If Ever I Fall

by S. D. Robertson

  In the immediate aftermath of your death, I needed someone to blame other than myself. I’d seen a programme on TV about cyber bullying and, after I found those nasty comments online, I decided that was it. Now, with hindsight, I don’t think it was just one thing, was it? It’s nice to have an easy explanation, but life rarely works like that. They were nasty, hurtful comments. But no evidence has ever emerged of them being anything more than that: an isolated incident rather than a bullying campaign. Maybe they were the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or maybe that was me, brushing you off four days earlier.

  I neglected you emotionally, Sam. And I’m not just talking about that one occasion. It was a long-term thing. I was far too busy with my work and my own concerns. I didn’t pay enough attention to you and your needs, especially in those last few years. I was happy to let you be the sulky teenager who shut herself away in her bedroom. Other than nagging you to do your chores and your homework – willing you to achieve academically what your father and I had – how much did I get involved in your world? I was too busy being the high-flying career woman.

  Look where that got me.

  Anyway, this isn’t about me wallowing in self-pity. It’s about accepting the truth and moving on. There’s one more thing I want to say to you, Sam, but it’s gone 2.30 p.m. and I need to pick up Ruby from school. I’ll finish later.

  I’m back. It’s just after 10 p.m. Ruby’s in bed. Your father phoned earlier – at last – but we were at the supermarket. Typical. There was a missed call from him on the phone at quarter to five and another at ten to, but no message, as the answer machine is still broken. I don’t know why he didn’t try my mobile. I tried to call him back, but it went straight to his voicemail.

  I told you there was one more thing I wanted to mention. It’s about your friend Olivia. I bumped into her in the street a little while ago and we had a quick chat. A few days later she turned up on the doorstep and asked to speak to me. It was the middle of the day and I was home alone. I was surprised she wasn’t at school, but she said she was on her lunch break and had a free period after that. She had something to tell me – something about you.

  ‘It’s been weighing on my mind,’ she said after I sat her down in the lounge and fixed us both a cup of tea. ‘I wanted to say something at the time, but I was too embarrassed. I did my best to forget about it, convincing myself it wasn’t important, but since I saw you the other day, I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else.’

  She looked so much older than I remembered. Well, she’s sixteen now. It’s amazing the difference a year or so makes when you’re a teenager. How I wish I’d been able to see you grow in the same way, my love.

  ‘There was something that happened between the two of us,’ Olivia went on. ‘It was about a week before Sam, er, died. She was round at my place. We were listening to music.’ Olivia took a deep breath; ran a hand through her hair. Her face was flushed. ‘Sorry. It’s still embarrassing. I haven’t told anyone until now. Even Amy doesn’t know. I mean, it’s probably nothing, but I feel I ought to—’

  ‘Go on. Whatever it is. You can tell me, Olivia.’

  ‘Right, I’ll say it. We were lying on the bed and, I don’t know where it came from. I couldn’t say for sure who started it. Somehow we ended up kissing.’

  ‘Oh.’ I hadn’t seen that coming.

  ‘The thing is, it was as much me as it was her, but I panicked and pulled away. I made out like she’d forced herself on me and said it was disgusting. I asked her to leave. I can still see her face now. She looked so hurt. It was the last time I ever saw her. I was planning to make up with her, but … I really don’t know why I did it. I should have told someone before, shouldn’t I? Do you think that’s why she killed herself? Do you think it’s my fault?’

  It took me a moment to register that she’d stopped talking and was now looking at me, waiting for a response.

  ‘I’m not a lesbian or anything,’ Olivia added, filling the silence. ‘And I don’t think Sam was either. Not that I would have minded. That would have been fine. We were just, you know, experimenting. I really wish that hadn’t been the last time I saw her.’

  I signalled for her to stop.

