We All Fall Down

by Cynthia Clark

  Once inside the house Martin sat Bea down in a chair that looked out of place in the hallway, the dark wood jarring with the light colour of the console table. Gemma came rushing forward. ‘Are you comfortable? Hope that wasn’t too much for you?’

  ‘It’s all good.’ This time Bea’s smile didn’t feel forced. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions but perhaps the Stones were actually good people and her luck had finally turned. Maybe she wouldn’t have to constantly look over her shoulder, wondering when the next beating was going to come.

  ‘Are you ready to go see your room?’ Gemma asked. Then her forehead creased into a frown. ‘Or do you need to rest for a little longer?’

  ‘No, no.’ Bea shook her head. ‘I’m ready.’ She reached for the crutches that Gemma had brought in from the car and started to stand up.

  ‘Wait, wait, let Martin help,’ Gemma insisted and Bea reluctantly allowed him to pull her to a standing position. She leaned onto the crutches, careful to keep her right leg straight. She’d have to meet her therapist again tomorrow, and every other day for the foreseeable future, and was under strict instructions to only put pressure on her leg while under medical supervision. ‘We have to make sure that you don’t have an accident that puts a kink into your recovery,’ the doctors had said. And Bea was not going to take chances.

  Gemma took a couple of steps into the hallway, stopping in front of a closed door. ‘The living room and kitchen are over there,’ she said, pointing towards the end of the corridor. ‘And that’s the bathroom.’ She pointed to a door right across from the room they were standing in front of. ‘It’s normally our guest bathroom, and it only has a shower. But we put a stool in there so that you can sit down.’

  ‘Love, I think Bea might want to rest for a bit.’ Martin’s voice was gentle but forceful. ‘Why don’t you show her the room?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Gemma’s cheeks turned red as she opened the door and stepped aside to allow Bea in.

  A sea of pink and gold greeted Bea. The bed was covered in a light pink quilt with tiny pompoms hanging from the edges. There were several plump pillows in different shades of pink. Next to the bed was a deep armchair, with a golden fur cushion. A footrest stood in front, two new books resting on top. The shelves were stacked with more books, some that Bea remembered were hers, others new. There was a small desk in front of the window, the plant Gemma had brought to the hospital in a new golden pot in the corner.

  Bea’s eyes started stinging and she blinked furiously to stop the tears. And then fear took hold. This was too good to be true. She was certain that her good fortune would turn very soon. Something had to go wrong. Either these people were not who they appeared to be or the social worker would call and say that there had been a mistake, and that she had been placed with the wrong family.

  8

  2017

  It started off just like any other perfect day in paradise. The sun was shining but it wasn’t too hot. Even the few clouds that scattered the blue sky looked flawless, as if they had been airbrushed onto a piece of canvas.

  The water rippled onto the sandy beach, the repetitive sound melodic, relaxing. The leaves on the trees rustled in the soft breeze.

  The beach was deserted except for two early morning snorkellers. Reginald Marlow loved this time of the day, before the crowds arrived, the deck chairs were occupied, the smell of sunscreen filled the air, people started barking orders at him.

  He switched on the coffee machine and for a few moments stood and stared at the ocean. His eyes flicked over the horizon and for a second he allowed his mind to wander to the events of so many years ago, the events that had brought him here.

  The ping of the espresso machine interrupted Reginald’s thoughts and he turned round and pressed a button. Aromatic coffee came out of the spout, dripping into a cup. Reginald’s stomach grumbled; coffee always made him hungry, but it was still too early. He’d wait a few hours.

  Instead, he busied himself cleaning the bar, wiping the dew that had accumulated overnight. Next, he unpacked the supplies he had brought with him. The bottles of alcohol went in the cabinets at the back of the bar, the fruit in large bowls. He made sure that the ice machine was working. Then he picked up a knife and started quartering lemons and limes. It was a repetitive job, but therapeutic. Reginald was able to stare at the sparkling water, listen to the birds, all the while getting ready for the day.

