If Ever I Fall

by S. D. Robertson

  He noticed for the first time that Ruby was holding her left arm behind her back, as if concealing something. ‘What have you got there, love?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied, avoiding eye contact and blushing.

  ‘Ruby Evans. You’re the worst liar in the world, which is no bad thing. Come on. Show me what you’ve got.’

  Gingerly, she revealed a small picture frame containing a photo of her and Sam.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Dan said. ‘Did you want to take that to your own room?’

  She nodded, tears in her eyes. ‘I was only borrowing it. I’ll put it back. I just like to look at her sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You can keep it for as long as you like. She’d want you to have it.’

  ‘But I thought we were supposed to leave all the photos—’

  ‘It’s fine, darling. Honestly. We all miss her terribly, especially today. You take it and put it wherever you want in your room.’

  ‘What about Mummy?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’ll clear it with her. Do you mind if I have a quick look?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Dan lifted the silver frame to his eye level and felt himself start to well up. It was a great snap, taken around three years earlier on a family holiday to North Wales, which he remembered fondly. They were smiling, arms around each other and hair blowing in the wind, in front of the quaint ivy-covered cottage where they’d stayed. Both of his daughters, with their matching emerald eyes, looked gorgeous: a younger Ruby with a shorter, blonder version of her curls; Sam with her long black hair and slender figure, on the cusp of womanhood. Dan made a mental note to seek out the digital image from which the picture had been printed. It would be on the computer with the other photos and videos of Sam. He wanted to look at it some more.

  ‘Are you all right, Daddy?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, blinking back the tears, which he didn’t want Ruby to see. It was important to stay strong for her, especially considering Maria’s behaviour, which had grown increasingly erratic since Sam’s death. ‘Don’t you worry about me, darling. How are you doing? Is there anything you’d like to discuss?’

  Ruby shrugged. Dan could have left it there, but he decided to push on, hoping she might vocalise her feelings. ‘What do you miss most about Sam?’

  ‘I dunno. Everything really.’

  ‘You loved her a lot, didn’t you?’

  Ruby nodded, looking away from Dan and out of the window. He reached his arm around her little shoulders and pulled her towards him, planting lots of little kisses on her head in place of the words he was too choked to utter.

  They stayed there like that for several minutes and it was Ruby who eventually broke the silence. ‘I really miss us all being happy together,’ she said in barely more than a whisper.

  This, more than anything, made Dan want to cry. He knew exactly what Ruby was talking about, and the declining state of his and Maria’s relationship was at the heart of it. But instead of breaking down, which was the last thing Ruby needed to see him do, he took a different path. ‘Don’t move,’ he said, looking down at the carpet. ‘There’s something—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just stay exactly—’

  ‘What is it?’

  Without warning, Dan darted for Ruby’s bare feet and started tickling them.

  ‘Hey, Daddy! What are you doing?’

  Ruby collapsed into a squirming, giggling mess as Dan ignored her jovial pleas for mercy, instead moving on to tickle her behind her knees, her sides and her armpits until she’d laughed herself into exhaustion and really had had enough.

  ‘See,’ Dan said as he watched his daughter catch her breath. ‘We can still have fun. And it’s important that we remember to do that as often as possible, especially when we’re feeling sad. It’s what Sam would have wanted. Agree?’

  ‘Agree.’

  ‘Good. Now let’s go and find Mummy and see if she’s ready for some breakfast.’

  ‘I think she’s cleaning downstairs.’

  ‘I think you’re right. I wonder if she fancies some pancakes. I know I do. What about you?’

  Ruby nodded her head enthusiastically, reminding Dan of one of those nodding dogs you see in cars.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. I think we’ve got all the stuff we need. You might have to make do with honey instead of maple syrup.’

  Maria didn’t join them for breakfast. She turned off the vacuum, mumbled something about muddy shoes and not being hungry, and disappeared upstairs.

  After leaving Ruby to whisk the pancake mix, Dan took his wife a cup of coffee. The bathroom door was locked, so he gave a gentle tap. ‘Maria?’

  ‘Jesus. Can I never get a moment’s peace?’ she snapped from the other side.

  ‘I brought you a coffee. It’s fresh from the pot.’

  ‘Can you leave it outside the door? I’m on the loo.’

  ‘Sure.’ He paused before adding: ‘How are you doing, love?’

  ‘I’ll be fine if everyone leaves me alone to get my head together.’

  ‘I’ll put the coffee here on the floor. Don’t let it go cold.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Dan mouthed in silent protest as he turned towards the stairs, wishing a bout of tickling would be enough to make his wife smile again too. Now clearly wasn’t the time to tell her about Ruby and the photo, but he would do later on – and he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. For the sake of her daughter, Maria would just have to deal with this one exception to her rule.

  He was gagging for a cigarette but knew he’d have to wait now until after breakfast.

  He willed this horrible day to be over as soon as possible.

  ‘I think it’s ready, Daddy,’ Ruby called. ‘Can you make the pancakes now?’

  ‘Coming.’

  He stood still at the top of the staircase. After glancing back at the closed door of Sam’s bedroom and the steaming mug on the floor outside the bathroom, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment.