  ‘Sorry. I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I always do that when I’m nervous. Are you mad at me for not saying something sooner? I should have told the police, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Stop, please. It’s fine. I’m glad you told me, but I’m sure that didn’t have anything to do with it. Let it go, Olivia, and remember the good times. Dwelling on it won’t bring her back.’

  She burst into tears, so I gave her a hug. Of course, I don’t know if what she told me had anything to do with your suicide, Sam, but I knew it was pointless her punishing herself over it. In many ways I’m glad she told me when she did, as my reaction closer to the time would have been much less calm.

  I took the opportunity to ask Olivia if you’d ever mentioned having suicidal thoughts. It was something I’d asked her and Amy at the time of your death – and they’d said not – but I needed to be sure.

  She looked horrified. ‘No, honestly. Never. I wouldn’t have kept that from you. You have to believe me.’

  ‘What about when that singer from the band Thirteen killed herself? Did Sam say anything about that? I know she liked her. Did she give you any idea that she might want to copy her?’

  This was something your father discovered after you died, Sam. He insisted on mentioning it at the inquest, although the coroner argued there was no hard evidence of a link between the two tragic events. I’ve wondered about it before, stared at magazine pictures of the singer, Kat Landon, wondering what she’d been thinking, and whether it would bring me any closer to you.

  Olivia shook her head as she wiped away fresh tears. ‘No way. She was definitely upset about it, but she never said anything about wanting to do the same. If I thought for a second she was going to, I would have told you. I swear.’

  I’d been OCDing over some grout in the bathroom when Olivia rang the doorbell. After she left, I realised how unimportant it was in the scheme of things. I was even able to leave it alone for a while. And do you know what? It was soon after her visit that I decided to seek the help of a counsellor. I’m not saying it was as a direct result of that, but it certainly helped me turn a corner.

  I’m delighted to say I turned another corner today too, Sam. After I put Ruby to bed this evening, I went to your bedroom and took out that lovely school photo of you from about six months before you died. You know, the one when you had your hair up and a big grin. You said the photographer had pulled a ridiculous face to make you laugh. Anyway, it’s back in pride of place on the wall in the lounge and I fully intend to return the others too. I know Ruby and your father will be pleased.

  What I haven’t done is tell Dan about Olivia’s revelation. I meant to, but things have been so awkward between us lately. I’ve never found the right moment. I need to tell him. I know that – and I will. I’m going to tell him about the chat you and I had too. I’ve no idea how he’ll take it, but he deserves to have the whole picture. Without honesty, we haven’t got a chance of ever working things out. One of the hardest things for both of us has always been the uncertainty: the lack of closure, due to not knowing why you took your own life. Maybe telling Dan these things will help him to find some peace. I hope so. I wish I could give him the definitive answer, but I simply don’t have it. The only one who does is you, Sam.

  Finally, before I find myself in the Guinness World Records for writing the longest letter ever, I want to say one more thing to you, my love. It wouldn’t have mattered to me or your father in the slightest if you were a lesbian. Perhaps you were; perhaps you were experimenting or confused. We would have loved you whatever. I only wish I’d shown you that when you were still here. Then maybe you would never have left us.

  The phone’s ringing. Perhaps it’s your dad.

  Love as always,

  M

  Xx

>   CHAPTER 34

  BEFORE

  Friday, 28 August 2015

  ‘Hello. Anyone home?’ Dan called as he entered the house. ‘Sam? Are you back yet?’

  There was no sign of life downstairs, but when he walked into the lounge, Dan spotted his elder daughter’s handbag and her red summer coat thrown on the sofa instead of being put properly away. ‘Bloody hell, Sam,’ he said to the empty room. ‘How many times?’

  He was tempted to go up and shout at her, but she’d been a bit subdued recently and he didn’t have the heart. She was in her room, no doubt, away in a world of her own. Probably listening to music too loud on the headphones of his that she’d commandeered after hers broke.

