We All Fall Down

by Cynthia Clark

  Pursing her lips, she left the room, tiptoeing across the corridor and down the stairs. In the kitchen she busied herself preparing breakfast, taking care not to dirty her dress. It was one of her favourites, the tailored fit giving it a professional look while the fluted sleeves stopped it from being boring.

  This morning’s meeting had been on her mind for days, since DCI Hawkins had called to schedule it. So much time had passed and she was finally going to see them again, the people who had been her whole life all those years ago. She’d wondered what they looked like, who they’d become, whether their lives had improved. Whether they were married, had families. And whether they still thought about those years under Miriam’s thumb.

  ‘Morning, Mum.’ The voice startled her and Sandra pivoted round quickly, forcing a smile when she saw Amanda standing right behind her.

  ‘Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Yep.’ Amanda squeezed by Sandra and sat at the breakfast table, pouring orange juice into a waiting glass and taking a long sip. ‘Aah, I was parched.’

  For the next thirty minutes Sandra was busy, handing out juices and cereal bowls, loading the dishwasher and getting Julia fed and ready for nursery. Louis, as usual, was no help, just sitting at the table drinking the coffee she’d prepared, and flipping through the newspaper. Sandra didn’t say anything, knowing that any comment would only fuel resentment.

  ‘Let’s go, we’re running late,’ she told her children, ushering them towards the door, looking behind her one last time to make sure the lights were switched off, the fridge closed, the stove turned off.

  An hour later she parked her car and switched off the ignition. But she didn’t get out. Her fingers tightened against the steering wheel and she leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. She wondered what today would bring, how it would be to meet the others. There was a fear that they wouldn’t turn up, that nobody cared to reconnect, that they’d moved on and built their own lives, wanting to leave the past behind.

  At the thought her heart started beating faster and faster and she clenched her hands even tighter. She could feel her palms starting to get damp and let go, taking a deep breath before opening the car door and stepping outside.

  18

  The atmosphere in the small room was sombre. Stiff wooden chairs surrounded a rectangular table, people sitting rod-straight in them, shuffling slightly. Bea’s heart was beating fast as she walked in and took a look around, her lips curling into a weak smile as she looked at the three who were already there.

  It felt like a lifetime since they had all been in the same place together. For a moment she stood at the doorway, taking it all in. These people, such an important part of her life at one point, her only friends, partners in crime, felt like strangers. They looked nothing like the bedraggled children from so long ago. A woman was the first to turn her head. She was wearing a tailored navy-blue dress, with sleeves that fluted out at the wrist. Her hair was brushed back and pulled into a neat bun. A few curls had managed to escape, creating a golden halo round her face, almost covering the small diamond studs in her ears.

  Sitting on another chair was a man in a pinstriped grey suit, his shoes buffed to perfection, colourful socks peeking out. Bea could see his cufflinks glisten.

  And then there was another woman, her tight leather trousers tucked into knee-high suede boots and a perfectly tailored fuchsia blazer that looked straight out of a magazine page.

  ‘Bea?’ the woman in the blue dress asked.

  Bea swallowed hard, a knot of emotion forming in her throat, her eyes clouding over. She straightened her dress, brushed some lint off. It was a new outfit and she loved the way it fitted, the boat-shaped neck framing her angular collarbones, the thick cotton fabric hugging her body. She had gone out in her lunch break to get a new dress for this meeting, wanting to make a good impression as she met the people she hadn’t seen in almost three decades.

  ‘Ye…’ She swallowed again and cleared her throat. ‘Yeah, it’s me. How are you, Sandra?’

  And then, just as if a curtain had been lifted, the niceties were over. Sandra stood up and took a step towards the door. Bea tentatively inched into the room. And the world stopped still as the two friends hugged and held each other tight. Bea inhaled the familiar smell that wasn’t fully masked by the other woman’s expensive perfume.

  The embrace seemed to last forever. Bea felt transported back to the past, the friendship that she counted on. She had missed Sandra. She had missed them all.

