Falling to Earth
by Deirdre Palmer
Copyright © 2012 by Deirdre Palmer.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Juliet Cole, single mother and illustrator of children’s books, believes her live-in partner, Gray, is the love of her life - until one day everything starts to change. Gray, it seems, has a secret - only he is not about to share it with Juliet.
It doesn’t help that the house’s other occupants - Juliet’s twelve-year-old daughter, Rachel, and Andrea, Juliet’s best friend - are also acting strangely. Then there are the silent phone calls, the card addressed to no-one, the feeling of being watched...
As Juliet struggles to understand what is happening under her own roof, she is forced to rethink all she knows about Gray, and about herself. If the two of them are to rebuild their relationship and move forward they must learn to trust one another again. But can trust, once lost, ever be regained?
1
It was one of those stand-still moments when sight and mind were hell-bent on racing away from one another, the struggle to reunite them as fruitless as trying to force a jigsaw puzzle piece into the wrong space.
The few seconds it took for Juliet to align her senses and coerce them into working order seemed interminable while her breathing continued to rise and crash in thunderous tidal waves. She was sure he must be able to hear it. He? The groan that had accompanied the trio of heavy thumps had sounded distinctly male. Flattened against the inside wall of her studio, arms spread-eagled like a cornered fugitive, she shuffled sideways towards the glass door that gave onto the roof terrace and risked another look. Yes, it was a man, lying flat on his back on the far side of the terrace, his arms and legs forming a star shape on the tiles. Perhaps he had lapsed into unconsciousness. He might even be… dead. Her heart soaked up this notion and drummed a faster tattoo. No, no, he moved, she was sure of it. She shrank back, wiped her damp palms on her jeans and took in a deep, slow lungful of air.
There was no-one else at home. The houses on either side were unoccupied at this time of day. Her mobile was on charge downstairs. There was a landline in the bedroom but it would take too long - anything might happen while she was gone. Heavy object, heavy object... she cast her eyes about the room and made a lunge for the only contender, a pottery mug. The pencils volleyed across the desk as she ejected them. Taking a firm grip on the mug’s handle, she edged back towards the door and peered out. The intruder raised his head and peered curiously back. Having hoisted himself into a half-sitting position, shoulders resting against the stone parapet and arms nonchalantly folded, he gave every appearance of a casual sunbather. The absence of clothing on his top half did nothing to dispel the impression.
Juliet inhaled sharply as indignation quelled panic, enough for her to reach for the door handle and lower it. The door opened an inch before she let go of the handle as if it was red hot. This was plain stupid, wasn’t it? She could hardly go out there and tackle him single-handed. Even sitting down she could tell he was much taller than she was and, judging by his physique, a good deal stronger. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘Hello,’ he said, widening his eyes at her.
Hello? She’d give him hello. She opened the door fully and picked her way through shards of smashed terracotta, severed spikes of yucca and dark crumbs of strewn compost, stopping in front of him at a cautious distance and fixing him with a challenging stare.
‘Excuse me, but who are you and what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Ah.’ He inclined his head towards the debris. ‘I seem to have made a bit of a mess. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’
‘No, I bet it wasn’t,’ Juliet muttered under her breath.
He started to get to his feet. Instinctively she took a step back, preparing to bolt indoors, but he drew in his breath and sank down again, pulled up the leg of his jogging trousers and began feeling around his ankle. ‘Ooh, aahh, ow!’
‘Look,’ Juliet said, wondering if he was faking the ankle, ‘the mess is the least of your problems, believe me. I asked you who you were and what you were doing so come on, let’s have it – before I call the police, that is – and by the way if you thought the house was empty, then as you can see, it’s not.’
She thought of bolstering this up by inventing a couple of Rottweilers that were aching to be let off their chains but since her unwanted visitor seemed to be temporarily immobilised she was beginning to feel more in control of the situation.
‘I think it’s broken.’ Prodding the ankle which was now discernibly puffy, he gazed up at her as if he was actually expecting sympathy.
Juliet drew herself up to her full five-foot-five and put on her haughtiest expression. ‘I should think that’s highly unlikely.’
He laughed.
Juliet bristled. ‘I don’t see anything to laugh about and you still haven’t said what you’re doing on my property.’
‘There’s no need to be so frosty. I’m perfectly harmless, and unarmed as it is happens.’ He slapped his flattened trouser pockets. ‘Mine’s milk and two sugars, by the way.’
‘What?’
He nodded towards the mug she was holding and grinned. Juliet drew in her breath and glared at him.
‘You’ve got a damn cheek! You crash-land on my roof terrace, smash up my yucca, and now I’ve thwarted your pathetic attempt at breaking-and-entering or whatever else you had in mind you don’t seem to be taking this whole thing at all seriously. Now, either I go straight back in and call the police or you tell me who you are, what you’re doing on my property and how you got up here in the first place.’
In fact it was the answer to the last bit she most wanted. He didn’t look like a burglar or a random rapist and since he’d made no attempt to escape he wasn’t acting like someone with criminal intentions. The roof terrace, however, was at first floor level with no access other than through the house.
