Falling to Earth

by Deirdre Palmer

  ‘No-one knows yet exactly what’s happened here. As you can see, there’s a fair amount of activity behind me but the emergency services are on the scene and they seem to have everything under control.’

  Juliet followed the reporter’s line of sight to a tube station entrance with smoke pumping steadily from it. Figures scurried about, a number of them wearing uniforms and luminous jackets. Her heart gave an almighty thump as her eyes were drawn to the banner moving along the bottom of the screen.

  Breaking news: at around eleven fifteen this morning fire broke out in a tunnel within the London underground. No further details are yet known but the possibility of an explosion having taken place has not been ruled out.

  The reporter was saying something about stifling conditions and through the smoke Juliet could just decipher the name of the station- Embankment.

  Oh my God. Gray.

  Embankment, by the Thames, on the way to - her throat tightened – South Bank University? Yes, it would be. She’d lived in London long enough to know her way around the rail networks. London Bridge was the obvious choice of main line station from Brighton if you were going south of the river but Gray usually avoided it because the trains were old and draughty. He always went to Victoria, then took the underground.

  She closed her eyes for a second, opening them again just as the camera panned along the line of ambulances and fire tenders. Stretchers were being manoeuvred into position on the pavement but there seemed to be no call for them. That didn’t mean anything though. What the hell was happening? Explosion? That would indicate a terrorist attack, surely.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. Gray’s probably nowhere near it. She put her plate down on the floor and concentrated her thoughts. Eleven fifteen, they said. Gray was due at South Bank at eleven thirty, so even if he had taken that route, the chances were he had already arrived. But what if he hadn’t? Delays on trains and tubes were commonplace – there was no guarantee he hadn’t been held up somewhere along the way.

  She would ring him. No, hang on a minute – she mustn’t jump the gun. Find out first if there was any chance she’d got it wrong. She ran out to the kitchen and looked at the pin-board where Gray always displayed the details of his whereabouts. Nothing with today’s date on it. Nothing about South Bank.

  She tore upstairs, grabbed her mobile phone and ran, panting, back downstairs, not wanting to miss what was happening on the screen. She tried Gray’s number. His phone wasn’t switched on. She cut off before his voicemail played and took a deep breath. Al. She would ring Al. He’d know where Gray was. No reply, only Al’s recorded message. She punched in the office number. Again, just a message. Al’s home number…no she couldn’t ring there – she didn’t want to worry Karina, not in her condition.

  She wished Andrea was in. At the same time she was glad that Rachel wasn’t – she’d gone to a theme park with Debbie’s family. Fear rising nauseatingly inside her, she read the breaking news banner again but there was nothing new on it. With one eye on the screen, she dashed through to the dining room, retrieved the London guide from the drawer of Gray’s desk and flicked through the pages.

  South Bank University - there it was. The nearest tube station was Elephant and Castle. Back on the sofa, she ran her finger along the tube map. To get to Elephant and Castle from Victoria, Gray would have had to travel along the Circle or District and change at Embankment on to the Bakerloo.

  She tried his number again, the phone sweaty in her hand. This time she waited till the beep came after his recorded message. ‘Gray, ring me as soon as you get this, please.’

  Her head felt muzzy with the effort of holding back the tears. She gave it a little shake to clear it. This was stupid. Thousands travelled the underground every day and came to no harm. When you weighed up the odds, the chances of Gray being caught up in a terrorist attack, or whatever it was, were pretty remote. But not impossible.

  The front door opened and closed - Andrea. Thank goodness.

  ‘Have you tried ringing the university? They should be able to tell you if he’s there,’ Andrea said, after Juliet had hyperventilated her way through the story.

  Juliet brightened. ‘No, I didn’t think of that. Do you think they’d tell me?’

  ‘No harm in trying if it would put your mind at rest. Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘Oh, would you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll use my phone in case Gray’s trying to ring you.’

  Several minutes later, having apparently been put through to various places and repeated her story umpteen times, Andrea stage-whispered: ‘Talk about not knowing your arse from your elbow.’