  ‘I’m great.’ Sandra was answering the question Bea had forgotten she’d asked, her head bobbing up and down, more curls escaping and jiggling around her face. ‘The children keep me busy.’

  ‘Bea?’ The man had stood up, closing his jacket button, a habit that he seemed unable to shake off. He was even taller than Bea had imagined, than she’d ever thought he would be.

  ‘John? Is that really you?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was husky, full of emotion. There was a glisten to his eyes. Bea stood on her toes and put her arms round his neck, losing herself in his embrace.

  For some reason she had not thought she’d feel this way. So much time had passed, they’d all gone on to different lives. She had asked about them, but the social worker had said the information was confidential, that she couldn’t tell her where they were or give her their numbers, nor which schools they had gone to. Gemma had begged and Martin had tried to pull strings, but it had all been in vain. It was as if that part of her life had been erased, crushed just like the van. And she only had memories to console her.

  From the corner of her eye she saw movement. The woman in the leather pants was hovering behind John. He let Bea go and stepped to the side. The woman took a step forward and grasped Bea’s hands in hers, holding tight, pressing her fingers in hers. Bea felt her whole body start shaking. ‘Helen, oh, Helen, I’ve missed you so.’

  And Bea couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. As she leaned forward and put her arms round Helen’s lean neck, she felt herself break down, her body shaking, the sobs coming out so hard and strong. Sweet, sweet Helen, whose room had been right next to Bea’s. She’d bang on the separating wall in the morning to make sure that Bea had woken up, that she would not be late. Except for that last morning. Or else Bea hadn’t heard her.

  Memories flooded back and Bea saw their past lives flash in front of her, their faces full of fear, anxiety, hope that there was a better future in store for them. That somehow, some day they’d be saved from the horrible life they had been living. A life that nobody but they knew about.

  ‘We tried to come and see you in hospital,’ Helen said. ‘We begged the nurses to let us talk to you, but they wouldn’t let us. We wanted to see how you were doing, say goodbye.’

  Tears sprang to Bea’s eyes as she remembered waking up in that hospital bed, feeling all alone, having lost her brother and her friends. She hugged Helen even more tightly.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ Helen said when the two finally let each other go.

  ‘So, you have kids?’ Bea asked Sandra.

  ‘Yes, three, a boy and two girls.’ She rummaged in her bag and took out her phone, switching it on and handing it to Bea. Bea looked at the photo of three blonde children, the teenagers looking prim and proper in their tartan uniforms while the toddler gave the camera a defiant look. ‘They’re adorable.’

  ‘They’re a handful,’ Sandra responded, taking the phone back and smiling at the photo. ‘Do you have children?’

  Shaking her head, Bea thought about what could have been. There was a part of her that had always wanted a family, that hoped one day she would be surrounded by people who loved her. But she had never met anyone who she felt she could spend the rest of her life with, with whom she could really share her thoughts and fears. For some reason she measured every man against Sebastian, who she imagined he would have become had he been allowed to grow up. He was the benchmark that was impossible to live up to.

  And
, of course, there was her job. She had lost count of how many times she’d had to cut a date short to go and deal with an emergency. She was always the first person their customers would contact. And she was certainly not going to allow a missed phone call to ruin a client relationship, send them running to a competitor.

  They were all talking at the same time. Sandra told Bea about her short stint as an interior designer. That was where she met her husband. He was a client. She didn’t just decorate his house, she moved in. They’d been married for seventeen years and she was happy to stay at home, sit on the committee of a couple of charities, ferry the kids to and from school and the multitude of activities they took part in.

  John was an architect. His company focused on buying old, derelict buildings, ripping them down, and building modern apartment complexes aimed at the rich. He wasn’t married but had a ten-year-old daughter from a short-lived fling that didn’t work out.

