If Ever I Fall

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘There’s no harm in having too much fruit, clever clogs, but burgers and chips aren’t quite the same, are they? Who’s Holly again? Do I know her?’

  ‘She sits on my table.’

  ‘Is she your best friend?’

  ‘No, I don’t have one. Mummy says it’s better to be friends with lots of people. Can we talk about something else now?’

  Ruby had fallen out with her former best friend – a girl called Amelia – a couple of months earlier. Amelia had been saying nasty things to Ruby about her curly hair and the way she looked. She’d been playing mind-games with her, like only girls know how, threatening not to be her friend if she played with certain people or did certain things. Once Maria had got wind of it, she’d panicked and gone to the teacher, demanding that she took action. Amelia had been spoken to, which led to a row between the two girls, and that was the end of that. Ruby barely spoke to her any more.

  Maria had probably overreacted, but it was understandable. Better safe than sorry. Ruby didn’t need so-called friends like that.

  ‘What would you like to talk about?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Oh, I love this song. Can you turn it up?’

  ‘How about a please?’

  ‘Please, Dad.’

  He turned up the radio, wondering what it was about this particular piece of plastic pop that Ruby liked. She sounded so cute singing along with her fake American accent. He wished he could keep her this age forever: old enough to have a proper conversation, to be a genuine companion, but with her innocence still intact. It wouldn’t be long now until that started to change. The fluctuations between the child she was and the woman she would become, already evident, would slowly rebalance as the tide of her life forever turned towards adulthood. It was the no-man’s-land of those changing years that terrified him.

  The song finished and some overzealous DJ started prattling on about his exciting weekend.

  ‘Dad,’ Ruby said. ‘Please can I watch some TV when we get back?’

  ‘Um, have you watched any yet today?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘A little before bed, then.’

  A short while later, Dan wished he’d said no. He walked into the lounge from the kitchen and saw Ruby, her face one big scowl, throwing the remote control on to the floor.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said. The words came out more forcefully than he’d intended, causing Ruby to jump with shock and then burst into tears.

  He sat down next to her, but she recoiled when he tried to give her a hug and sobbed into a cushion.

  ‘Come on, love. There’s no need to get upset. I’m sorry I raised my voice like that. I didn’t mean to scare you. But what were you doing throwing the remote on the floor?’

  He leaned over to pick it up and flicked through a couple of channels to make sure it still worked. ‘Well, the good news is that it’s not broken,’ he said. ‘But please don’t do that again. Ruby, are you listening to me?’

  He waited for a reply but got nothing. She kept her face buried in the cushion.

  ‘I’d like you to look at me now. Otherwise, you can go to bed.’

  ‘Fine.’ She rolled over with a groan and stared at the ceiling through red, puffy eyes.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You shocked me.’

  ‘I know. I’ve said I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. But what about you? Don’t you have something to say to me?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Throwing the control.’

  ‘That’s better. And would you care to explain why you did it?’

  She stared at the ceiling again.

  ‘Hello? It’s polite to answer when someone asks you a question, Ruby.’

  ‘Fine. It was because there’s nothing nice on. You don’t have any of the good channels here that we have at home.’

  Dan started laughing. He couldn’t help himself once it struck him how ridiculous it was that this whole incident had been sparked by his TV channel selection.

  ‘Stop it,’ Ruby shouted, her face gripped by fury. ‘Stop laughing at me.’

  ‘I’m not, darling, but come on. Don’t you think it’s a bit—’

  It was too late. She got up from the couch and stormed off in the direction of the spare bedroom. ‘I’m going to bed. I know that’s what you want. I hate this stupid flat. Why do you make me come here?’

  Ruby’s words were like a slap to the face. She sounded like a teenager already, slamming her bedroom door a moment later as if to confirm the fact. The noise made Dan wince, not least because of the mottled glass panes in the door. She’d riled him, but he had no intention of letting her know that. He took a deep breath, a couple more, and then went after her.