‘That’s an awful lot of questions.’ He regarded Juliet with a faintly amused expression. ‘This may take some time. I’d sit down if I were you.’
‘I’m fine where I am, thank you.’
‘Oh go on. I’m getting a crick in my neck.’
Juliet pushed her hair back off her face and, after a moment’s hesitation, scuffed a section of tiles free of soil with her sandalled foot and sat down at what she considered to be a reasonably safe distance. Honestly, whose house was this, anyway?
‘I’m Jonno.’ He held out his hand which she declined to take. He shrugged. ‘And you are?’
‘Who I am is neither here nor there. This is not, if you remember, a social occasion.’
‘Cool house. I’ve always fancied a Victorian villa myself. Clifton something, isn’t it?’
‘Gardens – which, if you’d called in the conventional way, via the front door, you’d know.’
‘Ah,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘but I’m not a caller. I happened to arrive on your terrace by accident – well perhaps not completely by accident ...’
‘Oh, come on! We’re on the first floor, if you hadn’t noticed. What did you do – drop out of a helicopter?’
He shook his head slowly. He was mak
ing fun of her – she could see it in his eyes. She’d give him one more minute to come up with a plausible explanation and that was it, she was calling the police and he could take his chances with them.
‘Right, this is it. Listen carefully because questions will be asked. The way I got up here was through a series of basic moves – a precision jump, a down-wall spiral, a dash vault, and a couple of cat leaps - all of which were faultlessly executed, until I got to the last one which was when that thing threw me because I didn’t see it behind the wall.’ He jabbed a thumb towards the broken plant.
Spirals? Cat leaps? Oh my God. Juliet’s heart-rate increased again and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. He’s stark staring raving bonkers and I’m alone with him and not a soul within screaming distance. Humour him, her inner voice, the one with the modicum of common sense, told her. Right.
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she said, tilting her head to one side and fastening on what she hoped was a politely enquiring smile as her hand crept towards the mug she’d put down. At the same time she conducted a mental search for the key to the roof terrace door, saw it in her mind’s eye in the desk drawer, and began a rapid calculation of how long it would take her to get to her feet, make a run for it and lock him out. Too long, probably, even allowing for her potential pursuer’s lack of working lower limbs.
He smiled back. ‘They’re parkour moves. I’m a traceur.’
This was getting worse. Juliet’s anxiety level zoomed up the scale. She hoped it didn’t show. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me there.’
‘Free-running?’
‘Oh! Yes, I’ve heard of free-running.’ She relaxed a little. Why couldn’t he have said that in the first place? She’d seen a TV programme about free-runners and been amazed at the seemingly impossible distances they leapt, at roof-top level as well as on the ground. A funny kind of sport, she’d thought at the time.
‘Don’t worry, most people don’t know the proper terms,’ Jonno said.
‘Well you obviously thought I might otherwise you wouldn’t have thrown them into the conversation. Unless you wanted to show off, of course.’
‘Don’t be like that. I can tell you all about it if you’re interested.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I couldn’t care less. There’s one thing you can explain though – this is private property. Aren’t you supposed to get permission or something?’
‘Understandable you might think that, but no.’
‘No? That can’t be right, surely.’
‘Parkour’s no more illegal than walking down the street. You can go just about anywhere unless there’s a No Trespassers sign or whoever owns the property asks you to leave.’
‘Is that so?’
He nodded, seemingly unaware of the hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘If I hadn’t made that small miscalculation I’d have been over and gone before you’d noticed. Usually I stick to the seafront when I’m not with the group. I started off on the front today, then I made a detour - there’s a row of garages off one of the squares and from there you get to a wall with a railing on top...’
Juliet faked a yawn. Jonno grinned. ‘OK, I’m coming to it. After the garages I got to some business premises with a flat roof – a print shop or something - and that took me on to the back wall of the house at the end of your road.’
‘You mean you walked along the tops of the garden walls all the way up here?’
‘Ran more than walked. If you walk you fall off. I knew I couldn’t make it right to the end so I turned round.’
‘And then you spotted my terrace and decided to make another detour.’
‘Couldn’t resist.’
‘But it’s a heck of a distance from the wall. It’s a wonder you didn’t break your neck, let alone my plant pot!’
‘I thought about taking it from your shed roof but I couldn’t tell how solid it was.’
Juliet whooshed in her breath. ‘Oh, so not content with doing a tightrope act along my garden wall you’d have jumped about on the roof of my shed as well, given half a chance, which, for your information, is not a shed but a Wendy house. You could have gone straight through it!’
‘That’s what I thought. What’s a Wendy house?’
What was he, simple or something? Everyone knew what a Wendy house was… ah. Teasing brown eyes captured hers. She looked away. If this was how he got his kicks, inconveniencing total strangers and playing silly games with them, there couldn’t be much else going on in his life, could there? She relented a little, hoping at the same time she wouldn’t have to indulge his schoolboy pranks for much longer.