  The clock in the kitchen read 4.15 p.m. Ruby wasn’t due back from her holiday club bowling trip until 5 p.m. and Maria was expecting to be late, as usual. Dan put the kettle on to make a brew. Watching it boil, he thought he’d make Sam one and take it up for her. What had she been doing all day? It was only since she turned fourteen earlier this year that they’d been allowing her to stay home alone over the school holidays. It seemed to be working out. Well, he thought it was, although it was hard to tell with a teenager. You just had to do your best to communicate what was right and wrong and hope they weren’t taking drugs and having underage sex behind your back. Sam wasn’t very communicative, though, and seemed to prefer visiting her friends’ houses to having them over here.

  Dan made two cups of tea and put them on a tray with a couple of chocolate digestives. He was going to try to have a chat with her; see if he could cheer her up a bit; clear away a few of those moody teenage cobwebs.

  Ring ring. Ring ring.

  He pulled his mobile out of his jacket pocket and frowned at the number flashing up: the office. Bloody hell. What did they want? He’d only just left. It was Friday afternoon, for goodness’ sake. Couldn’t they leave him alone for five minutes?

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  ‘Dan?’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Sorry to bother you. It’s Jane.’

  He already knew that. He recognised her voice. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for her, even though she was arguably his best reporter: one of a precious few remaining from the pre-centralisation days.

  Dan took a seat at the kitchen table and a sip of tea. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘The council have been on. They’re spitting feathers.’

  His heart sank. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘It’s about a reader’s comment on the website.’

  ‘Bloody hell. That’s not our problem. Speak to the web team. They’re supposed to monitor comments.’

  ‘I know. I have. I’ve already told them to pull it.’

  ‘Good. You did the right thing. So what’s the problem?’

  ‘It was Julia Walker who called.’

  ‘The chief exec?’

  ‘Yep. She was fuming. Demanded to speak to you.’

  ‘What was in this comment?’

  ‘It was bad. A proper rant about her deputy, Alan Smith. Libellous as hell.’

  Dan sighed. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Well, among other things, it accused him of embezzling funds and feeling up his female staff.’

  He put his head in his hands. ‘How the hell did that get through? Was the writer named?’

  ‘No. Well, he – or she – called themselves Deep Throat. Very original. The web guys say they might be able to dig up some more info. At least an email address.’

  ‘Tell me it’s already been taken down.’

  ‘Hold on.’ There was a pause and the sound of keyboard typing in the background. ‘Yes, it’s been removed.’

  ‘Good. Have you got a direct number for Julia Walker?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She gave it to him and asked if he’d like an email copy of the comment.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’ll send it now. Sorry to bother you.’

  ‘No, you did the right thing, Jane. Good work getting it taken down so quickly. Have a nice weekend.’

  Dan hung up. Julia Walker was hard work at the best of times. He wasn’t looking forward to calling her. He decided to do it without actually reading the comment, so he could make it clear he was out of the office but taking the matter seriously. He’d call her from the car, on the way to pick up Ruby, which would add to the effect and hopefully buy him a bit of time. Delaying a proper discussion until Monday, once the dust had settled, seemed like the best option.

  But first he wanted to say hello to Sam. He’d give her that cup of tea before it went cold; tell her where he was going. He removed his cup from the tray, had a sip and then headed upstairs with the remaining cup and biscuits.

  ‘Sam,’ he called as he reached the top of the staircase, walking carefully so as not to spill the tea. ‘It’s Dad. I’ve got a brew for you.’

  There was no reply. Her bedroom door was shut, as usual, and there was no sound from within. His eyes were drawn to the charming sign she’d created: ‘Sam’s space. Stay out!’

  Holding the tray in his left hand, he knocked with his right. He always knocked before going inside these days. She was a teenager after all. He didn’t want to burst in unannounced at some embarrassing moment. There was still no answer, though.

  ‘Hello,’ he said in a raised voice, knocking again. ‘Sam, it’s Dad. I’ve got a cup of tea for you. I’m coming in.’