  He opened the door, glad to find it still in one piece, and saw that she’d dived fully dressed under her quilt. ‘Go away,’ she shouted.

  Dan walked in regardless and knelt down at the side of the bed. ‘There’s no need for this, Ruby. And there’s definitely no need to slam the door like that. You’re lucky the glass didn’t smash. Do you have any idea how dangerous that would have been?’

  ‘Stupid door. Leave me alone. I want to go to sleep.’

  It was too much. He took another deep breath, knowing he had to get firm with her now but still desperate not to lose his cool.

  ‘Ruby Evans,’ he said. ‘I’ve had quite enough of this bad behaviour. Pull yourself together. Any more and there will be no TV or treats of any kind this weekend.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go home and you can be on your own. That’s why you left us and moved here, isn’t it? It’s all your fault. I hate you.’

  CHAPTER 11

  The wind catches the front door as I enter and an almighty slam echoes through the bare belly of the house.

  ‘Hello?’ Miles shouts from somewhere out of view.

  ‘It’s me,’ I reply. ‘Jack.’

  ‘Back already?’ he says, appearing at the top of the stairs, a hammer in one hand. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘I had a funny turn.’

  Miles frowns. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure. One minute I was walking by the front of the house. Next thing, I was reliving another memory. Well, I think that’s what it was. When I came to, I was lying on the grass. I must have passed out.’

  ‘Oh dear. Grab a seat in the kitchen. I’d best check you over. Give me a minute to wash my hands and find some equipment.’

  He gives me a thorough examination: torch in the eyes, blood pressure, temperature check and so on.

  ‘And? How do I look?’

  He shrugs. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary that I can see. How’s the head?’

  ‘Much better.’

  ‘Good. It looks that way too, but I am a bit concerned about what happened. How long do you think you were out?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It felt similar to what happened in here before. When you said I fainted.’

  Miles nods, his eyes thoughtful. ‘This is what I feared might happen. Just as well you weren’t by the edge of the cliff.’

  I nod, sticking to my story rather than admitting the truth.

  ‘What was the memory this time?’ Miles asks.

  ‘It was, um, different. If it was an actual memory. It was Halloween and I was out trick-or-treating with a little girl in a ghost costume. I felt like she was maybe my daughter, but I’m not sure. I’ve never mentioned anything to you about having a child, have I?’

  Miles shakes his head. ‘No, never. Sorry.’

  I skip the bit about the girl in red. I’m not comfortable telling him that. Apart from the fact it makes no sense – and I don’t want to sound crazy – I’m thinking about the first time I spotted her and Miles claimed not to have seen anyone.

  ‘So what’s the verdict?’ I ask.

  ‘Rest, rest and more rest. Clearly you need to take it easy.’

  ‘And go to the hospital on Monday?’

 
‘Yes. That too.’

  ‘The funny thing is that I feel all right. I know that doesn’t tally with what happened, but I do. Another memory coming back is a good thing, right? Don’t ask me to sleep, because I’m not tired. And don’t ask me to do nothing or I’ll die of boredom. I can’t believe you don’t even have a TV.’

  ‘There are books you could read.’

  I shake my head. ‘I need to do something active. Why can’t I help you with the floorboards? You don’t have to let me do much, but at least I’d feel useful. And you’d be there to watch over me. You’d be on hand if I was to faint again or whatever.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. But I do need to pop to the village. The nails I have aren’t right for the boards. There’s a hardware store where I can get some others. You can come too, if you like.’

  ‘By car?’

  Miles nods.

  ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘Right. Give me ten minutes. And drink some water while you’re waiting. You need to keep well hydrated.’

  ‘I’m on it, Doc.’

  ‘And?’ he asks as we head outside a short while later. ‘How much water did you drink?’

  ‘Two pint glasses.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You sound like my daughter,’ I say. ‘Ever since—’

  Miles, who is leading the way to the car, stops in his tracks. He turns and looks at me, his eyes like saucers. ‘Ever since what?’