  A little pause, then: ‘Graeme Peach-Holbury. Yes, Peach. No, I don’t know exactly what he’s doing there but it must be something to do with management training... Well, what about life coaching? Is there anything under that?’ She raised her eyes at Juliet. ‘Yes, I see… and you will let me know if you find out anything ... you’ve got the number? … Thank you.’

  ‘Has anything happened yet? Haven’t they put number up for people to ring? They usually do, don’t they?’

  Too much on edge to sit still any longer, Juliet had been in the garden, doing a bit of dead-heading.

  Andrea put down the magazine she’d been reading. ‘Ju, honey, these things always look a lot worse than they are and you know what these media types are like, building a huge drama out of every little thing. It’s probably just a fire in a rubbish bin or something. Anyway, the news stopped ages ago. If it was anything dreadful they’d keep broadcasting.’

  ‘I suppose so. Shall I make us some more tea?’

  ‘No thanks, not unless you want one. What about a glass of wine instead? I’ll get it.’

  Juliet smiled, for the first time since this morning. Dear Andrea. Whatever would she have done without her today? Gray’d had it now. She wasn’t going to ask her to leave and that was that.

  ‘Perhaps a bit later. I still think Gray might have rung me. Even if he wasn’t on the tube he must have realised something was going on. Word gets around – the cab drivers know everything.’

  Her mobile phone rang. She grabbed it and clicked the button.

  ‘It’s me. I’ll be home in about twenty minutes. I only just got your message.’

  ‘Oh Gray, thank heavens! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’m all right,’ Gray said, after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘So where are you? On the train?’

  ‘Train? No, I told you, I’m nearly home.’

  ‘Were you anywhere near the fire? I’ve been worried out of my mind ...’

  ‘What fire?’ Gray’s voice sounded breathy, as if he was walking.

  ‘In the underground. They thought there’d been an explosion or something. It’s been on the news.’

  Another little silence, then: ‘Don’t know anything about that. I wasn’t on the underground.’

  ‘How did you get to the university then?’

  ‘Uni ... ? Oh, by taxi. I got a taxi. Yes, that’s it.’

  ‘But I thought you always used the underground. So you weren’t on the tube at all then?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I’ve already told you. Look Juliet, I’ve had a hell of a day so please can we cut the cross-examination. I’ll see you soon. Bye.’

  12

  ‘Your go.’ Gray swept the dice towards Juliet with one hand, the other creeping up under her skirt beneath the table and giving her thigh a squeeze.

  She gave a little laugh. Gray grinned widely back. For one who was officially in disgrace he had been remarkably chipper all week, making it all the more difficult for her to maintain the frostiness he surely deserved for causing her so much unnecessary worry. Nothing had been said but he knew, of course he did. He knew he should have phoned her earlier, let her know he was safe. Only if he’d travelled half way across London and all the way back to Brighton wearing a blindfold and earplugs could he not have picked up on the tu
be incident, even if it had turned out to be a bit of rubbish in a corner that had caught fire, because they hadn’t known that at the time, had they? Still, it was no use dwelling on it. She would put it behind her and forgive him and he should thank his lucky stars she had such a generous nature.

  ‘Mum?’

  Juliet looked at Rachel, who was studiously squaring up the red plastic house she’d just purchased and placed triumphantly on Park Lane. She knew that tone – it was the one her daughter used when she wanted to get her own way.

  ‘Mmm?’ Juliet tapped round the squares with the little silver iron. Why did she always have to be the iron while Gray was the top hat and Rachel the dog? Perhaps it was because she was a relative stranger to the real thing.

  ‘Do I have to come to Dorset with you and Gray next weekend?’

  ‘Rent, please,’ Andrea said. Juliet swore under her breath and slapped a sheaf of little coloured notes in front of Andrea for the third time in a row. ‘Of course you’re coming with us, Rache. Why wouldn’t you?’

