We All Fall Down

by Cynthia Clark

  One more ping and the doors opened to another marble-clad landing with an antique table and two chairs on one wall. There were only two apartments on the floor and she headed towards John’s. Ringing the bell, she took a few deep breaths, needing to calm herself. She wanted to look poised, in control, and not betray how anxious she was feeling.

  The door opened wide and John stood there, his white shirt open at the collar, tucked into dark blue jeans. His hug was so unexpected Bea felt as if she was about to lose her balance. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, grabbing her shoulders when she toppled forward, as she often did when she’d drunk too much and her leg started to give up on her.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m good. I’m so sorry.’ She could feel her cheeks burning and looked down, not wanting him to see her turn crimson. Looking past John, she glanced into the apartment. It was a modern oasis, the exact opposite of the classical lobby. A large open room with sleek white furniture and an oversized dark leather sofa and two deep armchairs. There was a massive television mounted on the wall – not one cable in sight, she noticed. The kitchen at the far end looked, even from a distance, like a chef’s dream. ‘This… this is incredible,’ she finally said, turning back towards John. He was looking down, a half-smile on his face. Bea knew that look. It was one she’d seen many times as they were growing up. One that she could recognise from afar. He was shy.

  ‘Come on in,’ he finally said. ‘Let me take your coat, get you a drink. White wine OK? I’ve just opened a great Chardonnay from this lovely vineyard in Napa. Went there for work some time ago and been buying from them ever since. Have you ever been to Napa?’

  Shaking her head, she shrugged out of her coat, handing it over and following John into the living room. ‘Am I the first one here?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at her and burst out laughing and she couldn’t help but join him, even though she knew that he was mocking her. ‘Who knew you’d ever be the first one anywhere? Bea, who was chronically late!’

  ‘I’ve grown up.’ She brought her hands up, palms open and facing him. ‘People change.’

  ‘Yes, I know that.’ Suddenly the atmosphere in the room was tense, sombre.

  ‘How have you been?’ she asked.

  ‘Good. Work keeps me busy. I try to keep weekends free to see my daughter, although as she gets older, she’s more interested in chatting to her friends on her phone than talking to me.’

  ‘Ha, times have changed since we were young. Can you imagine if we had phones growing up?’

  ‘I have thought about that.’ His voice drifted off. ‘Frequently. We’d have been able to keep in touch. Text each other. I would have given anything to know how all of you were doing, where you were.’

  Bea felt her eyes mist over and she looked away, unable to take the hurt etched in his face. ‘What happened after the accident?’

  ‘Another foster home. And then another. There was a third, but only for a short time. I turned eighteen and was finally free. Never felt better than the first day on my own.’ His smile was endearing, just as she remembered it. ‘What about you?’

  ‘A foster home, but they were amazing. They wanted to adopt me but it got too complicated. They still treated me like their daughter, still do. I see them often.’ Her thoughts wandered to the Stones and she couldn’t resist smiling, her heart filling with love for the people who had taken her in.

  The melodic doorbell startled her. John looked away. ‘Let me get that.’ The moment of special camaraderie, of understanding, was over.

  *

  ‘Do you think she’ll talk? That she’ll remember? That she even suspects?’ Sandra’s voice was barely audible, just a whisper that was lost in the big expanse of John’s living room.

  They had been standing in a circle, sipping wine from elegant crystal glasses that weighed little more than a feather and felt so fragile that Bea was worried the pressure of her mouth around the rim would break them. For the past hour they had talked about their lives, what they had been doing, the families they had been placed with.

  ‘I’m so happy we’re all back together,’ Helen said. ‘I just wish that Se—’

  ‘No, we can’t go there,’ Bea interrupted. ‘That’s the past, gone. Nothing we say or do will make a difference. It’s not going to bring him back.’

  For long seconds they stood still, nobody speaking, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers flanking the television. A soft jazz melody that Bea could not place. It was Helen who broke the silence, asking about John’s job, engaging in small talk that would have seemed out of place for old friends like them. But somehow it was fitting. They were getting to know each other again. Filling the big hole caused by twenty-eight years of separation. John told them about his travels, jobs in exotic parts of the world.