  Then he carried on.

  CHAPTER 23

  Nothing.

  Zilch.

  Not one radio station.

  Not even the hint of something to tune into.

  And I’ve tried the full spectrum – FM, AM, LW – several times over, from various positions in my bedroom. Nothing but static.

  Dammit. I expected to find at least something, even in an isolated spot like this one.

  In desperation, I try to open the window to see if sticking the aerial outside will help. Neither the bottom nor the top sash will budge. There’s no sign of any lock holding them shut, but several hard shoves don’t get me anywhere and I don’t want to risk a breakage. The inside looks solid enough, but goodness knows what the exterior wood is like.

  I decide to head outside. There’s still time before Miles and I are due to meet up to look at the guttering. I exit my bedroom door and nearly collide with him.

  ‘Jack,’ he says, taking a step backwards, startled.

  I wonder if he was eavesdropping outside my door.

  ‘I, er, was going to ask if you’d finished in the bathroom,’ he says, as if sensing my thoughts.

  ‘Yes. I’m done.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  I shrug, holding the radio behind my back like a guilty secret. I’m not sure why, seeing as Miles was the one who gave it to me, but I keep it there nonetheless.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to helping me?’ he asks. ‘You look pale. Take the day off if you need it.’

  ‘I’m fine. Please, no more special treatment. Let’s stick to what we’ve arranged.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  We both stand there for a moment in the corridor, staring at each other. Miles’s eyes wander to my left arm – the one with which I’m concealing the radio behind my back – and I think he’s going to ask about it. I’m debating with myself what to tell him when he looks back up and smiles. �
�I’ll get a move on. See you in a few minutes.’

  I race through the house, only too aware that I don’t have long. The front door is on the latch and I’m able to let myself out without having to find a key. I head straight for the rickety fence that runs along the clifftop. It’s colder than I expected outside and rather breezy, making me regret not wearing my jacket. But everything else is secondary to my desire to try the radio again. I’m desperate to hear something from the outside world and it’s become about more than simply checking the day. It’s bizarre, but I feel frightened all of a sudden that maybe there is no one else out there. It’s irrational. I can’t explain it, but I’m unable to shift the thought.

  I pull out the silver aerial as far as it will extend. Pressing one thumb against the milled edge of the black volume control – a rotating plastic disc embedded in the side of the pocket radio – I roll it upwards. Click. It’s on and I keep turning until the wheel jams. Then I hold the speaker up to my ear, the only place it stands a chance against the babble of the sea and wind, and … more static.

  I run my index finger over the twin disc on the other side of the radio – slowly, not wanting to miss the slightest hint of a signal. But still there’s nothing.

  Stay calm, I think, reminding myself of the two further wavelengths to check after this one. But it’s no good. I know in the pit of my stomach that it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to find anything.

  And I’m right. There is nothing at all other than the rushing white noise. I give up eventually and, in my frustration, almost throw the damn radio over the cliff into the sea below. But common sense kicks in and, considering the awkward conversation this would lead to with Miles, I restrain myself.

  It gets me thinking about my host, wondering whether he might have done something to the radio to stop it from receiving a signal. And then I get a brainwave, which sets me running back towards the house, around the side and to the Land Rover parked at the back.

  It’s unlocked. I jump into the driver’s seat and press every button on the front of the car radio until it bursts into life with a greenish LED glow and the sound of the Rolling Stones. Grabbing for the volume dial, I turn it down for fear of attracting Miles’s attention and wait for the song to end. It’s a favourite of mine, ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’. I’ve no idea how I know this when so little else is clear, but I’m glad to hear something other than static.

  It’s a long song but already more than halfway through. I imagine a middle-aged DJ in big headphones, squashed in a booth somewhere, getting ready to fade it out to tell the listening public an amusing anecdote. But as I’m thinking this, my eyes wander to the front of the stereo and I notice for the first time that there’s no radio frequency or channel name displayed. All I can see is a spinning disk symbol.

  Shit. It’s a CD, I think, pressing the eject button and having my fear confirmed by the silver disc that slides out with a taunting grin.

  Head in hands, I curse my own stupidity, before switching to the radio and renewing my search. The preset buttons turn up nothing but more static. I’m about to try the FM dial when there’s a tap on the window to my side that shocks the bejesus out of me.

  I look up, expecting to see Miles, and get yet another surprise. It’s the girl in red. She’s even wearing the coat this time, unlike when I last saw her at the shop. She’s standing at the side of the car, leaning forward so her face is nearly touching the window. With one hand she’s holding back her long black hair, stopping it from blowing in her face; the other hand is waving. She’s waving at me.

  I reach for the window handle and wind it down a few inches. My hand’s shaking slightly as I do so, but I try to hold my voice steady when I greet her. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Morning,’ she replies. ‘Sorry to bother you. I was passing when I saw you and, well, I wondered if you might be able to give me a lift. A friend was supposed to pick me up, but they’ve let me down.’

  ‘Um, right. The car. Yeah, it’s not actually mine. I was just listening to the radio.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I thought—’

  ‘Is it a lift back to the village you’re after? I mean, I could ask Miles. He’s the one who owns the car.’