  Rachel looked up, eyes wide. ‘But I don’t want to go, not now. I’ve got stuff to do, important stuff. I can stay here with Andrea, can’t I, Andrea?’

  ‘Leave me out of this.’ Andrea glanced from Juliet to Gray, whose eyes were firmly on the board. ‘That was a double,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Throw again.’

  Retrieving the dice, she popped them back in their pot and held it with her thumb over the top. ‘You don’t have to come, no, but I wish you would. We haven’t spent much time together this holiday and Lizzie and Martin do look forward to seeing you.’

  Juliet felt unaccountably miffed. It shouldn’t matter that much and she wasn’t sure why it did, except that it seemed important - for her, for Gray, for all of them - that normality should prevail, normality in this case meaning that all three of them went to Dorset. Gray’s parents would be disappointed, too. They were very fond of Rachel and they were the closest she had to grandparents. Juliet’s mother had died when Rachel was nine, her father eighteen months ago, and Charlton’s parents hadn’t set eyes on their granddaughter since she was two weeks old – their choice, their loss.

  It wasn’t as if the senior Peach-Holburys were decrepit – far from it. Having sold the house Gray had been brought up in, a sturdy Edwardian villa on the edge of a West Sussex country town, they’d bought a converted barn in Dorset, then proceeded to cavort around the world at every opportunity. Their most recent adventure had taken in Los Angeles, Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. When they were home, Martin renovated classic cars and showed them off at rallies and Lizzie organised outings for the ‘elderlies’ in the village, many of whom were years younger than she was.

  ‘I know, and I like seeing them too. It’s just this time I’d rather stay here. I haven’t even started on my history project yet, or read boring old Jane Eyre.’

  ‘Well, take it with you.’ Honestly, did her daughter think she was born yesterday, pleading pressure of school work to get out of a trip she usually jumped at?

  ‘You just said I didn’t have to go.’

  Rachel chewed the corner of her ‘get out of jail free’ card and threw her mother a challenging look. Juliet sighed and looked at Gray for support but for some reason, he wasn’t playing ball.

  ‘She needn’t come if she doesn’t want to, as long as Andrea doesn’t mind looking after her.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Andrea said, then added: ‘If that’s what’s decided.’

  ‘Come on, Juliet. Throw.’ Gray tapped the table.

  Juliet released the dice. There was a deep, circular ridge in her thumb where it had pressed into the pot. ‘I can’t think what could be so important that you can’t spare a couple of days to come and see Martin and Lizzie. It’ll be beautiful in Dorset, miles better than mouldering away in Brighton all weekend.’

  Rachel moved Juliet’s iron for her and passed her two hundred pounds from the bank for passing ‘Go.’ ‘It’s not as if they’re my proper grandparents or anything.’

  Ouch! Juliet sneaked a look at Gray but he didn’t seem the least bit fazed. At least Rachel had the grace to colour up a bit.

  ‘Well, all right, as long as you ring Lizzie and Martin and explain, and make sure you have a nice long chat with them.’

  Rachel perked up. ‘Of course I will, Mum. I’ll do it this evening.’

  ‘Good. I’ll buy that, Old Kent Road.’

  ‘You can’t. Andrea already owns it. My turn I think.’ Gray threw the dice.

  Rachel counted round the board. ‘Bond Street. How lucky is that? Want to buy it?’

  ‘No, I’ll pass, thanks.’

  ‘No? But it’s worth a fortune! I’d snap it up if it were me.’ Rachel shook her head in astonishment and retrieved the dice from the board.

  Andrea turned to Gray. ‘This isn’t really your sort of game, is it, Monopoly?’

  He frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘You don’t want to own it all.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose I do.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into Rachel, other than delinquent hormones, that is. She usually loves staying at the barn.’ Juliet looked into the dressing table mirror at Gray who was sitting up in bed reading a book of Victorian ghost stories. ‘Why did you take her side, anyway? They are your parents, after all.’

  ‘Me? I take the line of least resistance.’ Gray smiled into the mirror. Line of least resistance? Since when? ‘Anyway, it’ll be a chance for Andrea to make herself useful for a change.’

