Falling to Earth

by Deirdre Palmer

  ‘Regency Crescent, along the front, towards Kemptown. You might know it.’

  Of course she did. Regency Crescent was one of Brighton’s most prestigious addresses, if not the most prestigious. She mustn’t look impressed - she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even if he had admired her work. He probably only rented a leaky garret or something anyway.

  She didn’t know why she was feeling so uncharitable. Tiredness, probably – the result of too many late nights spent drinking wine and reminiscing with Andrea. Then this morning she’d experienced the artistic equivalent of writer’s block, if there was such a thing. An earlier altercation with Gray, ostensibly to do with the folding, or not, of shirts, was still digging painful little holes at the back of her mind.

  There’d been another of those phone calls, too, the kind where no-one spoke, and yet there was someone there, she was certain. It was that kind of silence, a deliberate human pause, not the techy, put-you-on-hold type you got from telesales companies, and dialling 1471 only produced the ‘number withheld’ message.

  It had been a tricky morning all round really and it didn’t look like getting any easier. Regency Crescent and its adjoining streets were chock-a-block with parked vehicles – as if she’d expected anything else. Still, at least she wouldn’t have to hang about. At Jonno’s signal she bumped the Beetle to a standstill, blocking half the road behind her, ran round to the passenger door and levered him out, pretending not to notice his contorted expression as trainer met concrete.

  ‘You’re all right now, then?’ Not that she intended to do anything about it if he wasn’t. She’d delivered him to his flamboyantly porticoed front door and that was all he was getting.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, I’m only on the first floor. Thanks for the lift.’

  Was he being sarcastic? She wouldn’t be surprised. Not that it mattered, now she was shot of him.

  As she joined the seafront traffic she realised he had not once apologised for frightening her out of her wits nor for causing mayhem on her roof terrace nor for disrupting her morning’s work, and anyway, why wasn’t he at work himself instead of careering around the city half-naked?

  She emptied him from her thoughts and let Gray occupy them for the rest of the journey. He’d been lovely last night. They’d gone to the cinema, intending to see a much-hyped drama about diamond thieves or something, but as they queued in the foyer of the multiplex, Juliet’s eyes had strayed to the romantic comedy on the billboard and Gray had smiled and promptly bought tickets for it. He’d hardly fallen asleep at all during the film. Cameron Diaz helped, of course.

  When he phoned tonight she’d be extra nice to him to make up for this morning, even though it was he who had picked a fight in the first place. Not that she’d tried very hard to nip it in the bud - she was keenly aware of that. It was just that she’d felt so disappointed that his good humour during their evening out had not even survived the night.

  He’d be in Southampton by now, at a two-day seminar on life coaching. The irony of this had not escaped her.

  2

  Three days later, Juliet watched Andrea sloshing milk on to Sugar Puffs and then looked at Gray who sat side-saddle at the other end of the table, stirring the yolk of his boiled egg with his spoon. She wished he wouldn’t do that – the side-saddle thing, not the egg thing. It made him look as if he was about to bolt out of the door. Breakfast was never a particularly restful experience as it was.

  Behind her, cupboard doors opened and closed in quick succession.

  ‘Rachel, sit down and have your breakfast properly’.

  ‘Can’t. No time. Mum, can you take me to school and pick up Sarah on the way?’

  ‘Do I have to? Can’t you get the bus?’

  Juliet hated doing the school run. It ate into her morning, the traffic was usually horrendous and there was a perfectly good bus that zipped along the bus lanes and dropped off outside St Hilda’s in plenty of time for registration.

  Rachel halted her raid on the cupboards for likely snacks to bolster up her school lunch and turned to her mother. ‘But we wanted to get there early, Mum. We’ve got geography homework to finish before first lesson, Sarah and me. I said we’d take her.’

  ‘The only reason your mother and I ever went to school early was so we could go the long way round past the boys’ grammar school,’ Andrea said, fishing down the front of her cream silk robe and retrieving a stray Sugar Puff from her cleavage.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Andrea.’ Juliet couldn’t help smiling. She turned back to Rachel.

