We All Fall Down

by Cynthia Clark

  ‘Mrs Sullivan? Are you still there?’

  She cleared her throat, needing to buy time, to compose herself, to figure out how she was going to react. ‘Yes, yes,’ she finally said.

  Ronnie Moss. For years he had haunted her dreams. The man who had forced her to separate from her friends, go to an unfamiliar place, endure years of taunting because of her scars. Ronnie Moss, the man who had changed her life.

  Her thoughts went back to that morning, Miriam’s face flashing in front of her, her lips curled into a snarl as she accused them of spiking her food. Their long-time plan was failing. Sandra could feel the thudding in her chest as Miriam looked round the table, her eyes drilling into each one of them. She remembered taking solace in the fact that there was no way Miriam could prove her suspicions. They’d hidden their tracks, been careful not to use too much powder. Just enough to make her tired, unsteady on her feet. Enough to slow her down. Sandra had heard her complain to the housekeeper that she was not feeling like herself, that she thought she was coming down with the flu.

  But even if she suspected what they’d been doing, she would never confirm without getting the oatmeal tested. And she couldn’t risk that, the ensuing questions that she’d be asked. That the children would be asked. Running the risk that one of them would speak out about the constant abuse, the incessant punishments.

  As she’d stepped into the van, Sandra had looked back at the house. Miriam would turn the place upside down looking for the rest of the powder. But she wouldn’t find it. They’d made sure to hide it well, terrified about being caught. She had longed to get to school to discuss this with the others, figure out how they would proceed.

  ‘Mrs Sullivan, are you still there?’ DCI Hawkins’ voice jolted her back to the here and now.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she responded. ‘Where is he? Where did you find him?’

  ‘In the Caribbean, of all places.’ he snorted. ‘He’s been living the good life in St Lucia. Thankfully we have an extradition agreement with them and we have already started the process to get him back, have him stand trial here. He will finally pay for his crime.’

  Sandra racked her brain to try and remember what Ronnie Moss looked like. His photo had been on the front of all the newspapers. For months the police had looked for him everywhere. The story of the accident had made international news. It had all the right ingredients for a sob story. A van full of orphans on their way to school gets slammed into by a drunk lorry driver. One child dead, multiple others injured, their carer left paralysed, her memory completely erased.

  DCI Hawkins cleared his throat, the rasping sound belying his impatience. ‘Is there anything that you need from me?’ Sandra finally asked, wanting to be polite.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ he said. ‘We’re tracking down everyone who was in the van. Everyone who was impacted by the accident. We need you to testify, tell the court how he changed your lives, the pain that he caused.’

  The hairs at the back of her neck rose as fear started creeping over her. She rarely talked about the accident, even to Louis. Not because she had forgotten about it, but she was afraid that somehow she would say something that she shouldn’t. Slip up. Raise suspicion that not everything was as it seemed in Miriam’s house. The police would immediately know that she had been hiding something and launch an investigation. And then the secret that she’d kept for so long, that she was sure the others had also kept, would be uncovered.

  ‘Uhm… I don’t know. Do I have to?’

  For a second the detective didn’t answer. But his breathing started getting heavier. ‘No, you don’t have to.’ There was an edge to his voice. Annoyance? Impatience? Sandra wasn’t sure, but it had certainly changed, even though the shift was slight. ‘But it would make our case stronger, illustrate the repercussions of Moss’s actions, how many people he hurt.’

  ‘But… it’s been so long now.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ His tone shifted again. It reminded Sandra of her attempting to explain something to Julia, trying to make her see sense, even when she knew the little girl’s mind was made up and she was not going to get anywhere. ‘The impact has been long lasting. We need the court to hear that.’

  He cleared his throat again. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to talk for long.’ His voice was gentler, more controlled. ‘We just need you to tell us how the accident impacted your life.’

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to respond, but she didn’t know what to say. Thoughts whirred in Sandra’s mind, causing her head to pound. She lifted her hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples with her thumb and middle finger. Round and round and round, hoping to ease the throbbing.

  Her mind wandered back to that morning. She’d been staring ahead, through the windscreen. The van had been rocking a little more than usual, veering slightly from one side to the other. Miriam’s trembling had got worse in the past days. Perhaps they needed to rethink the dose. Their plan didn’t seem to be working well anyway. Miriam’s anger, her abuse, had not got any better although the incidents seemed to be less frequent.

  And then she’d seen the lorry coming right at them. Uncharacteristic rage bubbled inside her as she remembered how much she hated being taken away from the others, having to become accustomed to a new place, a life without love.

  She wanted Ronnie to be punished, to pay for what he had done. But there was this small part of her that felt indebted to him. Grateful that the accident, as horrible as it was, had brought to an end a cycle of terrible abuse, even though it had taken years for her life to become perfect. More than anything, it had stopped them from continuing to do something that they might have regretted. Something that could have got them into a lot of trouble.