  ‘No, no. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. I thought you might be heading that way.’

  ‘How will you get there otherwise?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’ll walk. Maybe hitch a lift when I get to the road.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very sensible.’

  She raises one eyebrow. ‘It’s pretty safe around here. There’s a good chance the person giving me a lift would be someone I know.’

  ‘No, wait,’ I say. ‘Seriously. If you hang around for a minute I can speak to Miles. I’m sure he won’t mind giving you a lift. You must know him. He owns this place. He was there too when you served me in the shop.’

  She frowns, throwing me a look I can’t read, and continues to the dirt track that leads to the road. ‘Don’t worry.’

  I switch off the stereo and get out of the car. ‘I’ll find him now,’ I call after her, but she walks on without looking back.

  I run to the house, the lack of radio reception temporarily forgotten, and find Miles halfway out of the front door in an expensive-looking brown waxed jacket.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he says. ‘Not wearing a coat?’

  ‘No. I was going to ask you something, actually.’

  ‘What’s up, lad?’

  ‘I was approached by this girl. You probably know her. She, um, works at the general store in the village. She was after a lift back there. I hope you don’t mind, but I told her you might be able to help. I’d do it myself, but I don’t know if I even have a driver’s licence. And it’s your car, of course.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m confused. What girl?’

  I run through the story again and, although Miles seems perplexed by the girl’s presence, he agrees that her hitchhiking isn’t a good idea. ‘Apart from anything else, there aren’t any pavements,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t want my daughter walking along there. So where is she?’

  There’s no sign of her, so we jump into the Land Rover. Miles can’t get it started at first. As he’s trying, I spot the portable radio in the passenger footwell and discreetly tuck it into the pocket of my seatback.

  ‘Come on, Gigi,’ Miles says. ‘A damsel in distress needs your help. You’re not going to let her down, are you?’

  I don’t believe for a moment that Miles’s words have anything to do with it, but a few seconds later the car roars into life. ‘Good girl,’ he says, stroking the steering wheel as if it’s a pet. And off we go down the dirt track.

  The weird thing is that there’s no sign of the girl before we reach the road. I tell Miles that she got a good head start on us, but in truth I don’t see how she could have made it that far so fast.

  ‘What now?’ Miles asks.

  ‘Can we carry on a little further along the road? She can’t be far ahead.’

  He crawls along in the direction of the village as I desperately scour the vicinity. Soon he suggests turning back, but I ask if we can continue all the way to the general store.

  ‘Is that where she said she was heading?’

  ‘Not specifically, but I’d like to check. We’re almost there now. All I can think is that she got a lift from someone else. I’d like to make sure she got back in one piece.’

  ‘Are you definite she works at the shop? I can’t say I’ve ever seen a teenage girl serving.’

  ‘Yes. She was there last time,’ I reply, straining not to sound as irritated as I feel. ‘When I got the bread and milk.’

  I do want to make sure she’s all right, but I also have another agenda. Inside the shop will be newspapers and a definite confirmation of today’s day and date. I realise now – too late – that I could have asked the girl these things when we were chatting.

  ‘Is there anything we need?’ I ask Miles as we enter the village, passing the pub and church.
>
  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Do you want any provisions from the shop?’

  ‘Oh, right. I see. No, I don’t think so.’

  He seems distracted. No doubt he’s annoyed by this unexpected and, apparently, unnecessary journey. He probably thinks I’m losing it; that I’ve imagined the whole thing.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ I say. ‘I’ll only be a minute. Then we can get back to looking at the gutters.’

  He nods, pulling the car into the same parking spot outside the hardware store that we used before. ‘It doesn’t even look open,’ he says, squinting into the rear-view mirror.

  I turn my head to look and he’s right. There are no A-boards outside advertising the latest news stories; no lights on inside; no sign of life whatsoever.

  ‘That can’t be right,’ I say. ‘What time is it?’

  Instinctively, I look at the clock on the dashboard, but according to that it’s already night time. Miles shrugs, helpful as ever.

  Wait, I think. If it is Sunday – and not Saturday, as he told me – that could explain it. Maybe they only open for a couple of hours.

  ‘I’ll go and have a look,’ I say, bursting out of the car and racing across the road. I hope to find the opening hours displayed. Instead there’s a handwritten sign taped to the inside of the shop window: ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’

  I stand there on the pavement, staring at the purple felt tip words for a moment, unsure what to do next. I look up and down the street, hoping to see someone I can speak to, but there’s no one. Then I remember the hardware store, which I’ve barely noticed, despite Miles parking right outside. I glance back across the street and see a large ‘Open’ sign.

  Miles is watching from the car, but I avoid his gaze and storm into the shop. There’s an old fashioned bell on the door that competes for attention with the creaking of hinges as I enter the tiny space and stand at the varnished wooden counter. It’s unattended and, as I wait for someone to appear, I eye the sparse selection of stock on display, resisting the temptation to look outside at Miles. It’s a random collection of what must be popular items: screws, nails, nuts and bolts; an orange dustpan and brush; some tubes of silicone seal; hammers, screwdrivers and other household tools.