  ‘I, um. I don’t know. The words came out without me thinking about them. I can’t … no, it’s gone. Does that mean I’m a dad? That I do have a daughter? She must be the one I was trick-or-treating with in that memory. She was only little, though. How could I have abandoned her? How could I not have mentioned her to you?’ My voice is rising.

  Miles shrugs. ‘Maybe it wasn’t a recent memory.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘Like what, Jack? If you do have a daughter, this is the first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘I really never mentioned her before?’

  He shakes his head. ‘We never talked about that kind of thing. You showed no inclination to do so.’

  ‘What did we talk about, then?’

  ‘Other things. Working on the house has kept us busy ever since you got here.’

  ‘Yeah, but surely that’s not all we talked about. It sounds like we barely know each other.’

  Miles doesn’t reply, but the idea that I might have a child – maybe more than one – has unsettled me. And does that mean I have a wife or girlfriend too? If so, why the hell am I here and not with them? I’m not prepared to let this go.

  ‘Tell me something about you,’ I say, hoping such a conversation might trigger more of my own memories. ‘What are you doing here in this huge place all alone? Haven’t you got a family?’

  As soon as I’ve asked those questions, something else occurs to me. It’s an idea that doesn’t sit comfortably in my stomach, but I blurt it out regardless. ‘Hang on. You and I, we’re not. You know. We’re not—’

  ‘Gay?’ Miles replies, saying the word I’m struggling to spit out. He laughs. ‘No, no. Don’t worry. We don’t have, er, that kind of relationship. That’s not my bag and, from the look on your face, I doubt it’s yours. Whatever gave you that idea, Jack?’

  ‘Not knowing anything about yourself messes with your mind. A minute ago I discovered I probably have a daughter, but I’ve never mentioned her to you, which is plain odd. I mean, what am I doing here? Nothing makes any sense.’

  Miles turns and continues walking towards the car, gesturing for me to follow.

  ‘I can’t tell you what you’re doing here, Jack,’ he says. ‘That’s something you need to find out for yourself. It’s locked away somewhere inside your mind, I’m sure of that. I can tell you about me, if it helps. I do have a family: a wife and daughter. But I don’t see them much. My wife and I, we’re … I suppose estranged is the word. As for my daughter, things aren’t quite that bad, but let’s say that she tends to side with her mother. It’s been a while.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What are their names?’

  ‘My wife’s called Sarah and my daughter is Alison. She’s thirty.’

  ‘Any grandchildren?’

  ‘No, Alison’s not even settled yet. Too busy with her career.’

  ‘Is she also a doctor?’

  Miles laughs. ‘Oh, no. There was never much chance of Alison following in her old dad’s footsteps. She works every bit as hard, though, from dusk till dawn and then some. She’s a solicitor.’

  ‘Right. And your wife?’

  ‘She’s retired, like me, although she used to be a teacher. Primary school.’

  ‘So why the big project? You’re not planning on doing this whole place up for yourself, are you?’

  Miles rolls his eyes. ‘I was wondering when you’d ask me that. No, probably not. I haven’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. It sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I inherited this place from an uncle several years ago. I knew what a state it was in and never got around to doing anything about it. Then I retired and suddenly had a lot of time on my hands. It seemed like an ideal project. A way to keep busy.’

  ‘He must have been some wealthy uncle,’ I say, eyeing the huge house behind us. Miles climbs into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover I saw earlier and I head for the passenger side.

  As I get in, Miles is reaching over and rooting around inside the glovebox. It’s chock-a-block with junk: cracked CD cases, rolls of tape, empty crisp packets, a screwdriver, a couple of ballpoints and at least two pairs of sunglasses. Eventually, with a triumphant cheer, he pulls out a set of car keys. ‘Bingo. I knew they were in there somewhere. Not very secure, I know, but you get complacent when you’re in the middle of nowhere. Yes, he was rather well-off, Uncle Freddie, although you wouldn’t guess it from how he let this place get into such a state. He was an odd chap: a recluse. I only met him a handful of times and I always thought he hated me. Then he popped his clogs and split his estate between me and a handful of animal charities. Never had any children of his own. Just lots of dogs and cats.’