  ‘Have you ever been to St Lucia?’ Bea asked.

  ‘No, never. But I’ve always wanted to go.’

  And then Sandra broke the pleasant and polite conversation to ask the question that was on all of their minds. Bea’s heart was thumping fast as she heard her fears verbalised by someone else. She felt her body tense, her stomach crunch into a tiny ball, a wave of nausea almost overwhelming her. She looked round desperately, searching for the bathroom, but before she could locate it, her stomach unclenched. She was OK. For now.

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was Helen. She was rubbing her nose with the palm of her hand, something she always did when she was nervous. Miriam hated it, always snatched her hand away, digging her fingers so deep that Helen had perpetual black and blue marks around her wrist. ‘I’ve thought about this a lot since DCI Hawkins told us. What’s in it for her?’

  ‘Revenge? Getting back at us for getting away from her. It will be her ultimate way of punishing us, ruining our lives one more time.’ John leaned against the couch, folding his long legs, puffing his cheeks and exhaling slowly.

  ‘But if she does that, we can explain why we did it. What she did that drove us to such a desperate action.’ Helen’s hands were clasped together, her fingers twitching against each other. ‘She wouldn’t want that, her reputation as an angel who took in poor children ruined.’

  John shrugged. ‘Does she really care? At this point? What can happen to her? It’s not like they’re going to arrest her.’

  ‘Why not?’ Helen leaned forward.

  ‘Because she’s got nothing to lose. She’s already a prisoner in her room, stuck in a bed, unable to move. What else can they do to her?

  ‘And anyway, it still doesn’t condone what we did. We should never have taken action ourselves. We could have sought help then. Now, after all these years, it will sound like we’re coming up with excuses to justify what we did. I wonder if they’ll even believe us.’

  ‘John, I don’t know.’ Bea took a small step further into the circle. ‘If we all stick to the same story, the real story, they’ll believe us.’

  ‘And what if they do? Wouldn’t we still have committed a crime?’ Sandra’s face was white as a sheet, her coral lipstick contrasting against her pale skin. ‘I’ve always wondered whether it was the poison that caused her to swerve in the way of that damned lorry.’ She stopped, her breathing slightly laboured. She almost looked as if her legs would not be able to hold her up much longer. ‘And what if they found the rest of the powder?’

  ‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ Bea rubbed her leg. ‘This old limb starts hurting when I’ve been standing for too long.’

  ‘Do you think it’s still there?’ Helen asked when they’d all sat down. She leaned forward on the sofa, clenching her fists together and resting her arms on her legs. Her mouth was drawn in a thin line, her eyes narrowed slightly.

  Turning her head slowly, Bea looked at each of the others. Their expressions were strained, worry etched on their faces. It was a thought that had haunted her every waking hour and kept her awake at night for the past week.

  ‘Maybe someone found it and got rid of it,’ Sandra said.

  ‘And not said anything?’ Helen was shakin
g her head from side to side. ‘That’d be highly unlikely. If someone had found it, they’d probably have alerted the police and they’d have investigated, come to speak with us.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t realise what it was. Just a Tupperware box with bags of powder. And anyway, why would they suspect us? Children lived in that house long before us.’ Even as she uttered the words, Bea knew they were a desperate attempt to reassure the others, and she didn’t even believe it herself.

  John took a long sip of his wine and leaned forward. ‘So, it’s fair to say that our main concern is finding out whether the sandpit is still there and if the container is still hidden.’

  Everyone else nodded, muttering, ‘Yes,’ under their breaths.

  ‘The house has been for sale for a few months,’ he continued. ‘I came across the listing a while ago but brushed it aside – too many bad memories. But now, I think I should go see it, take a proper look around. I can first check if the sandpit still exists and, if it does, try to dig a little to see if the container is still there. It’s not that big, right?’