  ‘I need to think about it.’ Her voice was small when she finally spoke.

  ‘Yes, yes of course, you do that.’ Despite his agreeable words, the detective sounded impatient, eager to get her off the phone. ‘We’re going to hold a meeting with all the victims. I’ll call back with the details once we have them.’

  Their faces flashed in front of her eyes and she felt the prickle of tears. They’d lost touch, their paths diverging after the accident, sent to different places. She couldn’t get their addresses and although she’d vowed to track them down, she never had. Life had taken over. She’d been busy. And she’d also been terrified that they wouldn’t want to be found. That perhaps they had moved on, had no interest in rehashing the past. But she’d still missed them, especially in the beginning, those dark days of recovery. Now they had the chance to meet again, and Sandra was torn between joy and fear of the unknown.

  12

  When Bea’s mobile phone rang, she almost ignored it. She had work to do, tedious number crunching, which had kept her at her desk throughout lunch. She didn’t have time to waste. It was probably a cold caller anyway. She knew she should never have given away her real number on that online form. Now she was paying for her mistake with regular calls. No matter how many times she told them that she was not interested in a holiday to Tenerife or a new credit card and to please forget her number, they still called again a few days later.

  But for some reason she decided to respond. She could do with a little break anyway. Her eyes had started glazing over from staring at the screen. Who knew, it could be something interesting.

  ‘Hello,’ Bea said tentatively, balancing her iPhone between her ear and shoulder. From the corner of her eye she saw the office door open and waved at Meghan. Perhaps they could go out for drinks later – Bea could use a few hours of mindless fun.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ she answered when the booming voice on the other end of the line asked whether he had reached the right person.

  ‘Good afternoon, apologies to disturb you,’ he said. Bea frowned, willing him to get to the point, let her get along with her day.

  ‘I’m calling about the accident you were in twenty-eight years ago…’

  Bea’s heart started beating faster and faster. Who was this? How did
they know about the accident?

  ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

  ‘Uhm, yes. Who is this?’

  ‘Yes. This is Detective Chief Inspector Llewelyn Hawkins. I’m in charge of the investigation into the accident.’

  Confusion clouded Bea’s mind. She didn’t know that there was still an investigation. She remembered the news about the lorry driver leaving the country, staring at his photo in the newspapers, feeling her heart fill with hatred.

  ‘But… What do you mean? I didn’t realise there was an investigation.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s been a while. But we never caught the driver so it was never officially closed. Well, we’ve tracked him down.’

  Bea’s chest felt tight. The shooting pains in her leg, a constant companion for almost three decades, intensified. She bent over to rub her shin, massage the weak muscle. Her breathing started getting faster and faster until she felt as if she wasn’t getting enough air in her lungs.

  Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. ‘You… you caught him?’

  ‘Yes. We tracked him down in the Caribbean. Apparently where he has been ever since the accident. We’ve started the extradition process. The plan is to bring him back and then arraign him here, make sure he pays for his crime.’

  Memories came rushing back. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion. How hard she had worked to strengthen her leg. How much she had cried when doctors had told her that the damage was irreversible. How despair had engulfed her when she’d finally realised that she would never be a ballerina. Her dream was over, quashed in that moment when the lorry had smashed into the van.

  Over the years she had tried to find purpose. She had focused her efforts on school, making sure she did well and got a degree. She’d needed a good job, one that would stop her being dependent on strangers. Immersing herself in studying had kept her occupied, allowed her to focus her mind on something other than the way the accident had changed the course of her life. The days would be filled with homework, reading, taking in as much information as she could.

  But when night had come she hadn’t been able to keep the thoughts at bay. Every time her mind had been idle, it would go back to that day. The image of her brother’s dead eyes had haunted her dreams. She hadn’t been able to rid herself of that horrible picture. And each time it had flashed in front of her eyes, her hatred for Ronnie Moss had intensified. Had he been paying attention, looking at the road instead of drinking, he would have avoided hitting the van. He had become the focus of her hatred, the easiest person to blame. She couldn’t blame Miriam’s erratic driving. Not if they had been the ones to cause it. The thoughts would make her chest clench, her skin burn, her brain ache, until they had become a driving force, pushing her to excel at school. To make sure that he didn’t ruin her life. No more than he already had.

  ‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that?’ Bea asked.

  ‘We’re building a case against Moss and need you to testify. Explain how the accident affected your life.’

  ‘Will he be in court?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why we’re trying to get him to England.’

  ‘OK, yes, just tell me what you need me to do.’

