If Ever I Fall

by S. D. Robertson

  He tried to sit up again, only to find himself pushed firmly back down. He hadn’t been able to see the stretcher any more. What had they done with his daughter?

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked, struggling until the throbbing in his head forced him to stop. ‘Where’s Sam?’

  ‘Please, sir. Do as I ask and stay where you are for now.’

  ‘Is he awake?’ a deep male voice asked. ‘We need to speak to him. Find out what happened.’

  ‘Yes, but he might have a concussion. He hit his head against the wall. Pretty hard, apparently. He was out for a while.’

  ‘He’s the guy who rang up, right? The one who found her hanging?’

  ‘She’s called Sam,’ Dan cried out. ‘My fourteen-year-old daughter. I need to know what’s happened. Someone tell me. Did they resuscitate her?’

  His words brought the room to a hush. There was some rustling around and mumbling and then another face – a middle-aged man – appeared.

  ‘Hello.’ He looked down at some notes. ‘Mr Evans?’

  ‘Yes. How is she? How’s my daughter?’

  ‘My name is Dr Shah. I’m terribly sorry but there was nothing anyone could do. I’m afraid your daughter didn’t make it. She passed away.’

  CHAPTER 35

  I’m eight years old in a cool larder with my grandmother. She’s tiny – only a little taller than I am – standing on tiptoes on a footstool, stretching up to a high shelf.

  ‘Careful, Gangy,’ I say, worried she might fall.

  She turns and hands me the jar. Orange Marmalade, her neat handwriting reads on a small white label. There’s no metal lid, like you get in the shops, but a special waxy disc and some see-through stuff held on with an elastic band.

  ‘Isn’t all marmalade made of oranges?’ I ask her in my high-pitched little boy’s voice.

  ‘Sometimes I put ginger in it too,’ she says, beaming that huge smile of hers at me like I’m the most important person in the world. ‘I’ve even made it with lemon and lime,’ she adds. ‘But I’m not sure you’d like that.’

  ‘I don’t like any marmalade apart from yours,’ I tell her.

  She winks at me. ‘That’s my boy.’

  ‘Please can I have some, Gangy, on a piece of toast?’

  ‘Not now, love,’ she replies, stepping down from the stool, wrapping her arms around me and ruffling my hair. ‘There’s something else we need to do. In the garden.’

  ‘Are we going to pick some of your veggies? I love doing that.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Not this time. I want you to meet someone.’

  ‘Someone in the garden? Who, Gangy? It’s not a scarecrow, is it?’

  ‘No, silly sausage. It’s a real person. Someone nice.’

  ‘Have I met them before?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  She takes me by the hand and leads me through the kitchen and out into the garden. But when I get there, it’s not the place I’m expecting. We’re on a clifftop. It’s a bright sunny day and there’s a light breeze.

  ‘Is that the sea I can smell?’

  Gangy nods, still holding my hand and leading me forward. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But hang on, you don’t live by the—’

  I turn back and her house has gone. There’s a sprawling meadow behind us.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘Trust me. Everything will make sense soon.’

  ‘Where are we going? There’s nothing here. I thought we were meeting someone.’

  ‘We are. Look over there.’

  She points towards the edge of the cliff and there’s a large tree that wasn’t there a moment ago. From one of the lower branches hangs a swing made of an old car tyre and a chunky piece of rope. Someone’s using it – swaying backwards and forwards – a girl in a red coat with long black hair, which flows behind her as she swings.

  I look to Gangy for an explanation, but she’s facing ahead, leading us towards this mystery person. We’re almost upon her when we stop. Gangy turns to face me and squeezes my hand before letting go. ‘You need to do the last bit alone.’

  ‘What? Why can’t you come? Where are you going?’

  She leans forward and whispers: ‘I want you to close your eyes and count to ten.’

  ‘I’m scared, Gangy.’

