by Ana Simons
FREE FALLING
ANA SIMONS
For José.
Copyright © 2018 by Ana Simons
Edited by Kate Smith
Proofread by Charity Chimni Author Services
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
www.anasimons.com
1 Regrets
2 Glimpses
3 Business or pleasure?
4 Comforting lies
5 Surprises
6 Here comes the bride
7 Deep green depths
8 Nellie Dean
9 Thunder within
10 Unfinished business
11 Moving mountains
12 Honesty
13 One of a kind
14 Frozen
15 Unwanted memories
16 Waiting for love
17 Wild guesses
18 The truth
19 Reason
20 Shards
21 Armours
22 Tearing scars
23 Free falling
24 Falling home
25 Glimpses
26 Can I kiss you?
27 Challenges ahead
28 When bubbles burst
28 TGIF
29 Every piece of myself
30 No, you don’t
31 The hurt inside
32 Leap of faith
33 Infinity
34 You’re beautiful
35 A tiny flicker of a smile
36 Meant-to-be stories
37 Proposals
38 Dilemmas
39 Treasured memories
40 Trust
41 What I do know
Before you go…
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly.
I love you because I know no other way.
Pablo Neruda
1 Regrets
London
Friday, 24 July 2015
I need air. The large glass door closes behind me and suddenly the impressively ample Florence Hall has become too damn small and I can’t breathe.
She is here.
Though there must be a dining table with my name on it somewhere, I stride across the room and head to the bar instead.
“I’ll have a whisky. Straight.”
With a nod, the bartender grabs the bottle.
“Make it a double, please.” I clench my jaw to stifle the emotions, the anger I feel pumping through my veins like deadly poison.
A burst of cheering and applause fills the hall, vibrating within me like the rumble of an approaching thunder. I turn and scan the crowded room until my gaze rests on her, talking to a woman I’ve never seen before.
Damn, she’s beautiful! Utterly elegant, with a touch of sophistication. The off-the-shoulder champagne dress against fair skin. The perfectly etched features. The long blond hair cascading down her back. The amazing sapphire eyes. The slightly parted red lips. An almost ethereal beauty.
Too bad she’s a talented cheating liar, the voice of reason screams inside my head.
I observe them for a moment, the woman who once meant so much and the man I looked up to like a father. Their intimate glances and knowing smiles. His hand running up and down her back in slow, gentle strokes, tracing the shape of her. The confident expression on his face as he proudly displays her, his latest accomplishment. But my downfall.
Shaking my head in disgust, I clench the glass in my hand, my throat aching from suppressing the anger. I turn and stare at the amber liquid in front of me before I gulp it down in one swallow. It’s but a futile attempt to wash away the restlessness inside.
Here’s the bare truth about deception: it’s happened to us all, one time or another. You’ve put your trust in someone only to find out later they were lying to your face, and you were being played according to their very own screwed up agenda. It may knock you down and consume you until you crawl onto your feet again. And when you do, your mind may still occasionally wander back and let it eat at you.
And that’s exactly what’s happening today. Since she showed up uninvited at my doorstep wanting to talk.
Except we didn’t talk much.
I know! I should have told her to leave immediately when she came up with that nonsense, saying she missed me, that she was sorry and wanted back into my life. But I didn’t. I said nothing, only swiped everything off the granite surface and kissed her. Right there on the kitchen island. Furiously. Hands roaming her body like they had many times before. Out of longing? Out of raw lust? Out of pure anger?
I have no idea. My mind was a blur, flooded with the desire to hear all those low moans escape her throat. And with the need to punish her. To take revenge on both of them. Some kind of wild justice to make them pay for what they’d done to me. For hurting everyone I care about.
‘You’ve got five minutes to get the hell out of my house!’ When I came to my senses, I grabbed my jacket and left, slamming the door behind me. She was sitting on the countertop, flushed, trying to catch her breath.
“Goddamn fool,” I mutter under my breath, clunking the empty glass on the counter, cursing myself for allowing it to happen. The consciousness of regret is an all-consuming beast and, worse still, I’m old enough to have known better.
Raising my hand, I ask for a refill and check my phone, which is buzzing for the hundredth time this evening. It’s my sister again, sitting across the room, certainly dying to tell me off and ask me where the hell I’ve been. It’s almost nine-thirty. I not only missed dinner but also half of the ceremony.
“...and these are the six outstanding projects that made it to this year’s shortlist, all of them brilliant examples of excellence and significant contribution to both architecture and regional development...”
A deep and enthusiastic voice cuts through my thoughts, and I let my eyes travel to the event host and the images projected on the screen—photographs of the six projects selected by the jury, the Harrow Community Centre I worked so hard on being one of them.