  The snorkellers got out of the water and wrapped themselves in large towels. The woman was shivering and the man rubbed her arms, pulling the enormous towel more tightly round her, kissing her tenderly. Honeymooners, Reginald thought. They got a lot of those here. It was, after all, paradise.

  A few minutes later they walked towards the bar. ‘Hey, can we get a coffee?’ the man asked.

  ‘Sorry, we’re still closed,’ Reginald responded.

  ‘But the machine’s on,’ the man insisted. ‘And we’re all inclusive so it’s not like you have to ring us up. You don’t even need to open the register.’

  Reginald looked him up and down. He was tanned, his muscles toned. His hair, even just coming out of the water, looked styled. Some rich jerk trying to impress his new wife. The woman was less cocky. She stood a step back, looking almost embarrassed.

  He was about to turn them away. ‘It’s the hotel’s policy,’ he would say. ‘We cannot serve anything until the bar opens. You’ll need to go to the restaurant.’ But then the woman shivered again, pulling the towel even tighter, up to her chin. Oh, what the heck? Reginald thought, turning and putting a cup underneath the machine’s spout and pressing a button, repeating the process. Seconds later he put two steaming cups of coffee in front of the couple.

  ‘Thanks, man,’ the guy said, turning and putting an arm round the woman. They walked to a couple of armchairs and sat down, facing the water that they’d just come from. Reginald looked at them for a few moments, then went back to his preparations.

  His phone vibrated gently on the counter as the screen lit up, showing a text message. It was his wife, telling him that Adrian, their eldest, had woken up with a fever. She was panicking, not sure if she should also keep Nathaniel home or send him to school. He didn’t look too well either but his temperature was fine.

  Do what you think is right.

  Reginald typed into his phone, wishing that Tanya would be more assertive, able to take decisions herself without asking a million questions.

  He’d met Tanya when he had first arrived in St Lucia fifteen years ago. For years he had hopped from one Caribbean island to another, enjoying his nomadic existence. Not having any roots was liberating. He could up and leave any time he wanted. Any time he felt it was becoming necessary to go somewhere else. If he felt that people were getting too close. He had not planned to stay in St Lucia for long. A few months, a year tops, and then he’d pack his few belongings and head to the next place.

  But he hadn’t banked on meeting Tanya. He was working behind this same bar when he saw her the first time. She walked over, looking scared, her eyes downturned. ‘I’m looking for Reggie,’ she said.

  Reginald looked her up and down. The hotel was always sending him new helpers. None of them were there for long. The bar got busy and the work was too much for them. This girl wouldn’t last the day, he thought. Her hands were tiny. She was going to break glasses, cause more harm than help. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Why couldn’t they send someone who knew what they were doing? At least in Martinique the bar staff were all experienced. He didn’t have to tell them what to do.

  ‘That’s me,’ he answered.

  ‘Oh… I’m Tanya,’ she said in a low voice. ‘They sent me over, said you need help.’

  ‘Yes, you can start by unloading the dishwasher. There’s a rag; dry all the glasses properly before putting them on the shelves. Make sure there are no water marks.’

  She looked taken aback, as if she didn’t expect to be put to work so quickly. Reginald exhaled in resigned frustration. She was prob
ably some rich kid looking for work experience. She didn’t need the money, was doing this just because she was told she had to get a summer job. He’d be sure to keep her busy, make her rethink her decision. He bet she wouldn’t be back tomorrow.

  But she was. And the next day. And the one after that. She worked hard, did everything Reginald told her to, asked questions, learned how to make cocktails. Within a week she was doing so much that Reginald had time to relax. And that was when he properly looked at Tanya for the first time.

  She was tiny. Not only in height – she couldn’t be taller than five feet – but everything about her was small. Her waist looked as if Reginald could wrap his hands around it. Her wrists looked so fragile that the bones would snap if she picked up something heavy. Even her features were minute, slightly pointy, in a face that was delicately small. Only her hair was big. Long, luscious brown curls.