‘As it happens we do use it as a shed. It was my daughter’s but she’s twelve now, too old to play house. Look, never mind all that. Isn’t it time you were on your way? I am actually working – or I was until you decided to pay a visit.’
Now that she was safe from rape and pillage - as far as she could tell anyway - Juliet felt the undeniable pull of her self-imposed deadline. There was no time for a walk now, or a nap, both of which she’d been contemplating before this madman showed up. Rabbits wouldn’t draw themselves, not even bad ones, and they had been bad, all of them. Two hours she’d spent this morning, covering the pages of her sketch pad with enough rabbits to populate the South Downs and not one of the little blighters seemed right for the story, the text of which had lain accusingly at her elbow.
‘You work from home then?’
‘Yes, so if you could just take off again or whatever it is you do, I can get on.’
Jonno bowed his head, raising his eyes to meet Juliet’s. ‘That may present something of a problem.’ He lifted his right leg for her inspection and cautiously lowered it again, his mouth forming a silent ‘O’ for added effect.
‘You haven’t even tried yet,’ Juliet said, in her best no-nonsense voice. She got to her feet and extended a hand. ‘Come on.’
Once Jonno was more or less upright and leaning heavily on her for support, it was obvious he was in no fit state to leap off any parapets. In fact, she thought as she manhandled him through the door whilst trying not to notice the way his hip-bone was pressing unnecessarily hard against her side, he probably wouldn’t even be able to leave in the conventional way without assistance. She resigned herself to yet more wasted time.
Jonno continued to lean on Juliet as his eyes searched the room, taking in the shelves crammed with paints, brushes and pencils, the jumble of frames and canvasses, the desk with the sloping drawing board and the easel beneath the skylight.
‘You’re an artist.’
Juliet raised her eyes. ‘Give the man a coconut.’
‘Cool studio.’
He let go of her and half-hopped over to the wall she used as a pin-board for cuttings, photos and random pieces of work.
‘You’re privileged. I don’t usually allow anyone in here. Not that I’ve got any choice in your case.’
Ignoring the dig, he examined the signature on one of her drawings. ‘Juliet Cole. Is that you then?’
‘Yes, now ...’
‘Oh, wow. This is wicked.’ He placed a reverent finger on a water-colour of a fairground carousel, turned round and nearly over-balanced. Juliet caught him and propped him up against the desk.
His open admiration of her work unnerved her slightly. At the same time, an involuntary dart of pleasure passed through her. It seemed ages since Gray had taken more than so much as a passing interest in her work. There was a time, not so long ago, when he was hardly through the door before he’d be asking how her day had been, demanding, and delighting in, every detail. He was always so eager, so pleased to see her, even if they’d only been apart for a matter of hours, that she’d had to play-fight him off.
And now it had all changed, quite suddenly, it seemed. He still sought her out when he came home, kissed her, gave her a hug, but his smile was missing something, as if part of his mind was elsewhere. She’d wanted to ask if there was anything wrong - so many times she’d wanted to, and sur
ely after two years they should be able to talk freely to one another – but this seemed different, somehow, and she’d never found the right moment. Perhaps she asked too much of him. She couldn’t expect to be the sole focus of his attention all the time, could she? The fact that she probably did was one of her shortcomings, not his.
‘This is children’s stuff. Is that what you do?’ Jonno broke into her thoughts, reminding her of her more immediate problem. He’d manoeuvred himself round the desk and was leafing through her sketch book.
‘Book illustrations, mainly. In between those there are designs for birthday cards, nursery friezes, that kind of thing.’
‘Does it pay well?’
Juliet flinched inwardly at the personal question but Jonno’s expression showed he had no idea he might have overstepped the mark.
‘It can do, as long as the work keeps coming in. It wasn’t always the case. I struggled a bit when I first went freelance.’
A bit? That was an understatement. Juliet’s mind winged back to the leaky, wind-whistling second floor flat from which Rachel emerged each day, immaculately dressed in the brown uniform of the private school that her father insisted on, and paid for. The rest of the time she wore her cousin’s hand-me-downs, Juliet’s clothes came from charity shops and once they’d lived on baked beans for a month because the electricity bill was due. Her parents would have helped, as would Rachel’s father, had she asked, but it had been important for her to do it on her own. They were happy times, though, in their way. Uncomplicated.
‘Look, I really do have to get on now,’ she said. ‘Will you be able to get yourself home?’
Jonno glanced down at his ankle. He seemed to be hiding a smile.
‘I’d get a cab but I’ve come out without any money.’
He would have. ‘Right then, I’ll give you a lift home.’ It seemed marginally the better option, simpler than parting up with hard cash and having to negotiate long-winded, embarrassing arrangements for its return.
Thank heaven for residents’ parking, she thought, as, having made it downstairs and out of the front door with Jonno clinging to her as if they were in a three-legged race, she swung the yellow Beetle out of the bay. ‘Now I suppose you’re going to tell me you live in Worthing or somewhere else miles away.’
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