  ‘Don’t be. I need you to be brave. Once your eyes are closed, I’m going to place something in your hands. You mustn’t peek until you reach ten. Then you can look. It’s my gift to you.’

  I take a deep breath. I don’t feel brave, but I trust her and don’t want to let her down. ‘Okay.’

  She ruffles my hair and plants a tender kiss on my forehead. ‘Close your eyes now and start counting out loud.’

  I do as she asks. On the count of two, I feel a gentle tug on my right arm. She pulls it towards her, opens my hand and places something cool on my palm. Then she closes it again. I keep on counting out loud, wondering what she’s given me. The top feels different to the bottom and sides. Some parts seem to move. Wait. I think I know what it might be.

  I count nine and ten, open my eyes in sync with my hand and see that I was right. It’s a toy car – a silver one – which she’s placed upside down in my palm. I flip it over and see that the windscreen is cracked in a shape that reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on what. I want to ask her why she’s given me this battered old thing, but she’s gone.

  ‘Don’t you know why?’ a female voice says from behind me, making me jump. I turn and see the girl from the swing. She smiles. ‘Hello, Dad. Aren’t you going to give me a hug?’

  As the words leave her mouth, it’s like a power jet flushes my mind. A huge blockage is shifted. For a moment it overwhelms me: the surge of information – of suppressed memories – sweeping back into place. I’m blinded by them. Stupefied.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I, um. I’m fine,’ I manage eventually. ‘I’ve—’

  ‘Remembered?’

  ‘Yes. Did you do that?’

  She shrugs. ‘Some of it was me.’

  I look down and see that I have the hands, arms and body of a man. ‘Oh my God,’ I say, my voice deep once more. I rush forward to give Sam that hug. ‘It’s you. You’re here. I never thought we’d see each other again. How?’

  I stop talking and enjoy the moment in silence: the amazing feeling of having my daughter in my arms. And then my mind starts up again, crying out for answers. Hold on, I think. How can I be here with Sam? She’s dead. She killed herself. How could I have forgotten that? How could I have forgotten who I was?

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, pulling away. ‘What is this place? You are Sam, right? I am Dan, your father?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Sorry, but I had to ask. Everything’s a bit, well, confusing. Was it you I was speaking to before – in the Land Rover? Wait a minute. How did I get here? There was a crash and then I don’t know. What is this place?’

  She shrugs and looks away towards the sea. ‘It is what it is.’

  ‘Listen, Sam. It’s so amazing to see you again. There are no words to convey how much it means to me. It’s a dream come true. But I don’t know what you mean. And as happy as I am right now to be with you, how do I know you really are Sam? How can I be sure you’re not a figment of my imagination? Where am I now? Am I dead? Can this really be the afterlife that I’ve never believed in? No, my mind must have created you. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense to me. I must be unconscious or something. I bet I’m still in the car, aren’t I?’

  ‘Which car?’

  ‘What do you mean? The Land Rover. The one I stole from Miles.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You remember everything?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘So how did you come to stay with Miles?’

  ‘We met one night in the pub. He was looking for a hand with the renovation and I needed somewhere discreet to stay, where I wouldn’t ge
t asked too many questions.’

  ‘Why did you need somewhere discreet?’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘You don’t really remember that, do you? It’s what he told you happened. Like he told you your name was Jack.’

  She has a point. When I think about it, I don’t remember anything before waking up in Miles’s house and him saying I’d banged my head. Well, nothing about Miles or that place. My previous memories are of my old life as Dan: grieving father; separated husband; newspaper editor. So how did I get from one to the other?

  Sam is staring at my right hand. It’s clenched around the gift Gangy gave me – the beaten-up toy car – and, following her cue, I look at it again.

  ‘What’s the last thing you—’

  I gasp before she finishes the sentence. I remember walking out of work, picking up the duct tape and the length of garden hose from that awful flat and driving to the coast. Heading for the clifftop from that family photo. Trying to phone Ruby and Maria to say goodbye but getting no answer. And then …

  I take in the scenery around me. There’s nothing for as far as I can see apart from the two of us, the green grass and a glorious deep blue of merging sea and sky. The smell of warm summer sunshine combined with fresh sea air. The sound of gentle waves lapping against the rocks far below.