I make an effort to focus on the man’s introduction but fail miserably at it. In my head, his words keep colliding against her rough, ragged words urging me to continue.
Draining my second glass, I find myself secretly hoping it’s not my name they announce in a few seconds, ultimately acknowledging I must be a bloody fool indeed.
“Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I’m now proud to announce that due to its inspiring clarity and vision, originality, innovation, and sustainability the 2015 Wren Prize goes to... John Anderson Architects, represented here by the young and talented Brian Anderson. Congratulations!”
It feels like a tidal wave hitting when the thunder of applause invades the room, the loud sound thudding in my ears and jolting through my body. I need to take a deep, steadying breath to keep my nerves under control.
Winning an award as prestigious as this one is quite shocking in itself; it’s one of the most coveted prizes, one every professional in their right mind dreams of. Winning it today, however, after this afternoon, when I had already buried it all, feels particularly overwhelming.
Several heads turn to the vacant seat at my table, raising a slight commotion that quickly turn
s into another ovation as I traverse the hall towards the beaming host and the representative of the sponsoring organisation.
After receiving a handshake and a hearty slap on the back given as a token of congratulation, I accept my trophy with a serious countenance and turn to the audience, my sister the first person I thank wordlessly, with a subtle nod. Sue frowns and shoots me a reproachful glance first, but then her face breaks into a warm smile, one that is full of pride and joy.
Then our eyes meet for a moment. Mary’s and mine.
She’s sitting only two tables away, but the chair next to her is empty. Inadvertently, my eyes dart around the room and find him walking towards the bar, probably a strategic manoeuvre to avoid me. Better so. Had he kept his hands off her, he’d be one of the first people I’d thank and dedicate this award to tonight.
Forcing the feelings of discomfort away, I lean one hand against the podium to steady myself and let my eyes fall to the beautiful crystal piece I’m holding, taking an instant to read the inscription. But then our eyes lock again, flashes of today’s events zipping through my brain, the turmoil inside making it almost impossible to think and summon the words.
“Congratulations,” Mary mouths, a trace of a nervous smile appearing on her face. I don’t react in any way and she steers her gaze down, my cold and distant demeanour obviously affecting her.
Glancing up at the audience, I stare at them blankly for a moment. Eventually, I clear my throat and force the words out, “On behalf of everyone involved in this project, I’d like to thank you for this recognition. I’m honoured to be here tonight, and very grateful to be the recipient of this award... Thank you, again, and good night to you all.”
My brief and impassioned thank you speech is met with momentary silence. They were probably expecting me to say some heartfelt words or something to keep the mood light. After all, this is a festive event. But I’m in no mood for pleasantries, let alone for anecdotes or funny lines.
After a short pause, another roar of applause breaks out. A subtle bow and I leave the podium, never looking down and ignoring the light touch of her hand when I pass by, determined to get out of this damn place and far away from her.
Hell no, I won’t allow it. Neither this woman nor anyone else will be given the chance to make a fool out of me, ever again.
2 Glimpses
Leaning against the handrail, I glance at the reflected image in the mirror. Open shirt and loosened tie. Suit jacket hung over the shoulder, crystal trophy in hand, and an overall grand-bloody-mess impression I refuse to look at any longer. Instead, I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes, taking a steadying breath, listening to the soft hum of the lift as it ascends to the third floor.
When I finally enter my apartment, I toss my jacket onto the console table and throw myself on the sofa, robotically, the bloody headache pounding inside my skull making it almost impossible to think. Better so.
“Hello, Brian.” A soft voice cuts through the haze in my mind.
“You? What are you doing here?”
It’s my sister, sitting on the swivel couch, holding a steaming cup in her hands.
“Please, grab a seat. Make yourself at home.” I gesture toward her, irony dripping.
“How are you?”
“Aside from a raging headache? Fine, thank you.”
“So, how was last night?” She keeps her voice even, her expression calm. It’s all fake, she’s about to combust.
“Pretty uneventful, I’d say. How was yours?”
She scowls at me defiantly. “You’re such a dick sometimes.”
“You’re mad.”
“Very perceptive of you.” Her sharp, green stare pierces right through me. “What happened? It’s well past midday already. Where have you been?”
I sit upright immediately and check the time myself. “Shit, my flight to New York!” I mutter, the fact I only have a few hours to gather my stuff, say goodbye to the kids and get to Heathrow dawning hard on me.
“Do you know why I am here?”
“To make sure I get my arse on that plane and don’t mess things up?” I hunch forward and take a minute to hold my head between my hands, the throb against my temples only getting worse.
Sue sweeps her long hair back over her shoulder and tilts her chin upwards, narrowing her inquisitive eyes at me.
“What? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” I ask.
“No.”