  He remembered the day she told him she was pregnant. She looked terrified, and Reginald felt as if he wanted to throw up. How had he allowed this to happen? This was a disaster. He couldn’t have a baby. Especially not with someone he had known for a couple of months. She wasn’t even his girlfriend, just a fling he’d slept with a few times.

  But when Adrian was born any thoughts of skipping town flew out of the window. This tiny person needed him and as Reginald looked into his son’s eyes, he knew that he would never abandon him. No, he’d stay, for as long as he could.

  ‘Hey, man, can you make two more coffees?’ It sounded more like an order than a question. Reginald was about to say no, but he didn’t want to deal with the ensuing confrontation. It was easier to make the coffees and see the back of this guy, but he did switch off the machine after he was done and busied himself polishing glasses. Not that the hotel guests would give a damn if their glasses were clean. They normally only cared about the level of alcohol in their drinks rather than what they were served in. Still, the hotel had standards. And he did as well.

  Reginald had never aspired to a job behind the bar. It didn’t seem up his street. Alcohol was there to be drunk and not to be played with. And anyway, his girlfriend would never approve. Bartending jobs didn’t pay well enough. He would never make enough money to buy them a house. No, it was simply not for him.

  But when he landed in the Dominican Republic almost three decades ago, any reservations he had went out of the window. He had no choice but to take the first job that was offered, and that was serving drinks at a beach bar. At first he thought he’d stick it out, until something better came along or until he’d made enough money to leave the country. But after a while the job started bothering him less. The pay wasn’t great but the tips made up for it. And coming from London, he started appreciating the days spent outside, in the sunshine. He stopped shaving and let his hair grow. Shorts became his daily uniform. He was tanned from being outside. He felt healthy, strong. Even the sadness that was a constant companion started to ebb.

  More than anything, he felt a world away from England, from the tragedy he had caused. He couldn’t forget about the accident but slowly he stopped thinking about it all the time. Stopped having nightmares every single night, waking up in a sweat, screaming for relief. He stopped imagining the van veering into his lane, him realising too late, his alcohol-fuelled mind taking too long to react. He stopped thinking about the children, all squashed in the overturned van, their tiny bodies engulfed in pain. And finally, the image of the woman flying out of the windscreen and landing in a lump of crumpled bones on the road stopped haunting him.

  Reginald might have left Ronnie Moss behind. He might have taken on a different identity. But he could never forget about the day he had forever changed the lives of others. He would always regret his decision to drink while driving. And he would always be terrified of being caught.

  That was why he had never had another drink. It was a crazy notion for a bartender but Reginald was adamant that he would never lose control the way he had that morning. He couldn’t risk letting his secret slip. Especially not now that he had Tanya and the boys to think about.

  *

  Reginald’s hatred for Fridays had started a few years back. Everyone else he knew loved Fridays. The weekend was almost here. Finally they would have some time to themselves, to do whatever they wanted.

  But even on the rare occasions when Reginald had the weekend off, he still loathed Fridays. Fridays were big arrival days, throngs of guests flying in from all over the world, eager to spend a few days in paradise, and more often than not their first stop would be the beach bar. They’d bark orders at him, get him to mix the most elaborate cocktails on the menu, have him scramble to make different garnishes. They’d down the first drink and order a second, and a third. By the time they went back to their bungalows for some rest, Reginald would be exhausted. But he wouldn’t be able to take a break. Instead, he’d have to stock up the bar, polish the glasses, prepare the garnishes for happy hour. And here on the island, happy hour lasted until the early hours of the morning.

  Yet, Reginald kept a smile on his face. The tips were good. And he had two boys to take care of. He couldn’t afford to piss anyone off. He smiled as he made one cocktail after another, putting on garnishes with a flourish, adding theatre to the mundane tasks. The guests loved his juggling, his jokes, his factoids about the island. And the more they drank, the looser they became with their money. So Reginald was generous with the alcohol. He didn’t care about the raging headaches they would wake up with in the morning; it wasn’t his problem. As long as they recovered by lunch time and came back for one of his invigorating cocktails. And the cycle would start again.