  Bea saw everyone else shaking their head. ‘I don’t remember. It’s not like we ever really used it.’ Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Who put it there last?’

  ‘I think it was…’ Sandra stopped mid-sentence before her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Sebastian.’

  ‘I was with him, and, yes, it was him,’ John said. ‘It doesn’t matter any more. It could have been dug out by other children or even animals. Even if we knew exactly where it was, we might not find it in the same spot.’

  Bea’s throat felt like parchment and she swallowed hard. ‘When will you go?’

  ‘As soon as I can,’ he responded. ‘The house has been on the market for a while so I don’t think it’s attracting a lot of interest. But you never know, it could sell any time. You only need one buyer. I’ll try to head over tomorrow.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Her heart was beating fast as she waited for him to respond. Despite the horrible memories, she felt an enormous need to see the house again. To walk through those rooms knowing that she’d be able to leave whenever she wanted. That the house, or anyone inside it, had no hold over her any more. She was free.

  ‘Yes, sure. That won’t be a problem. I’ll call the estate agent first thing in the morning and let you know what time we can go. I’ll pick you up. Where’s your office? Or will you be home?’

  ‘No, I’ll be at work. Unless it’s really early. Just off the Strand.’

  ‘Perfect, that’s close to my office too. I’ll probably take an Uber and come get you.’

  ‘Do you think that would raise suspicions?’ Helen was twisting her hands together, chewing at her lip.

  John shrugged and shook his head. ‘No, why should it?’

  Colour spread across Helen’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know. Just thought maybe people will start asking questions.’

  ‘If you think it could be a problem I won’t come.’ Bea bit into her lower lip, waiting for him to respond.

  Finally he shrugged and shook his head. ‘I see absolutely no reason why this should be a problem. If the estate agent asks, I’ll say I brought a friend. People do that all the time.’ Turning towards her, he smiled widely. ‘I’ll let you know the time as soon as I organise it.’

  22

  The streets started getting grimier as the car crawled through the morning traffic. Sitting back, Bea rested her head, looking out of the window. John had been on the phone when he’d picked her up. ‘Sorry,’ he’d mouthed and continued with his conversation. Something about vaulted ceilings. Or was it coffered ceilings? She wasn’t entirely sure.

  Finally he hung up. ‘Sorry about that. One of those work emergencies. I needed to make sure the contractor had the right information before continuing work. I have to repeat over and over because when something’s not done properly the costs spiral out of control. It’s one of those things I’ve learned through experience.’

  ‘You mean it’s happened before?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ His leg brushed against hers as he shifted in the seat. ‘More times than I care to think about. Mostly it’s small stuff, like paint colours or the direction the wooden floorboards go, but there’ve been some howlers too. One time I found a staircase leading into the master bathroom, right where the tub was supposed to be.’ He leaned his head back and laughed, a melodic sound that made Bea smile.

  They rode in silence for a while. Bea was looking out of the window, at kids who should be in school playing football on the street, when she felt a gentle touch to her arm. ‘I don’t think we should mention our link to the house,’ John said. ‘It’s not the estate agent’s business. The less people who know we came here, the better. Just in case there are any questions in the future.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thank you for bringing it up.’

  ‘We’re almost there.’

  Looking outside, she scanned the familiar neighbourhood. ‘Wow, the supermarket is still there.’ She turned towards John. ‘Remember how Lenny always slid a piece of chocolate in our school bags whenever he was working?’

  ‘Yes, he was nice.’

  ‘And look, the park. I always wished Miriam would let us play out there every now and then.’

  ‘It didn’t fit her agenda.’ John’s eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed. ‘What a fuckin’ bitch. I’ve always felt glad about what happened to her. At least it got her out of our hair.’

  ‘Me too. And I’ve always felt guilty for thinking that. Like I should feel sorry for what happened to her. At least that’s what everyone else would think.’

  ‘Except for the rest of us. She was bad news and we would have been in trouble if it hadn’t been for the accident. It took care of so many issues.’