“Oh. In that case, my second guess is... you came to tell me personally how much of an idiot I am?”
“I think you need this.” She hands me her cup of coffee and I take a grateful sip, hoping the caffeine quickly enters my system. I’m in such sore need.
“Do you know what day is today?”
I give a half shrug. No bloody idea.
Sue allows me the time to think more about it, her angry silent scream making my stomach knot as the quiet settles in deeper.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out after a while. For not knowing what day this is—a miserable one, that is for sure. For not showing up for dinner and leaving her all by herself last night. For ignoring her calls. For disappearing right after the ceremony. Actually, for shutting myself away from everything and everyone lately.
“You can’t just say you’re sorry, Brian!” She finally bursts. “You have to pick yourself up and stop letting people down! For crying out loud, look at yourself! I bet you spent the night with the first trashy whore who swayed her ass in front of you!”
Not exactly, but I lower my gaze. I sure as hell will not discuss any of that with my sister. Or anyone else, for that matter. That’s no one’s bloody business.
“How does it feel, huh? To wake up after a night of rebound sex only to find yourself as empty inside as you were before? Don’t you want to feel something more meaningful in your life? Don’t you crave something that inspires more than an orgasm?” Sue gives me another of her long scrutinising looks.
“What are you? Some kind of an expert now? Planning to apply for some agony aunt position soon?” I can’t contain the snort, a bitter snort to disguise the restlessness inside.
“Don’t get me started, you cocky little shit! I speak fluent sarcasm too! Listen to me. Everyone falls on their asses from time to time, but then they pump up their legs and move on. And that’s what you’ll do too, you hear me? Because I don’t like this new version of you. A cold and arrogant prick. One that doesn’t give a shit about anyone! One that keeps forgetting he has a family who needs him.”
“I really don’t have time for your soul-searching rubbish. You should go now,” I say curtly as I stand up from the sofa. Her words sting more than I care to admit, though. I know she’s right.
Sue puts a restraining hand on my arm. “Damn you, Brian! Don’t bottle it up inside! Talk it out. Or join a gym and punch some shit. Shave your head and join a sect! Whatever. But, please, find a way to keep it together!”
I shake off her hand. “Please leave. I need to shower and get ready.”
“No, you need an attitude adjustment!”
“I guess you know where the door is...” I gesture to the entrance hall.
“You didn’t answer my question: do you even remember what day it is?”
“Bust-My-Balls-Day?” I growl, halfway down the corridor towards my room.
“Josh’s tournament this morning. You signed him up for it. You promised him you’d be there, pulling for him the whole time—but guess what? You were too busy shagging some stranger, drinking to wash your shit away, God only knows what else, and never showed up!”
Sue chokes on a sob and my body goes rigid, the pang of guilt and remorse hitting me violently inside.
“Damn you, Brian! He was searching each face in the crowd looking for you the entire time! And I called you like a hundred times but you didn’t even bother to answer the damned phone! You should have seen the disappointment in his eyes... How can you do this to my child, you moron? He looks up to you, you’re his bloody her
o!” Her voice has risen with each and every word.
“Sue, please.”
“Now, if you don’t want to be part of his life, that’s fine. But don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep, you hear me? Don’t you ever mess with any of my kids again or I’ll...” Her trembling voice trails off.
Dead silence hangs for a moment, but her words keep echoing through my mind, the taste of regret burning inside. I love her children more than anything in the world and Josh is special. He’s my little mate. I can always rely on him to make me smile or laugh. To keep me on my toes. To give me so much more than I’ll ever be able to give to him. I’d never, ever do anything to purposely let him down.
“Oh, God...” I inhale deeply, ploughing a hand through my hair as I try to form the words. “I’m so sorry, I truly am. Give me an hour. I’ll go talk to him.”
“That’s not all.” Another pained look crosses Sue’s face.
The dull ache in my gut intensifies. I arch my brows, asking her to continue.
“Jimmy’s been calling you all morning too. It’s Arthur...”
*
“It’s all good, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Tapping me reassuringly on the leg, Josh’s eyes flare with understanding as he looks up at me. “I get it, I’m a big boy. How could you have made it, if you’re going away and have like a ton of things to prepare?” Seated on one of the benches of the Holland Park playground, he takes another greedy bite of ice-cream.
“Right, you’re a big boy now.” I smile at his innocence, a bitter smile, though. Culpability is eating me up inside. “Three sisters to look after sure is a lot of responsibility. How have you been handling the situation, mate?”
“Going slowly insane. They’re always crying and whining. I’ve been thinking about moving out.”
Letting out a laugh, I poke him a little. “Where would you go, kiddo?”
He shrugs, his attention seemingly more focused on the chocolate chips he’s picking out with his fingers rather than on anything else.