  And Helen was a financial adviser, a surprise considering her ultra-trendy outfit. Her long-time boyfriend had proposed just weeks before and they were planning a late summer wedding. ‘Can you imagine? Me? Married?’ she asked, looking at each one of them before staring down at the sparkling diamond on her finger.

  Their conversation was cut short as a man walked in. He looked round the room, a frown plastered on his face, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. He didn’t say anything, just took a thick file from under his arm and flicked through it, the pages making a rustling sound in the silent room. Looking round, Bea saw everyone staring at DCI Hawkins. Nobody dared say anything; they were all waiting for him to start talking.

  Clearing his throat, the policeman looked at each person in turn. ‘Good morning, everyone, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Hawkins and first I would like to thank you for taking time out of what I’m sure are busy schedules to attend this meeting.

  ‘Before we start, I have some good news. As you know, the accident had devastating effects on Miriam. Not only did the impact catastrophically injure her spine, leaving her unable to move her body below her neck, but she also suffered from extensive memory loss.

  ‘I spoke to the doctors just this morning. They believe that the shock of hearing about Ronnie Moss’s discovery has somehow helped jog her memory. It’s not complete yet, might never be, but she is slowly remembering things from before the accident.’

  The silence in the room was deafening. All of them stared straight at DCI Hawkins. Nobody spoke, nobody flinched. Bea worried that he would see the fear that was quickly enveloping her, stopping her from breathing.

  She was remembering. It was the worst news that the detective could have given them. For years Bea had found safety in Miriam’s memory loss, known that if she didn’t remember what happened before the accident, she could not possibly accuse them of anything, share her suspicions. Their desperate act would remain a secret. Even though she had not seen the others in decades, she knew that nobody would ever speak up. They all had too much to lose. If anyone found out what they had been trying to do, they would all go down.

  Slowly, she turned her head to look at the others. Their faces were immobile, the smiles of earlier gone. The years living with abuse had taught them to conceal their feelings, an ability that none of them seemed to have lost, but she could still see the fear hidden behind the stoic looks.

  ‘That’s great news.’ It was John who broke the silence, saying what Bea was certain DCI Hawkins was expecting.

  ‘So, does she remember the accident, what happened that morning?’ Sandra asked.

  The policeman cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know how much she remembers. The doctors didn’t say, just that it’s a work in progress and we shouldn’t push her too much or she might regress. But I will be going to speak with her next week and am hoping to determine how much she remembers, whether she recalls the accident, perhaps seeing the lorry coming towards her. She would be a very important witness so this would be great for the case.’ He looked at them all again. ‘And for her, of course.’

  19

  She could feel the blood rush to her head and for a moment Sandra thought that she was about to pass out. She clasped her hands together, intertwining her fingers, focusing on the pressure on her palms. With small movements, she turned her head, looking at the other three, trying to make out their reaction. Helen was biting at her fingernails. John sat rod-straight in his chair, fiddling with his left cufflink. Bea was playing with the strap of her cross-body bag, which she hadn’t bothered to put down. Sandra could see that they were trying not to show the fear she was certain they were also feeling.

  DCI Hawkins cleared his throat, breaking the silence. But instead of continuing, he turned and, nodded at each of them. The seconds ticked by and Sandra felt herself cringe under his scrutiny. He looked exactly as she had pictured him. The bushy eyebrows and thick moustache. The slight gut protruding over his belt. The systematic way he looked at each and every one of them sitting in the uncomfortable chairs, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘As I said on the phone, we have tracked Ronnie Moss down,’ he finally said. ‘He was in St Lucia, working at a bar.’

  ‘Has he been arrested?’ someone asked. It had been so long since they’d been in a room together that Sandra didn’t immediately recognise the voice and she had to turn round to know it was Helen who had asked the question. Sweet and kind Helen. She shuddered as she remembered the day Miriam had shorn her hair, how she cried for hours, had puffy eyes for days.