  Still no reply. He dreaded to think how loud she had those headphones. She’d give herself tinnitus if she wasn’t careful.

  Dan grabbed the door handle and let himself in. ‘Hello, Sam. I’ve—’

  The tray fell from his hand, tea and biscuits tumbling through the air and crashing down on to the carpet. Pure instinct catapulted him across the room before his brain had the chance to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. What his mouth was yelling. Time stopped as he threw his arms around her inert form. Raised her up in the open wardrobe and tried to support her weight with his body. Banged her slumped head on the rail as he scrabbled with his hands to untie the leather belt. He struggled forever but finally yanked it free, exposing her neck, stretched and twisted to one side, a pale groove engraved in her skin.

  She was on the carpet now – his beautiful girl – and Dan was kneeling over her, splashing tears on to her impossibly white face. Her drooling blue lips. Her blood-stained nostrils.

  He was screaming for help. Searching for life. Shouting for her to come back to him. Lost in panic.

  He had to do something.

  He had to do something.

  He had to do something.

  Slapping himself around the face, he jolted his brain into gear. Back into the driving seat. He felt to see if she was breathing. If she had a pulse.

  Nothing.

  Dan pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialled 999. Told them what they needed to know and begged them to hurry. Then he dropped the phone without ending the call and started CPR, hoping he remembered it right. Wishing he’d remained a first-aider in the new office, so his training would have been more recent. Knowing in his heart that it was already too late but continuing nonetheless, because the alternative was unbearable.

  He didn’t allow himself to think beyond the moment, for fear of losing his mind to panic again. He had to hold it together. So he stayed focused on what he was doing: thirty chest compressions then two rescue breaths; thirty chest compressions then two rescue breaths. Over and over, without any sign of recovery, until he heard the siren outside. He tore himself away from her – his precious Sam – just long enough to race downstairs, fling open the front door and run back again to carry on with the CPR.

  ‘Up here,’ Dan shouted as he continued with the chest compressions. ‘Hurry.’

  And then a green and yellow blur as the paramedics came in and took over. He stood back and crumpled into a heap against one wall; did his best to keep it together enough to answer their questions as they tried to save her. To do what he couldn’t.

 
He prayed his heart was wrong. That they’d be able to pull her back with their knowledge and fancy gadgets. But he saw the truth in the pained expression on both of their faces. They were going through the motions.

  This realisation shattered the defences he’d thrown up to keep himself going. In came the floodwaters of despair.

  His precious Sam was gone.

  How?

  Why?

  No, this couldn’t be real. He had to be in a dream – a nightmare. His daughter would never willingly do that to herself. To her parents. To her little sister. She was a good girl. A sensible girl. She was happy. She loved her family. Wasn’t she? Didn’t she?

  ‘You have to save her,’ he blurted to the paramedics, scrambling to his feet. ‘She didn’t mean to. It’s a terrible accident.’

  One of them looked towards him. ‘We’re doing everything we can for her, sir. Please stay back and leave us to—’

  He stepped forward. Caught a fresh look at Sam’s contorted, lifeless body. Felt light-headed and …

  Black.

  When he came to, Dan was in bed. Thank God, he thought. It was a dream. Then his hearing kicked in and there was noise all around. Lots of voices. He was still in Sam’s bedroom, lying on her bed. There were several more medical staff now, as well as police. Sam was being lifted on to a stretcher.

  ‘What?’ Dan slurred, trying to get up despite the fact that his head was pounding and he felt woozy. ‘Is she—’

  A woman’s face. ‘Calm down, sir. Please stay where you are for a moment and don’t try to get up. You passed out and banged your head. We need to give you a check over.’

  ‘My daughter, Sam. Where are they taking her? What’s happened?’

  ‘I, er. I’m not—’

  ‘I did what I could, but I couldn’t help her. I should have got home sooner. I might have reached her in time. Does Maria know? What about Ruby? Someone needs to—’