  ‘According to you, miss, all homework was bang up to date last night, remember?’

  ‘It is. It’s just the stupid map with all the contours and stuff. I had a go but it looks rubbish and so does Sarah’s. We need to find someone who’s done it okay and trace it. Mum, are you taking me or not?’

  ‘Not. Sorry Rache. Ring Sarah and tell her to meet you at the bus stop as usual. Unless Sarah’s mother wants to take you.’

  ‘Of course she can’t take us. She goes to work!’

  ‘Well, pardon me.’ Juliet raised her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Just don’t expect me to be home on time then because I shall probably be in detention.’

  Rachel resumed her circumnavigation of the kitchen, a triangle of Marmite toast held between thumb and forefinger. Caught by the sun, her hair rippled down her back like melting treacle toffee. The regulation tortoiseshell pony-tail clip would be in her pocket and there it would remain until she could see the whites of the prefects’ eyes.

  ‘I’ll take you if you like,’ Andrea said.

  ‘Andrea, she’s being awkward. She doesn’t need a lift and it’ll take you ages to get back. Anyway you aren’t even dressed.’

  ‘How about I drop you off?’ Gray began sweeping up the papers that were spread around his place at the table. ‘I could go that way.’

  Juliet was surprised he’d even been listening.

  ‘Brill. And Sarah?’

  ‘And Sarah.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Rachel transferred the toast to her mouth where it dangled fetchingly from one corner and concentrated on slotting two Penguins and a clingfilm-wrapped cold sausage into the pockets of her rucksack. Mission accomplished, she ate the toast, scooped up Sidney from the windowsill and nuzzled the top of his head. ‘Bye, darling. Be a good boy.’ Dropping the cat back on to the sill and sending up a cloud of brown and ginger fur, she turned to Gray. ‘Come on then.’

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that,’ Juliet said, after Gray had kissed her goodbye and the front door had closed.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Give in to Rachel when I’ve told her no. It sets a precedent.’

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry, Ju, I shouldn’t have stuck my oar in.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s not your fault. You were only trying to help.’

  ‘And Gray wasn’t?’

  Juliet sighed. ‘Yes, of course he was. I’m being mean. He adores Rachel. He’d fetch the top brick off the chimney for her if she asked for it but she’ll run rings round him if he lets her. Rachel changes her story to suit the occasion.’

  Andrea grinned. ‘Like we did.’

  ‘Quite. She was at Sarah’s house last night which means there was more DVD-watching going on than homework because Sarah’s mother doesn’t check on them. Gray prefers to take what Rachel says at face value.’

  Andrea lathered butter on to a piece of toast. ‘Isn’t that easier? Less angst, more peace?’

  Juliet considered. ‘Perhaps, but peace comes at a price. Sooner or later, cows come home to roost.’

  Andrea giggled and bit into the toast. A dab of butter landed on her chin. ‘Chickens roost, not cows.’

  ‘That’s what I meant. More coffee?’ Juliet refilled her own mug.

  ‘No thanks. She looks so like her father. I think that every time I see her.’

  ‘Rachel?’

  ‘She’s the spitting image of Charlton. T
hose big blue eyes, the patrician nose, that glorious hair. Even the way she walks.’

  Andrea spoke as if this was some kind of revelation. Juliet felt slightly miffed.

  ‘She was bound to look like one of us.’ She stood up and started loading the dishwasher.

  ‘Can’t Mrs Doo-da Day do that?’

  ‘Dilys? No, she doesn’t trust dishwashers. She doesn’t think they rinse properly and we’ll all be poisoned by the nasty chemicals in the tablets.’

  ‘We had a gardener like that once. Sheila something. Refused point blank to use the strimmer because it plugged in. Reckoned she wasn’t electrically trained.’

  ‘Did you sack her?’

  ‘Oh no. Declan said if training was what she wanted then training she should have. Next thing I knew, they were up the garden, the pair of them, Sheila gripping the handle of the strimmer for dear life and Declan with his arms round her from behind trying to stop the thing running amok.’ Andrea laughed. Her blonde curls quivered. ‘She was a big strapping girl, Sheila. She never did get the hang of the strimmer though.’

