We All Fall Down

by Cynthia Clark

  The bartender put the chilled glass in front of her and she reached out for it, her fingers clutching the stem, the cold soothing. Bringing it to her mouth, she took a large swig. And another. Putting the glass down on the napkin, she popped an olive in her mouth, biting into the juicy fruit, swishing the liquid between her teeth, letting it take away some of the burn of the alcohol.

  ‘Is this seat taken?’

  The voice startled her. Bea had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had not noticed the man standing next to her, his neatly folded coat hanging over his left arm. He was tall, probably six feet, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. Eyes that looked so familiar and for a moment she was transported back to that morning, Sebastian’s blue eyes staring right at her, the life sucked out of them. She swallowed hard, and forced a smile. It wasn’t this man’s fault that he looked so like her brother. ‘No, it’s all yours,’ she said, shuffling slightly on her stool. Looking along the bar, she noticed the other empty seats. Again, she smiled, this time more warmly.

  He sat down and motioned to the bartender, refusing the menu that he offered. ‘Admiral Rodney, neat,’ he said. His voice was deep, with a slight drawl, oozing sensuality. ‘And another drink for the lady,’ he added. Turning towards Bea, he asked: ‘Same?’

  ‘Yes, sure. Thank you.’ Shifting in her stool, she turned her body slightly to face him, inviting the conversation that she knew he wanted to have.

  ‘Michael Hales,’ he said, extending his hand.

  Bea found herself enjoying the strong grasp, finally remembering to introduce herself. ‘Thank you,’ she said when the bartender placed a fresh glass in front of her.

  ‘Cheers,’ Michael said, raising his glass.

  She nodded towards his drink. ‘Bold choice.’

  ‘It’s my favourite,’ he responded. ‘Ever since I went on holiday to St Lucia.’

  The words hung heavy in the air. Bea’s stomach felt tight and she worried that she was about to throw up. St Lucia. Where Ronnie Moss had been hiding for all these years.

  Michael didn’t seem to notice the turmoil. ‘Just finished work?’ he asked.

  She didn’t want to be rude. Today, more than ever, she needed the company. Someone to serve a purpose, whom she wouldn’t really think about tomorrow. ‘Yes, my office is close,’ she responded, leaning slightly closer to him. ‘Sometimes I pop in here for a drink before heading home.’

  ‘Just one?’ He cocked his head to one side in a childish gesture that contrasted with his perfectly tailored pinstriped suit.

  ‘Well, this is my second.’

  ‘You can blame me. Perhaps you can make it a third. Live on the edge.’

  Two hours later she stumbled down the stairs, leaning against Michael, her brain fuzzy from the alcohol. ‘I’m staying at the Savoy,’ he said. ‘Fancy a nightcap?’

  ‘Sure.’ The giggle escaped before she could stop it. What the heck? She had nothing better to do.

  15

  ‘Can I get you a drink? A whiskey perhaps?’

  Louis looked up. Cocking his head slightly to the side, he put the book he was reading face-down on his lap. ‘Sure, OK,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some of that bourbon George got me from the States.’

  Forcing a smile, Sandra turned round and fiddled with the baby-proof latch on the liquor cabinet. Holding onto the oak door, she squatted in front of the cupboard and moved bottles around, rummaging until she found the one Louis was referring to. His partner had brought it over when he went to a conference in Kentucky. Louis had wanted to go, but it had coincided with their wedding anniversary. She hadn’t said anything, waited for him to remember.

  ‘It’s OK if you want to go,’ she’d said.

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ he’d responded. ‘I’ve already got us dinner reservations.’ He’d kept mum on where they were going. ‘Just get yourself something nice to wear.’ It had only been the morning of their anniversary that he’d told her he had snagged a reservation at The Fat Duck and she’d jumped up and down like a little girl at the welcome surprise.

  Handing Louis a tumbler, she sat down on the sofa across from him, twirling the stem of her wine glass. ‘How was your day?’ she asked.