  Juliet held her breath, half expecting him to follow this up with a reference to Andrea’s impending departure, but nothing came. She breathed again, squeezed cream from a tiny tube on to her fingertip and applied it carefully to the delicate skin below her eyes – she was sure she had an extra couple of lines that weren’t there before.

  ‘I just thought it would be more fun if we all went to Dorset together. I do hope Rachel’s not going to turn into an awful stroppy teenager – no more than she is already, that is.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ Gray said. ‘We should take some more time off before she goes back to school, have some days out, the three of us, providing it wouldn’t wreck said stroppy teenager’s street cred to be seen out with a couple of old fogeys.’

  Juliet lathered on hand cream. ‘If we’re treating her I’m sure she’d risk it.’

  ‘We could go away at October half term, couldn’t we? New York, perhaps, or somewhere hot. What do you think?’

  Juliet spun round on the stool and looked at Gray properly. Clearly delighted with his own idea, he sat bolt upright, waiting eagerly for her response. She gave a little laugh. Gray screwed up his face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. That’s a fantastic idea. Rachel would love it, and so would I.’

  Gray let his book slide to the floor with a thump and switched off his lamp.

  ‘Since I seem to be back in favour I’d better make the most of it while it lasts. Are you coming to bed now?’

  ‘When I’ve finished beautifying myself.’

  ‘Good grief, I can’t wait that long.’

  Juliet threw the hairbrush at him.

  The next morning, Juliet sat back from her easel and ran a critical eye over the illustration she was working on. A full-pager, it depicted the Court of the Undead, the inner sanctum of the Mansion of Souls, which happened to be the title of the book. It wasn’t anywhere near as creepy as it sounded – it had a comic, spoof-like quality, just the kind of quirky story Rachel would have lapped up at or nine or ten.

  Since she’d begun this assignment, inspiration, gleaned directly from the Spanish mountains and the Alhambra, had flowed from her brain almost faster than her fingers could translate it and the stack of illustrations, one of which would be chosen for the book’s cover, was growing at a satisfying rate. The thrill she felt each time she spotted one of her covers in a bookshop had never diminished over time and she hoped it never would. Complacency fossilises talent her ar
t teacher at college had said. She’d never forgotten that.

  As she worked, the idea of taking part in Open House during the Brighton Festival skittered around the perimeter of her thoughts. She’d thought about it last year, but that was as far as it went. Turning the house into a temporary gallery for the public to come along and view would be quite a lot of work, although she could use some of her existing stuff – it wouldn’t all have to be new. The Brighton Festival, held in April, drew all kinds of people to the city, including the knowledgeable and the influential. The wilder parts of her imagination threw up an image of some art-world household name clutching his chest and gasping at the enormity of her talent, offering her a string of commissions on the spot. Smiling to herself, she indulged the fantasy, extending it to write-ups in the review pages of the Sundays and invitations to exclusive arty gatherings.

  It was while she was deciding what to wear when she went up to receive her outstanding achievement award that she realised her mobile was vibrating. She picked it up... something purple by Vivian Westwood, and vertiginous snakeskin Louboutins...

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Oh.’ The applause from the auditorium died on its feet.

  ‘I thought you might have rung.’

  ‘Jonno, I didn’t say anything about ringing, as well you know. There wouldn’t have been any point.’

  ‘If you let me come over I’ll be ever so good, I promise.’

  For one heart-stopping moment she wondered if he was actually on the doorstep – that was just the kind of stunt he would pull. She couldn’t bring herself to go and check, though.

  ‘I’m at home, just got back from a run,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind. ‘I’m sitting by the window. The sea’s fantastic today. It’s almost indigo.’

  ‘Well, that’s very nice for you and do carry on enjoying the view but I’m very busy and I haven’t got time to talk to you, so please…’

  ‘It’s all over between me Lou and me,’ he said in a matter-of-fact-voice, as if she hadn’t even spoken.