  ‘Yes, there’s an international warrant for his arrest, has been for all these years. We knew that he had left England immediately after the accident and gone to the Dominican Republic. Once he got there we lost track of him, but we kept the warrant active in the hope that one day he’d be tracked down. And we did find him.’

  ‘How did you find him?’ It was Helen again. Sandra remembered her as shy, rarely speaking unless spoken to. The years surely changed people. Here she was perfectly groomed, wearing stylish clothes, asking questions confidently. Although she’d never kicked the nail-biting habit.

  ‘Someone recognised him and gave us a call. We were not very hopeful; we’ve had several of these calls over the years. But this time they were right.’

  ‘So, what happens next?’ Sandra was glad Bea asked the question. She was getting impatient with DCI Hawkins’ meaningless explanations. She wanted to know where Ronnie was now. What was going to happen next. She didn’t have all day to sit in this room and wait for information to trickle in.

  ‘Yes, yes, I was getting to that.’ He brought his hand to his face and started twirling his moustache. Sandra’s stomach turned. She could never understand facial hair, and certainly not when it was this thick. Didn’t he have time to shave, perhaps trim his moustache so that the ends of the hairs didn’t keep getting into his mouth? Or at least clean it. She was sure she could spot crumbs trapped among the wiry hairs. ‘He’s in prison in St Lucia. We are preparing for his extradition hearing. And then the trial. That’s why we need all of you. You were there that day, you’re the ones who were impacted by his action.’

  ‘OK, what do you need from us?’ John had always been one to go straight to the point, wanting to know the facts. Even back when they were children, he was never one to waste time chatting inanely. He was too busy reading everything he could get his hands on.

  ‘That was my next point.’ DCI Hawkins shifted his weight from one leg to the other. ‘We need each one of you to give a statement, tell us what you remember from the accident. How it impacted your lives, whether your injuries are still affecting you. Anything really that could help in our case to make him pay for what he did.’

  ‘What are the chances that you are turned down?’ Sandra asked. ‘That you won’t be able to bring him back here?’ She started wondering whether this was a waste-of-time mission, whether all it had served was to rejig Miriam’s memory, put them all at risk of being found out.

  ‘We don’t think we will. Our case is pretty strong. But the
re’s always a chance and we need to be prepared for any eventuality. If that happens, we’ll appeal, include your testimonials in our submission. You are the human face of this case. The effect it had on you should appeal to any judge. We need to get Ronnie Moss back to the UK where he can be tried for his crime. We cannot let him slip through the cracks. Not again. Not on my watch.’ The policeman's hands were closed in fists, his knuckles white.

  ‘What about Miriam?’ Helen’s voice was soft but Sandra could hear the fear. Despite the years, Miriam was still able to terrify them. ‘Will she also testify?’

  ‘Yes, we hope so.’ DCI Hawkins paused, his eyes slowly sweeping the room. ‘Even if her memory doesn’t fully return, she will be able to talk about the hardships of her condition, how it has impacted her life.’

  *

  The wind was whipping leaves across the pavement outside the police station. Sandra wrapped her coat tightly round her, pulling the fur collar to her chin, trying to keep the chill out.

  For long moments the four stood right outside the station, in a circle, none of them speaking. With frowns plastered on their faces, their lips pursed, they cut sombre figures in the middle of the busy street.

  ‘This…’ Helen finally said. ‘This isn’t good.’ Her voice was shaking and Sandra knew her trembling wasn’t caused by the cold weather.

  She looked at the others. John shook his head and Bea pursed her lips even further. But nobody responded. Bea’s eyes were shooting this way and that, looking up and down the street. John was shifting from one long leg to the other. Helen was chewing so hard on her lip that Sandra worried she was going to draw blood, just as she used to when they were kids. As the moments ticked by, the fear started to intensify. What was going to happen if Miriam remembered what took place that morning? Would she report them? Would her story be believed? Could the police find proof?

  ‘The powder. Is it still there?’ Sandra finally asked, her shoulders starting to shake.