  ‘Busy.’ When he didn’t give any more details, she smiled, nudging him to speak with her. ‘I’ve been in paperwork hell all month. Not the most exciting way to spend the day. What about you?’

  ‘I met the girls for brunch today. It was fun, until…’ She let the words hang in the air, not sure how to verbalise what she needed to say. She’d been thinking about it since the detective’s call this morning, knowing that she had to tell her husband, make sure he didn’t read it in the newspapers or hear about it from one of his well-connected friends.

  ‘What happened?’ He was finally paying attention to her, closing the book and putting it on the end table next to his armchair. ‘Did Tessa get all hoity-toity with one of the waiters?’

  Despite the tension, Sandra couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No, she was actually on her best behaviour today.’ Pausing, she took a sip of wine, using the time to straighten her thoughts. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she looked straight at her husband. ‘I got a call from the police. They caught the guy who caused the accident. The one who had run away.’

  Louis scooted to the edge of his seat, leaning towards her. ‘You’re kidding? That’s good news.’ Then, when she didn’t respond, he asked: ‘Right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Sandra raised her hand to her cheek, tracing the scars, remembering the pain, the fear. ‘It’s just that it took me by surprise. It’s been so long. I never thought they would track him down. Let alone want to bring him here to stand trial.’

  ‘They bloody well should. The man killed a child. What was his name again? Your friend?’

  Swallowing hard, Sandra took another sip of wine. ‘Sebastian.’

  ‘Poor kid. So, what else did they say?’

  ‘Just that he wants me, and the others, to testify against him. To tell the court how the accident impacted our lives, talk about our injuries.’

  ‘OK.’ For a few seconds they sat in silence. ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘Well, to be honest I haven’t really had time to think about it properly. I don’t know. I guess it’s the right thing to do, but at the same time I’m unsure about the publicity, having people know what happened. I’ve tried to keep this quiet.’

  ‘If you’re worried about the impact on the company, don’t be. I’ll figure it out. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong.’

  Sandra brought the wine glass back to her mouth, taking a big sip, not wanting to say anything. She let his words hang in the air.

  16

  Bea’s hands trembled as she rummaged in her bag for the keys. She shifted some things, finally finding what she was looking for and opening the door to the office. She’d known even before she tried the doorknob that she’d be the first to arrive, and anyway, aside from her it was only Laurence and the receptionist who had a key. She had insisted on keeping the circle small, not trusting many people.

  Stifling a yawn, she placed her bag on her desk and headed to the kitchenette, switching on the coffee machine and leaning against the counter while it warmed up. Normally she’d go back to her desk, boot up her computer, start answering emails, not wanting to waste a minute, but this morning she had no energy. She desperately needed caffeine in her system before she could operate.

  It must have been close to three by the time the taxi had dropped her back at her flat, but despite the late hour and the buzz from the alcohol, she’d been wide awake. She couldn’t face going to bed to stare at the ceiling for goodness knew how long until she finally fell asleep. Instead, she’d plonked herself on the sofa and switched on the TV, watching a recorded episode of Black Mirror. She’d finally drifted off on the sofa, waking up with her neck bent awkwardly to the side, a muscle throbbing painfully.

  Back at her desk, she wrapped her fingers round the coffee mug, enjoyi
ng the heat. It had been chilly these past days, as it could be in November. That cold that seemed to seep through your skin and right into your bones. No matter how many layers she put on, Bea was still always cold.

  A soft swish signalled the arrival of an email. She opened her mailbox and skimmed through the bold messages, deleting spam and flagging the ones that needed to be answered this morning. She responded to a few but didn’t have the brainpower for the more complicated ones, where she had to do research to find the necessary information, make sure she gave the correct details. Instead, she opened her browser and started reading the news. An acid attack in East London. A fallout during Brexit negotiations. Something about a potential Tube strike. The usual.

  And then, way down on the page was the article she’d been looking for, even though she herself hadn’t realised it.

