

  (Don`t tell us you gave in?)

  Pride, I suppose. She went on about how each of us was merely buying time; we were both failures.

  (Speak for yourself.)

  How the cliché about money not buying happiness was a fallacy. How, with extra money, the average person`s opportunities multiplied – even for finding love. She challenged me; she picked up my bank book and threw it into my lap. Then she scooped up armfuls of notes and swamped the kitty with them. Looking for a way out, I argued it was unfair to bet my four thousand pounds against her ten. She dismissed that by saying she`d have four cards to my three. I decided to call her bluff. In a blur of bravado and alcohol, I tossed my bank book into the kitty.

  (He didn`t have four thousand pounds. He reassembles events to suit himself; it`s an inner compulsion. When I visited him at the supermarket, he`d invent little stories about his workmates – no wait. What I mean is, when he visited me at the supermarket. Damn.)

  I refilled our glasses while Carys thoroughly shuffled the cards.

  (Look, you mustn`t read too much into my slip. It was only an inversion of the words. It could happen to anyone. I`m not denying we made a bet; in fact, to be honest, I readily agreed to it. I staked all my money and Craig asked what he could possibly bet to match it. So I told him; if I won, he`d have to stop drinking, get a job and hold it down.)

  I couldn`t believe she`d go through with it. I expected her to roll over laughing and back down.

  (`The winnings could pay for a cure,` he said; `a cure that really works.`)

  The winnings could pay for a cure, I said; a cure that really works.

  (We`re agreed on something then.)

  Despite the wine, I reasoned it out in my mind. I made her agree that, if she won, she`d spend most of the money on a cure. If she lost, I`d simply say I`d been joking. It was easy. Besides, with four cards to my three, she stood a good chance. Supplies were running low – by now it was early morning – so we agreed to an extra condition; the winner was to brave the weather and go for more drink. An Asian shop near Swansea station stayed open all night. We decided it on a single hand. Carys dealt.

  (We picked up our cards and huddled them close.)

  Carys selected three cards from her four. I looked at my hand, then at her face.

  (I looked at my hand, then at his face. He smiled.)

  She smiled. She`ll call it off now, I thought. But she didn`t.

  (He`ll call it off now, I thought. But he didn`t. Laughing, I rolled over.)

  One by one, I put down my cards: a ten, a seven. And then another ten. She stared at them. `A pair of tens,` she said quietly. `Not a bad hand.` Then she looked straight into my eyes and said, `While you`re at the shop, you can buy me some cigarettes.` I immediately called the bet off. I told her it had been a joke.

  (The moment I`d glanced at my cards, I knew I`d won. That`s why I rolled over laughing. But he said the whole thing had been a joke. I said a bet`s a bet.)

  She got annoyed and insisted I`d won. She scooped the pile of notes towards me, knocked back a glassful of wine and said she`d no intention of taking a cure. I snatched up her cards; all she had was a king high. I refused to take the money and swore all I cared about was her. Look, despite what I wrote before, I loved her. I really loved her. Would I admit that if I intended to fool you, if I were lying?

  (My hero. Don`t overdo it, Craig; you`ll make your readers queasy.)

  The truth is, I`d tried to keep my distance. I could see the whole set-up was trouble. But relationships seldom work out as planned, and I found I cared too much. Some things can`t be faked.

  I put on my coat and walked to the all-night shop. On the way, I reasoned it wouldn`t be difficult to return her money; I`d persuade her to have another bet. I`d find a way. But, when I got back, the world had changed. It was an unfamiliar place.

  Sometimes, when you lose someone, they still seem close, as though lingering. Suddenly, all I feel is emptiness. I can`t sense her presence.

  She`d actually done it. There are no words. I stood in the doorway, unable to move. The carpet really was puddled. I couldn`t take it in – not all at once. For some reason, I remember trivial things, like the music from the radio and dropping the plastic bag – I actually worried about crushing her cigarettes. When I could move, I edged towards her. It didn`t need a doctor to tell me it was too late. Just one wrist. The kitchen knife. I`m not sure what I did. I think I spoke to her. Then I noticed a card. Of all things, I noticed a playing card jutting from her pocket. It was a king. And then I understood. At that moment it was clear. She`d cheated. She`d had a plan, just as she said; she`d lost deliberately. Deny it, Carys; say it isn`t true.

  (It isn`t true.)

  After that, the bits that come back are vague. I placed Carys on the bed, as though she`d be more comfortable there. She didn`t wake up. Stupidly, I thought, if she did, she`d only open another bottle and I didn`t want that. I remember gathering up the notes. In a way, I suppose I was tidying up. Some of the notes were red. It crossed my mind they were the wrong colour, but I was too dazed to puzzle over it.

  The next thing I remember is waking up here in h
ospital. A policeman questioned me. He said I`d been involved in a car crash, that I`d been driving a Lotus Seven. Enquiries had revealed I`d paid cash for it that morning. He told me about Carys. I couldn`t think straight. The policeman knew more about me than I did; he`d checked with my landlord and my employers at the supermarket.

  (Oh well, I suppose that clarifies that point.)

  The policeman knew all about Carys`s alcoholism and medical history; also about her convictions for stealing, of course. It was painful to hear these things confirmed.

  (It looks as though Craig was right; I must be a congenital liar. Perhaps I altered things because I found them unacceptable. Lying`s like laughing; both make the world seem better than it is.)

  The police say I must have driven from Swansea to Bristol and then followed the A36 towards Southampton. Maybe I was heading for the ferry terminal; I can`t remember. It`s difficult to imagine where I thought I was making for.

  (Turkey perhaps?)

  When the policeman returned, his attitude was more formal. He said there were certain queries about Carys`s death and my actions. I was told a policeman would be stationed in the corridor. I`m a suspect, yet I`ve no recollection of buying the Lotus or being involved in a crash. I`m sure I wasn`t trying to flee the country. Any inconsistency in my actions must be due to concussion.

  (Want a bet? No, perhaps not; the last one wasn`t too successful, was it? )

  I`ve written down all I can recall at the moment. Believe me, I`ve told you the truth.

  (Some of it, yes. And I`ve lied. But the part I haven`t told – the true part – will be told by the evidence. How could you do it, Craig? Forensic have found the bruises; and they can tell the difference between a wrist that`s cut when someone`s alive or when already dead. I can understand the violence, but not this. To do it afterwards, coldly ... How could you, Craig? How could you?)

  I must stop now and try to rest. I want to sleep, but Carys won`t let me. It`s more than a headache now; she won`t leave my mind. She`ll never leave my mind.