  ‘Ah, but did she get the hang of Declan?’

  ‘Quite possibly. Everyone else did.’ Andrea pulled a face.

  ‘I was joking.’ Juliet pushed the button on the dishwasher. ‘Not funny. Sorry, Andrea.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not. He did me a favour. I won’t be under your feet for too long, Ju, I promise.’

  ‘You know you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like,’ Juliet said, instantly half-regretting her words, but Andrea wouldn’t take advantage, and what were best friends for?

  Andrea’s features composed themselves into serious mode. She rested her elbows on the table, hands cupping her chin. In Juliet’s experience that meant only one thing – there was something on Andrea’s mind, something which was at this very moment tunnelling its way up from the hectic interior of her brain and heading straight for the surface like a mole on speed. Juliet had a shrewd idea what it was – it was a miracle they’d got this far without the subject cropping up. She waited.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Andrea tapped the back of the chair next to hers.

  Juliet unhooked the towel and wiped her hands. ‘No, I’m all right. Must get going in a minute.’

  ‘Please yourself. I’m going to say it anyway. What’s up with you and Gray? And don’t say nothing because you can cut the air with a lino knife when he’s about. Besides, you’ve got that look about you. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. What look? When before?’

  ‘Sort of guilty but defiant at the same time, the same look you had when you were with Charlton, just after you found out you were up the duff. But then you never were cut out to play second fiddle to anybody, and quite right too.’

  Juliet shot Andrea a look. ‘You were the one who kept telling me to marry him! You and my mother, of course.’

  ‘Yes, well, that was about the only thing your mother and I ever agreed on but since you’d already made up your mind we were rather wasting our breath. Anyway we’re not talking about Charlton Cashmere-Underpants Dane…’

  ‘He did not wear cashmere underpants!’

  Andrea widened her eyes. ‘You do surprise me… we’re talking about Graeme Fit-as-a-Butcher’s-Dog Peach-Holbury, which, incidentally, is one of life’s unfairnesses because it was always me who was going to be double-barrelled, not you. Remember?’

  ‘Swap if you like.’ Juliet pulled a face.

  ‘Don’t be daft. Seriously, Ju, what’s going on? You shouldn’t bottle things up. It’s not good for you.’

  Bottling up was not an option as far as Andrea was concerned. Juliet sighed and sank into the chair. She didn’t want this, not now - not ever, if she was honest. She didn’t want to talk about it because once she did she would have to face up to the fact that Gray had finally emerged from the rosy, half-awake state of the permanently love-struck, looked at her in the cold light of reality and found her wanting – in what respect wanting, she wouldn’t care to hazard a guess because of the number of options it suggested – and that was why he was so damn moody all the time. There was no other explanation.

  But she couldn’t just let him walk away, could she? Not without putting up a fight. And as for letting someone go if you really loved them - only a saint could do that and she was about as far away from canonization as you could get. Besides, there was Rachel to consider. She’d already uprooted her daughter from one family set-up - before she was born, admittedly – and she wouldn’t put her through that kind of upheaval again, not unless she really had to.

  ‘It’s me that’s not good for me.’

  Andrea frowned. ‘That’s very cryptic. I don’t do cryptic. What do you mean, it’s you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Juliet waved a dismissive hand. ‘You’re right, we aren’t exactly love’s young dream but it’s only a phase. It can’t be entirely Gray’s fault he’s so bad-tempered and I’m sure he doesn’t mean to shut me out but it can be a little bit hurtful sometimes.’

  ‘Well, he needs his card marking if you ask me, and I know just the person to do it.’ Andrea sat bolt upright, folded her arms and gave a little nod.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  Juliet wagged a finger at Andrea, though she knew she wasn’t serious about speaking to Gray. At least, she hoped she wasn’t. No, she was just being a friend, encouraging her to talk, but all Juliet wanted right now was to go upstairs, shut the door and submerge herself in work, let it wash her brain-cells clean of all the niggly painful bits. She managed a smile but the sadness lingered behind it like sea mist.