  ‘Hold on a minute. Where’s the tree gone?’ I ask. ‘And what about the rope swing?’

  Sam shrugs. ‘You tell me. I think it was a not-so-subtle reminder of how I died.’

  The lightness of the way she speaks of her suicide shocks me. Images of those horrendous moments after I found her lifeless body flash into my mind, tearing my heart out all over again. I want to ask her why – to finally get some answers after all this time – but the thought is overtaken by shameful memories of my own journey to North Wales. I remember how I was planning to follow in her footsteps and end it all. To run away from my problems and leave Maria and Ruby to pick up the pieces. How could I do that to them when I know first-hand the pain it will cause; the scars it will leave? But something’s missing. I can picture myself in the car, almost there, and then the image gets cloudy.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I’m wondering where I am; how I arrived. It’s not real, is it? I don’t understand how Gangy’s here one minute and then she’s not. How I’m in her house and then in the middle of nowhere by the sea. And you. I saw you several times before this: walking along the clifftop; working in the village. Why did you pretend not to know me? Why didn’t you say who you were?’

  She doesn’t answer me. Her eyes fall again on the toy car I’m still holding.

  I sigh. ‘Fine. All the answers are in the palm of my hand. I get it. So I guess I killed myself. Sucked in a load of exhaust fumes, like I was planning to, and now I’m dead. This is the afterlife, right? The one I don’t believe in. This whole time – Miles, the ramshackle house on the cliff – it’s been me kidding myself that I’m still alive. Because how could an atheist believe in life after death? And the airport. Yes, I remember that too: departing to Eindhoven, a city with a name that means “End Lands”. That makes sense now. I guess it was me trying to find a way to accept the truth; an analogy to help me grasp that I’m dead. But wait.’

  I pause to weigh things up. ‘You were there at the airport too, now I think about it. What was all that you said about going back; about how I shouldn’t have been there? And why were you trying to get me away from Miles later on? If I am dead, how come I don’t actually remember killing myself? What’s going on, Sam?’

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand. The one not holding the toy car. ‘Open your eyes,’ she says. ‘It’s not too late.’

  She kisses my cheek and takes a step back. ‘Look at the windscreen.’

  I lift up the car, a miniature version of my own Ford Focus, and turn it so I’m looking directly at the broken windscreen. As I do, it dawns on me what the pattern of the breakage resembles. I look up to tell Sam and everything around me changes.

  It’s dark.

  I gasp for air and there’s a horrible stench: burning chemicals, powdery almost.

  I …

  Spider’s web.

  Glowing clocks.

  Where am I?

  Can’t focus properly.

  Can’t move.

  Trapped.

  ‘Hello, are you back with me?’

  A man’s voice from somewhere behind. It sounds familiar. I want to turn to look, but I can’t move.

  Where am I?

  ‘If you can hear me, I need you to try to stay awake.’

  Spider’s web.

  Glowing clocks.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ the voice asks again. ‘The firefighters have arrived now. We’re going to get you out as soon as we can.’

  Spider’s web.

  Glowing clocks.

  The man lowers his voice, but I can still hear him. ‘What took you guys so long? We need to get him out of here now. I don’t know how badly he’s hurt, but the car looks pretty crushed on that side. I can’t get close enough without risking it tipping any further. He’s mostly been unconscious.’

  No, not a spider’s web. It’s the cracked windscreen of my car. Right in front of me, above the illuminated clocks of my dashboard and the deflated airbags that hide my injured body from view.

  Why can’t I move?

  The accident. I remember.

  I was on my way to kill myself, having waited for the cover of night. I swerved to avoid that man in the road. The tall guy in the long coat; the fluorescent dog lead in his hand. His eyes appeared out of nowhere in my headlights. What the hell was he doing there? Did I kill him?