  Police Track Down Drunk Driver: Child Killer Found in Caribbean Paradise

  Her heart started beating faster. Her eyes flew over the words, trying to take it all in, see if there was anything new. But no, it was pretty much what DCI Hawkins had told her, plus a rehash of the accident. Bea’s brain couldn’t focus on that part. She couldn’t bear reading about it. Couldn’t relive all the pain, the fear, the oppressive loneliness.

  Somehow the information left her wanting. She knew she should be working, get as much done before the others started trickling in, interrupting her with their constant questions, need for hand-holding through their jobs. But instead she found herself looking up Ronnie Moss, wanting to find more about him. A handful of news articles popped up, most from years ago, but some from today. They all said the same things.

  And then, as she scrolled down, her picture popped up on Bea’s screen. She looked different; the years had not been kind to her. Her hair was grey, pulled back severely. Her cheeks were sagging. Her eyes looked sunken, dark shadows round them. She was staring right ahead, into space, almost as if she wasn’t focusing on anything particular, just looking into nothingness. But, even from far away, seeing her still sent chills down Bea’s spine and she found herself shaking.

  Miriam. The woman who had made her life a living hell. All of them had loathed her, feared her, and yet they’d had no choice but to deal with her constant abuse, try to keep their heads down and avoid irking her, bravely take the beatings without as much as a whimper. Until they’d felt that they couldn’t take it any longer, that they needed to take matters into their own hands and find a way to claw out of the desperate situation they had been thrown into.

  The article went on about her devotion to children, how she took orphans in and gave them a safe and secure home, dedicated her whole life to taking care of them. How she had been driving the children to school when Ronnie Moss had plunged his lorry straight into the van, sending her flying out of the windscreen, breaking her back and condemning her to life in a wheelchair. Her memory had been erased; she didn’t even know who she was, had no idea what had happened. Now it was her who needed round-the-clock care, her mission to give orphaned children a home brought to a halt. The article went into detail about her health problems, describing the pain and confusion caused by retrograde amnesia, how sufferers felt lost, condemned to a present without a past. It described the difficulties of someone with her injuries, the inability to move, needing everything to be done for her, the risk of pressure sores that could become infected, leading to even more complications.

  Surprisingly the reporter had spoken to Miriam, who said she was relieved that Ronnie Moss had been caught, that he would be brought to justice, and that she would do all she could to help with the investigation. Because it was her duty to make sure that Ronnie Moss paid for his crime, for the way he had ravaged so many lives.

  Bea’s hand shook over the mouse. She made a fist to try and stop the trembling, but it didn’t help. Miriam. Would she be at the meeting that DCI Hawkins mentioned? Chills travelled down her spine. ‘How am I going to come face to face with her?’ she muttered, biting her lip on realising that she had spoken aloud. She looked round the office, relieved to see the empty desks and the silent room. Pressing a few keys, she enlarged the picture so that it would fill the screen, continuing to stare at Miriam’s face, remembering the beatings, the aching bones and painful bruises. The nights sent to bed without dinner. Being made to eat food that was visibly rotten.

  And then there was the psychological abuse. Telling the children how nobody else wanted them. How fortunate they were to have her. How if she decided she could no longer take care of them they’d all be separated and sent somewhere else, probably far from anything they knew. How their fate lay squarely in her hands, and they had to do what she wanted with no complaints, no arguments. That had been their life and they had been driven to a point where they’d had to find a way to make it stop. Even if it had meant doing something horrible, something that they’d have to hide for the rest of their lives.

  Clenching her jaw tightly, Bea tried to banish the thoughts from her mind, but the images kept flooding back, until her breath was coming in sharp rasps and her face was flushed. She was overcome by fear of a woman who could no longer harm her, at least not physically.

  Not for the first time in the last twenty-eight years she felt an emotion that she always tried to suppress. Because she felt ashamed of it, and of herself for even feeling this way. She reminded herself of Sebastian, who had paid the ultimate price, and her shattered dreams, the pain that she still had to contend with on a daily basis. And still, she could not help feeling gratitude towards Ronnie Moss. She had been hurt but she was also saved.