  ‘Did he live here?’

  ‘Yes, for a long time, but not in his last few years. His health was poor and he rented a place in Spain, hoping the warmer weather would help. He had this place stripped of all his stuff, as if he was planning to sell it, but for some reason he never did. I’m not sure why. It had been empty for the best part of a decade by the time I moved in. I thought perhaps he’d struggled to find a buyer, because it was in such bad condition, but I’ve asked around and no local estate agents ever remember it being on the market.’

  The clock on the dashboard reads 10.54 p.m. I had wondered whether Miles might have forgotten to change this one and that it might tell the actual time, but no chance of that. It’s daylight outside.

  He turns the key and it takes a few seconds for the engine to fire up. ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ he says. ‘She always does that, but she’s never let me down yet. Have you, Gigi?’

  ‘You have a name for your car?’

  ‘Sure. Don’t you?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. I don’t think so. Mind you, I don’t even know if I have a car. Is that something we discussed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why Gigi?’

  ‘Because she’s my Green Goddess. You know, like the old Bedford fire engines.’

  I give him a blank look.

  ‘The green ones from the 1950s – tough old things that lasted half a century. The Army used to use them when firefighters went on strike.’

  I nod, finally understanding what he’s talking about. ‘Oh yes, I remember.’

  Miles clunks the gearbox into reverse, rolls the car back a few feet and sets off down the dirt track I saw earlier. He drives fast despite the uneven surface and, as I’m jolted from side to side in my seat, I’m gripped by a sudden sense of panic.

  My sharp intake of breath is loud enough for Miles to notice. ‘Are
you all right?’ he asks.

  I nod that I am. I’m not, though. My heart’s working overtime. I’m breathing through a straw. The pressure inside my head is rising.

  All three of them are staring at me expectantly as I look up.

  The tall woman glances down at the papers on the table in front of her. Then she looks back at me, her lips twitching up on one side. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. I, er, can’t say I’m over the moon about the situation. Who is? But I’m a realist. I can understand why it’s necessary. Tough times demand tough action. If you keep treading water, hoping not to get swept up in the tide of change, you run the risk of drowning.’

  I look up at them and smile, but it’s as much to stop me from throwing up as it is to check that my words have gained their approval. They have, of course. I’m telling them what they want to hear – a stream of cliché-ridden bullshit – and they’re all beaming back at me.

  ‘So you’re on board with the changes?’ the porky HR manager asks, a slug of sweat sliding down from his temple on to one cheek. The Grim Reaper disguised as that police chief from The Simpsons.

  ‘Definitely,’ I reply with strong eye contact. ‘You can count on me.’

  ‘And the rest of your staff?’ the other man asks. He’s the one in charge and I should know his name, but my mind’s gone blank.

  ‘I don’t foresee any problems.’

  My thoughts flick back to my own office, a couple of hours earlier, when they were all laying into the plans, begging me to voice their opposition to the ‘big bosses’. I said I’d do what I could, but I already knew that resistance was futile if I wanted to keep my job. Which I do. I mean, what else is there for me? This is simple self-preservation, I think, as I pimp myself out to the suits sitting opposite me.

  ‘Jack?’ the boss man, whatever he’s called, says to me in a voice that isn’t his own.

  Who’s Jack? I wonder.

  The Land Rover is stopped in the middle of the dirt track and Miles is up in my face, looking very concerned, scrutinising my eyes. He looks like he’s about to slap me around the chops, so I pull back and mumble that I’m all right.

  ‘I had another flashback – memory – whatever you want to call it. Did I pass out again?’