  Bea turned her head away from him, looking back out of the window, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to escape. No, she couldn’t appear weak, tell him how she missed Sebastian every single day, how the image of him lying lifeless in the van haunted her dreams.

  The car came to a stop in front of the familiar building. The paint colour was different, but the house was otherwise exactly as Bea remembered it.

  A warm touch enveloped her hand and she looked towards John. His head was slightly cocked to one side, an almost imperceptible crinkle at the corners of his eyes. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, his voice soft, gentle.

  For a few seconds Bea didn’t speak but simply looked at him. At the kind face that, despite the time, looked so much like it had years before. She remembered him comforting her after a beating, when Miriam had singled her out. He’d put his arm around her and held her tight telling her that everything would be OK, that they would somehow, some day, get away from Miriam’s grip. That they would be free to pursue the lives they dreamed of, to be the people they wanted to be. And Miriam would never hurt them again.

  The sound of the driver clearing his throat interrupted the moment. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Bea blinked a couple of times to get rid of the tears that had been forming. ‘Yes,’ she said, glad that her voice didn’t break, that it sounded strong. She didn’t want to give John any reason to ask her to wait outside. She needed to see the house; it felt like the most important thing.

  It was cold outside, the wind blowing the frigid air around them as they got out of the car. The gate was open, one side off its hinges, leaning against the short boundary wall. Dry leaves crackled under their feet as they walked along the path leading to the front door. She looked to her right. A web of cracks covered the concrete driveway. She spotted the bump right in the centre. Miriam would curse under her breath every time she drove over it, but they loved it. If Miriam was going a little fast, they’d be bumped up from their seats. It always gave them the giggles, ones that needed to be suppressed to avoid angering Miriam.

  The yellow paint was peeling off the wooden door, the formerly shiny knob dark with years of accumulated dirt. She remembered being able to see her reflection in its pristine surface.
>
  ‘Here we go.’ Bea looked at John standing right next to her, his hand poised to ring the doorbell. His lips were pursed in a thin line, his brow furrowed. He was standing rod-straight, his chin held high.

  Without thinking, she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, savouring the warmth of his fingers. ‘Relax,’ she whispered, knowing that she needed to heed her own words.

  He smiled at her, nodding slowly, then pressed the black doorbell. It chimed loudly. They both stepped back, startled by the unlikely sound, not one that they remembered. Miriam didn’t like noise. She loathed it with all her being, was always telling the children to be quiet, until they barely dared make a sound.

  The door swung open and a young woman, probably in her early twenties, greeted them with a wide smile. ‘Welcome!’ Her voice was high-pitched, almost grating. Bea looked her up and down. Blonde hair pulled in a sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck. Blue eyes perfectly lined, her long lashes covered in black mascara, making them stand out against her peaches-and-cream skin. Her teeth were straight, a perfect shade of white that probably required quite a bit of help from a dentist. Despite the freezing weather, she was wearing a short-sleeved dress that clung to her slight frame, the low neckline verging on crass.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said, not moving, still blocking the doorway. ‘I’m Alexandra and I’m so happy to be showing you round today. This is such a marvellous property, such a rarity for one of these big homes to come on the market. Come in, let’s take a look around.’ She finally stepped to the side, but still stood in such a way that John had to brush against her.

  Bea’s legs felt shaky as she stepped inside, her injured leg throbbing. She gritted her teeth to keep her from wincing and tried to keep her limp as subtle as possible, hoping that the estate agent wouldn’t notice, that she would not somehow figure out who they were. Alexandra had moved away from the door, walking in lockstep with John.

  The beating in Bea’s chest was almost painful. She felt a tightness in her torso and it was hard to breathe. She gasped for air, again and again, unable to get enough, worried that she was going to pass out and cause a scene. She looked round the narrow hallway and remembered them all lined up there before school, waiting for Miriam to inspect their uniform, make sure that they didn’t have a hair out of place. There would be hell to pay if their shirts were not neatly tucked in, their shoes buffed, their schoolbags pristine. She remembered the fear of what would await them if they fell short of Miriam’s impossible standards.