  ‘Gray’s probably working too hard,’ she said. ‘No, correct that, he’s definitely working too hard and he’s tired and stressed out and I’m getting steamed up over nothing. It’s not as if he’s actually done anything awful.’

  ‘Whereas Declan was endlessly obliging on that score.’

  ‘I know. I’m lucky in that respect.’

  Andrea got up from the table, re-tying the belt of her robe. ‘Not thinking of jacking it in, are you?’

  ‘No, of course I’m not.’

  She didn’t add: ‘But Gray might well be.’

  To Juliet’s relief, the rabbits were shaping up nicely. Clad in back-to-front baseball caps, cut-off dungarees or carrot-logoed T-shirts they hit the right note, cute but not cuddly, funny but not silly. She had just begun sketching in some of the background when the door bell sounded.

  Ten to one. It could be Andrea, forgotten her key, which was a nuisance because she’d planned to work straight through after a late start this morning. Not that Andrea would expect her to down tools but the lure of a nice chatty lunch might be just too tempting.

  She ran downstairs, opened the front door and found herself facing a jungle of huge, spiky leaves that all but filled the doorway.

  ‘Good. You’re in. I’ll have to put this down before I drop it.’

  The monster plant in its massive pot descended, revealing Jonno. Juliet closed her eyes for a second. At least he’d arrived at the front door and fully dressed. She supposed she should be grateful for that.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Right first time. Let me through then.’

  He picked up the plant and launched both himself and it into the hallway, forcing Juliet to back into the doorway of the sitting room.

  ‘This is the right sort, isn’t it? The same as the one that got mangled up?’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t need to. Really it wasn’t necessary ...’

  Jonno was already half way up the stairs, the yucca snagging the wall as it passed and threatening to impale the virginal bosom of one of Gray’s turgid Burne-Jones angels. Juliet gave a little laugh.

  ‘That’s better,’ Jonno said from the top of the stairs. ‘For a moment there I thought you weren’t pleased to see me.’

  ‘As if,’ Juliet muttered under her breath.

  By the time she caught up with Jonno, the yucca, at least three times bigger than t
he original, was installed on the roof terrace and Jonno was propped nonchalantly against the wall of the house, arms folded and ankles crossed. He was wearing narrow, faded jeans with a carefully ripped hole above one knee and a white t-shirt which clung to the contours of his impeccably-toned torso. The t-shirt had a green stain just below the left shoulder, as if someone had swiped it with a felt tip.

  ‘Thanks for the plant. It’s a beauty,’ Juliet said, trying to sound gracious, ‘but you really didn’t have to.’

  ‘I know I didn’t.’

  He spoke with such conviction that she felt compelled to ask: ‘So why bother then, if you know?’

  ‘It’s bad manners to call on a lady empty-handed. My mother taught me that.’

  ‘That supposes you were coming anyway.’

  ‘Didn’t you think I would?’ He sounded almost hurt.

  ‘Of course not. Why would I? Look, I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing but...’

  ‘No games. Just making amends for the other day. Anything wrong with that?’

  Juliet shrugged. ‘I suppose not.’ She considered adding that if she’d never seen him again for the whole of her life that would have been fine by her but she couldn’t be that mean, not when he’d just lugged half a rainforest up her stairs, and with a dodgy ankle.

  ‘Are you quite sure you weren’t expecting me?’ Jonno’s eyes searched for, and found, hers.

  She looked away. ‘No, I wasn’t. I already told you.’ Really, he was starting to annoy her now.

  ‘Then I guess that was just wishful thinking on my part.’

  Juliet frowned. If he was anywhere near her age, or older, she would have no difficulty in interpreting this conversation, tortuous though it might be, but in her estimation he was at least eight years her junior, which made him early-thirties at the most. He had a kind of bounce about him, a youthful springiness that put her in mind of the rabbits she’d been drawing. In fact, she thought, her mind wandering off track, he might have made a useful model if he’d shown up a bit sooner.