  She hung up, put her phone down on her desk, her hand still covering it. Her eyes glazed over as she continued staring right at the wall in front of her, not seeing anything.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  The hand on her shoulder startled her. She jumped out of her chair and came face to face with Laurence. His brow was furrowed, as it always was when he was worried. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  A flush crept up through Bea’s body and she felt her cheeks burning. Her hand flew to her leg, her fingers rubbing the injured limb.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, I was just thinking.’ She looked at Laurence, noticing that he had missed a few hairs on his chin when he shaved this morning. Probably another late night. She forced herself not to purse her lips. Laurence didn’t understand her disapproval, thought she was being too prissy. ‘Live a little,’ he’d say whenever she urged him to have an early night, make sure he was fresh for the following day’s meetings. Instead, she curled her lips into a smile. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Yes, I came to bring you these files,’ he said, gesturing towards a new pile of paperwork teetering on the edge of her already cluttered desk. ‘What happened, Bea? Is something wrong?’

  Her legs were shaking and for a moment she worried that they wouldn’t hold her upright for much longer. That they would buckle under the weight of her body. She lowered herself back in her chair, leaning back and raising her head to look right at Laurence. ‘They found him,’ she said. ‘The police called me. They found the driver from the accident.’

  ‘Woah!’ Laurence pulled a chair from another desk and sat right next to her. His legs were so close that they were almost touching hers. She could feel the heat emanating from his body and felt a flutter in her stomach. ‘The guy who drove into you? That guy?’

  Nodding, she averted her eyes, unable to look at him for much longer, scared that she would not be able to retain a stoic look, that the fear and hope and hurt that were mingling inside her would somehow burst out.

  ‘That’s fantastic news! You must be so relieved.’

  For a moment Bea didn’t move. She didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want him to realise that there were tears forming in the corners of her eyes, that her chin was trembling. But Laurence didn’t budge. She forced herself to look at him. There was genuine euphoria in his eyes. He is happy for me, she thought. More than I myself am. The pressure to comply, to feign relief at Ronnie’s capture, was crushing.

  ‘Yes, it’s great news.’ Her voice sounded flat and she made a big fuss about clearing her throat. ‘He’s finally going to be brought to justice.’

  ‘Have you told the others?’ Laurence started, looking round the office, quickly filling up with people returning from lunch.

  ‘Not yet.’ She gave him a watery smile, but inside fear was bubbling. She didn’t want anyone else to know, to pry into her past. ‘It still hasn’t sunk in. I need some time to think it over.’

  The subtlety was lost on Laurence. ‘Well, we need to celebrate this. How about I take all of you out to happy hour?’ Before waiting for her response, he turned round. ‘Marcia, come over here!’

  Marcia. Bea knew it would be her he’d go to first. The beauty of the office. Her alabaster skin contrasting with her dark brown hair, big grey eyes sparkling. Laurence had had a thing for her since he’d made Bea hire her three weeks before. She was an intern and Bea was waiting for her to mess up, do something, anything, that would give her an excuse to fire her. It shouldn’t be too long. Marcia was constantly making small mistakes. Bea just had to wait until she irked a client, forced the others to scramble to recover. Even Laurence wouldn’t be able to excuse that.

  ‘You know, I think I’ll go home today,’ she said. ‘Prepare my statement and whatnot.’

  But he wasn’t even listening to her. Laurence had only eyes for Marcia, who wasted no time getting to Bea’s desk, standing just inches away from Laurence, much closer than Bea would ever feel comfortable with, even though she had known Laurence for almost two decades.

  ‘Bea was involved in a horrible traffic accident when she was a kid,’ he started. Marcia’s mouth formed into a perfect O as she snatched her eyes away from him to glance towards Bea. ‘The guy who caused it ran away but the police just tracked him down. We’re going out to celebrate the news after work. Tell the others.’

  Marcia gave Bea another fleeting look before turning her gaze back to Laurence. She ran a hand through her pin-straight hair and licked her lips. ‘That sounds fantastic,’ she said, before turning towards Bea. Her perfect brows came together as a look of concern crossed her face. But in a second it was gone, replaced by the smile that seemed perpetually plastered on her face. ‘Shall I send a memo to everyone?’

  It took every ounce of effort for Bea to stop herself from rolling
her eyes. Does she really need to be told what to do at every single turn? she thought.

  ‘No need to do anything official,’ Laurence interjected. ‘Just tell the others. You know, go to their desks and tell them.’

  She sauntered off, her shapely hips swaying provocatively from one side to the next. Laurence looked at her for long moments, his eyes glazed over.

  ‘OK, I’ll leave you to your work,’ he finally said. ‘See you later.’ He walked off, his eyes still glued on Marcia.

  *

  It was hard to concentrate. The numbers in front of her kept jumping all over the screen. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes. She never made mistakes. This job was too important.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about DCI Hawkins’ words. Her thoughts went back to that morning. Before everything changed. She remembered the fear deep in her heart. Miriam knew what they’d been doing. Frankly, Bea wondered how she hadn’t suspected before. Surely she must have noticed the changes. The constant trembling, the headaches that would make her squint, the bruises whenever she bumped against anything.