  Then the red truck sped around the corner, heading straight for me. I lost control, spinning and flipping the car off the road. At that point I must have lost consciousness.

  Someone else says something I can’t make out and then I hear the man again. ‘I arrived just after it happened. I was driving by and stopped to help. The tall bloke being checked over by the paramedics was apparently walking his dog off the lead on the coastal path when it chased something into the road. He went after it – God knows what he was thinking – just as this poor guy came along in one direction and the truck came in the other. I’ve been here with him the whole time. I didn’t dare risk getting into the car, for fear of dislodging it, but I managed to open the boot so I could talk to him; hoping he could hear me. He needs urgent medical treatment.’

  I’m hanging over the side of the cliff, crushed into the front seat of my car. If I listen carefully, I can hear the sea crashing around on the other side of the windscreen. It’s so hot. I’m covered in sweat.

  Burning chemicals.

  Shit. The car’s on fire.

  I don’t want to die.

  Ruby.

  Maria.

  Sam … Gangy?

  Please don’t let me die. I shouldn’t have come. It was a terrible mistake.

  ‘Help,’ I manage to say in a gravelly whisper, my tongue like a sandpaper block.

  ‘Help,’ I try again, louder, although still no one hears me.

  ‘Help!’

  ‘Christ, that’s him,’ the man’s voice says from behind me, moving closer again. ‘Come on. Let’s get him out of here. Hello? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’ The sound comes out weakly; my voice feels strange. ‘Fire! Smell burning.’

  ‘No, don’t panic. There’s no fire. You’ve been in a car crash. It’s the airbag you smell. There’s a chemical reaction when it deploys. Please stay calm. The fire lads are here, but just to get you to safety.’

  His face – his short white hair – appears in the rear-view mirror and I can’t believe my eyes. ‘Miles?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. So I did get through to you! My name is Miles Jackson. I’m a doctor. Well, a retired one. I’ve been with you the whole time and I’ll stay with you.’

  Miles Jackson? I think. What the hell?

  ‘I need you to try and stay awak
e,’ he continues. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Um, Dan. Daniel Evans.’

  ‘Good. That’s great. I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you speak. I want you to keep talking to me, okay? We’ll have you out of there in no time. They’re putting a winch on your car. Once you’re back on the road, we’ll have a proper look at you. Get you to a hospital. Dan? Are you still with me, lad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now sit tight. Don’t try to move about.’

  Talking is an effort. ‘I don’t think I can. Can’t feel my legs. I’m scared.’

  ‘Can you feel your arms?’

  ‘Yes. I think so. But I can’t move them.’

  ‘Don’t panic. Everything will be all right. Keep talking to me, yes?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Head hurts. Think I banged it.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Thirsty. Really hot.’

  ‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘It’s been roasting all day. Don’t worry. We’ll get you some water as soon as you’re back to safety. Do you have a family, Dan?’

  ‘Wife and daughter.’

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Maria and Ruby.’

  ‘Do you have a phone number we can get them on?’

  I tell him the landline, the only number I can remember, although I suspect the main reason he asked for it was to keep me talking.

  ‘Good. We’ll call Maria once you’re safe.’

  ‘If I don’t make it, tell them I love them.’

  ‘Dan, you can do that yourself. You’re going to make it.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  ‘What was that, Dan? I couldn’t hear what you said. You’re staying with me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. Or at least I think I do, but maybe the words never leave my mouth. I suddenly feel so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Miles is shouting something at me that I can’t quite hear.

  And then I’m jolted back awake by a deafening metallic creaking noise.

  The car’s moving.

  It’s sliding downwards.

  I’m finished.

  But no. I got it wrong. I can hear the sound of machinery and shouting from behind me. The car’s moving backwards. They’re pulling me to safety. I’m bumping all over the place for a few moments and then it stops.