  There was a storm brewing. The weather in the summer could be volatile, but there had been no major hurricanes this year, and he hoped that there wouldn’t be any. He remembered his first hurricane, how the wind had blown so strongly that it had uprooted decades-old trees, how it had toppled buildings. He’d been scared, more than he’d ever been, lying in his small bed in the tiny flat, just a couple of blocks from the beach. He should have left, gone further inland. But he hadn’t realised it would get that bad. He hadn’t been used to these freaky storms.

  Carlos walked over and sat on one of the tall stools on the other side of the bar. ‘Want a coffee?’ Reginald asked.

  ‘That’d be great.’ Carlos squinted his eyes at Reginald. 'You look younger without the beard.'

  Reginald's hand flew to his face. It tingled. The day had started on a bad note. He’d been trimming his beard when Tanya had walked into the bathroom, banging the door against his back. The beard trimmer had slipped out of his hand, leaving a hairless hole on his right upper lip. ‘Shit!’ Then, turning towards Tanya, he’d growled: ‘You need to be more careful. Look what you’ve made me do.’ But then, seeing her face all crumpled up in disappointment, he’d softened. He hated fighting with her. She was always so apologetic. Turning back to the mirror, he’d looked at the damage. No way he’d be able to save his beard.

  With trembling hands, he’d started shaving. He hadn’t done this in years, wanting to keep his face covered. But there was nothing he could do now. The beard would grow, he just needed a few days. Nobody was going to recognise him. It had been almost thirty years. He’d changed, aged, his face ravaged with wrinkles.

  Reginald rubbed at his cheeks, the aftershave making his skin tingle in the salty air, as he

  busied himself with the machine, making two cups of coffee and placing one in front of the diving instructor. ‘Busy day?’ he asked.

  Carlos took a long sip and shook his head. ‘No bookings yet.’ He turned to look behind him, staring at the ocean. ‘Looks like a storm so the water won’t be clear. Not good for snorkelling. There are going to be a few disappointed people.’

  The two men continued drinking their coffee, nodding slightly. ‘Yeah, I’m sure they will come here instead,’ Reginald said. ‘Drown their sorrows.’

  Two coffees later and Carlos bid farewell. Reginald stood at the bar for a short while longer, looking
out at the horizon. He saw the ripples far out at sea and wondered whether it was a school of dolphins, or whales, passing by. He envied their freedom, their ability to go from one place to another without constraints, without having to ask for permission. It had been a long time since Reginald had felt free.

  The dishwasher beeped and Reginald bent down to unload it, lining all the glasses up, making sure that none were chipped. He was always cautious, even more so after a guest had cut her lip against a small nick. He had seen her clinking the glass aggressively against her friends’ and knew that she’d likely caused the chip, but he’d had to apologise, offer to call a doctor. She had shrugged the incident off, asked for more alcohol, but Reginald was still increasingly careful. One bad incident and the bar’s reputation would be destroyed. He had worked too hard to make this place popular, even with the locals during the off seasons. He had too much to lose.

  Hours later he heard the first few taxis pull up, followed by the hubbub coming from the crowd. The clinking of glasses as they were offered welcome drinks. The whining of the carts as they were driven to their bungalows. It was not long before two men walked down the lane leading to the bar. They were both in colourful shirts and long trousers. Probably planned to stay at the bar until dinner. The hotel had a strict dress code and no shorts were allowed at the restaurants. Some guests couldn’t understand, complained about the heat, the humidity, but still obliged. They had no choice.

  Taking a seat on high stools, the two men remained engaged in conversation. Reginald quietly slipped two menus on the bar and busied himself filling two glasses with iced water, placing them in front of the men. They were older, probably in their fifties. Their clothes, although obviously holiday outfits, looked expensive, the shirts perfectly pressed despite having been in a suitcase for an unspecified number of hours. They both wore wedding rings and big watches. Reginald always wondered why guests insisted on wearing their pricey jewellery to come to the beach. He’d seen women crying over lost necklaces and earrings, the gems buried forever in the sand, but the following day he’d see them again, wearing even more baubles.