  ‘Bea, is everything OK?’ The voice startled her and she let out a tiny squeal. Looking up, she saw Laurence standing at her desk.

  ‘Oh, dear Lord, you gave me a fright! You need to stop sneaking up on me like this!’

  Laurence smiled, shrugging his shoulders, looking more than ever like a young boy who had done something wrong.

  ‘You look like you’ve had a rough night,’ she told him, wanting to avoid his scrutiny. Laurence’s eyes were almost closed, his hair all tousled. He looked as if he hadn’t had time to take a shower, and was that the same shirt he was wearing yesterday? It surely smelt like it. ‘Oh, dear God, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid last night!’

  ‘You mean Marcia?’ His eyes shifted away and skimmed the rest of the room. ‘Nah, she’s way too young. And so boring. She doesn’t talk about anything else but herself. Entitled brat.’

  ‘She’s trouble, that’s what she is.’ Bea stopped and searched his face, waiting for him to respond. She hoped he didn’t think she was overstepping the mark. Then she realised that she didn’t care. She’d known Laurence long enough to be honest.

  They had met when she was interning for a major marketing company while still in university. Her grades were excellent and she had a handful of offers. She knew it was partly due to the fancy school the Stones had sent her to and the contacts they had. This was a great opportunity, a foot in the door at a big and well-known firm. She worked hard, did everything that was asked of her, tried to be pleasant and smile. The latter didn’t come easy. She was more inclined to walk away from people rather than approach them. More comfortable in her own company instead of with others. But at work she tried hard to fit in, aware that nobody liked an introvert, especially in this cutthroat environment. Laurence was one of the recent hires, a junior executive. With his blond hair and sparkling blue eyes coupled with his flirty smile, he was a hit with all the females in the office. And the males too, who saw potential and wanted to be on his good side.

  It was a Monday morning when he first asked Bea to run some errands for him. It started with making a few photocopies, locating some paperwork from the file room. But soon Laurence was involving her more and more in his accounts. ‘You should apply for a job here when you finish your course,’ he said at the end of the summer when her last day came up. ‘I’ll put in a good word for you.’

  He kept his promise. By the time she finished her master’
s two years later Laurence had moved to a more senior position and Bea became his assistant. When he moved to another company he took her with him and when he decided to open his own firm he asked her to join. ‘You’re my compass, you keep me grounded,’ he begged when she hesitated, unsure whether she should leave the security of an established firm for the unknown of a start-up.

  She didn’t take much convincing. Not only did she enjoy working with Laurence, she also had a bit of a crush on him, only she’d never let him know.

  ‘We need to go over these accounts,’ Bea said now, pointing at the files on her desk. Laurence made a face. ‘Here, take some paracetamol.’ Opening her top drawer, Bea handed him a box. ‘And drink water. You look like you need it.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ He took the box, popped two tablets, and turned round.

  ‘Hey, Laurence,’ she said as he started walking away. He stopped and turned back. ‘Change your shirt,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  17

  The hot water cascaded over her body, bouncing off her shoulders and splashing against the glass shower door. Sandra stood there, her eyes closed, urging her body to relax, her sore muscles to unclench.

  The second she was out of the shower she could hear Louis’ rhythmic snoring. She’d left the bathroom door open so that she could keep an ear out for Julia. Wrapping a towel round her, she sat down in front of the mirror and removed her shower cap, before drying her face properly and spreading a sweet-smelling lotion.

  Louis, now awake, was lying in bed, reading something on his phone, when she walked out of the bathroom. ‘Going somewhere nice today?’ he asked when he saw her perfectly made-up face and form-fitting dress.

  ‘Oh, no, just that meeting at the police station.’ She looked over, but he’d gone back to his phone, his eyes squinted and his fingers tapping rapidly at the screen.