The Beautiful Fall

by Hugh Breakey

  I wrenched my eyes back to the short words written at the top of the page. Day Seven.

  One week. Seven days meant one week.

  That couldn’t be right. I flipped back through past pages until I found the beginning of yesterday’s entry. Day Eight. That made today Day Seven. Basic maths.

  Yet it just didn’t feel right. I strode over to the wall calendar. As I did every evening, I drew a diagonal line through today. Directly under it was a day marked with a red star. That day had been marked almost six months ago. I’d counted it out twice to be sure. Back then, my remaining time spanned before me like a vast emptiness, heading off to a distant horizon.

  It didn’t seem distant now.

  Today was Sunday. By the time next Sunday evening came around, it would not be me marking off its passing. Not the ‘me’ that remembered marking the day with a red star. Not the ‘me’ that remembered drawing a blue diagonal on the box above. My heart tightened. This was my last Sunday night.

  Stupid thought. Of course it would still be me next Sunday. It just wouldn’t be remembered with the same mind that had lived through this Sunday. The two memories would never be filed away side by side, and the memory of this moment, of this very thought, would be gone. Except to the extent my journal managed to carry a sense of it through to the other side.

  I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, hard, pushing back against the rising panic.

  Deep breath. The mind that reclaimed those memories, that read through the journal pages, would still be me. The letter, the dominoes, the mementoes, the exercises and the locks on my door—all of them ensured the man who came out the other side would share my thoughts and practices. He would be like me, created by my choices and actions. After all, I’d been preparing for this final week since my first days.

  Yet now the week had arrived. And what was I doing? My gaze went to the phone on the table. Julie’s phone. My hand still tingled from the touch of her body. My mind still echoed her parting words.

  I’d been distracted. That was the truth of it. And at the worst possible time. This was the time when I most needed to be in control, my every effort focused on surviving the week, of coming out the other side the same man I am now.

  I scooped up the smartphone and tapped the screen. Two smiling faces shone up at me.

  It had been a nice idea to open my door to Julie. But with just seven days to go, the risks were too great to continue. It was not only that if the friendship continued, Julie might visit unannounced next Sunday or Monday, and I would lose all control over what I became. There was something deeper. A threat I hadn’t anticipated. The way my heart thumped around her. The fascination with the picture we took, and the strange pleasure in seeing Julie respond to my words. She made me forget myself.

  This was what addiction must be like. This was why people didn’t want to be free of it.

  Tomorrow, I wrote, I take back control.

  Day Six

  It had to be today.

  I SNAPPED my eyes open.

  Only six days left. I needed a plan to cut Julie from my life. For once the job wasn’t to build, but to take something apart.

  Her role delivering my groceries complicated things. I couldn’t get away with using some little white lie about going away on holidays for the next couple of weeks. But the thought of any sort of direct confrontation made sweat spring cold from my skin.

  I tossed aside my sheet and pushed myself into my morning exercise. Soon, physical exhaustion started to burn away the anxiety twisting my insides. I pushed harder, until only fatigue and habit remained, and the only conscious thoughts were of ticking off the numbers, one by one. Healthy, hot perspiration washed away the night’s clammy sweat.

  After the exercises, the stretches. I breathed slowly into each new posture, helping clear my mind. No need to over-complicate things. I could ask Julie about getting a double grocery order tomorrow, enough for me to skip next week’s delivery. Then I could just say I’d be out of touch for a little while. If she asked me about it, I could say it’s something private I’m dealing with. She’d respect that.

  Then in the future, I could let our friendship—or whatever it was we had started—dissolve of its own accord. Mr Lester would be back from his holidays. If I wanted to continue my attempts at being sociable, perhaps I could invite him over for dinner sometime. Julie had shown me that it was possible to do that: simply invite someone out of the blue.

  A plan. Relief swelled in my chest. I practised my lines as I twisted through the last of the stretches, and then in the shower. ‘Listen, Julie, I’ve got some things to do…’ I tried it in front of the mirror, with a smile sort of friendly but rueful.

  I turned to the dominoes work with a glad heart, though I knew I’d miss the excitement of Julie’s visits. I couldn’t help looking forlornly at the empty space where the final platform would go. The plan was for it to span high above the kitchen entry, linking the two structures on either side. I’d left it until last because its height made it a real challenge to build; now I kicked myself for not getting it done when I had help at hand. Oh well, I’d just have to get it done myself. Everything would seem easier once I’d freed myself from Julie’s company.

  She arrived just after lunch, greeted me with a warm smile and nodded as she looked over my recent work. ‘It’s really coming together, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ve done so much just in the last week.’ She swivelled about, taking it all in.

  My mouth opened in readiness, rueful smile poised on my lips.

  Julie glanced at her watch and said, ‘I’m due back at base by two o’clock—I can spare exactly thirty-eight minutes. We could probably get the platform over the doorway up.’

  I closed my mouth. It would be fantastic to get the difficult platform done. Thirty-eight minutes sounded about right. It would also give me ample opportunity to say my piece.

  Once we started, though, I decided it would seem more natural just to tell her when she was leaving. Apart from anything else, the work took all my concentration: it was hard. Being an old apartment, the room had a tall ceiling and though the doorways were quite low, only a little above my own height, the platform was still at least fifty centimetres higher than any of the others. I had to work with my hands above my head and, despite all my exercising, holding unwieldy objects above head height turned out to be surprisingly demanding. I soon felt the burn of lactic acid in my traps and triceps.

  For Julie it was worse, though at least she could stand on the central pathway, while I had to balance on the stepping stones to one side. Even with her arms fully extended, she had to be up on tiptoes to do the drilling. ‘Thanks, Mum—knew those ballet classes would pay off eventually,’ she said. ‘Are you right to hold that position?’

  ‘Oh, you know my thing for three-dimensional Twister.’

  Julie grinned back, her eyes scanning me from top to bottom. I probably was a little ridiculous with my low, wide stance and upstretched arms.

  Fixing the platform in place, Julie shifted into position. She had to stand almost inside my stance, up on her tiptoes with her hands high above her head. I focused on holding up the platform. Julie’s body tensed as she tried to press forward with the drill, struggling to get enough force out of her upraised arms. The effort pushed her backwards, the long line of her neck within inches of my face. It was worse than yesterday. I took a deep breath, and a subtle waft of vanilla and salt scent twisted itself into me.

  This close, I could see the tiny chain links in her thin gold necklace as it swooped around the base of her neck and then curved forward and down, disappearing under her top. Higher up, her hair was brushed forward from behind her ears into the pixie cut that framed her face. The hair lost its inky blackness at its roots, revealing hints of amber. I could feel my pulse thumping through my ears.

  With all her attention on the work above her eyeline, Julie seemed not to notice how close we were. She moved to the next set of pencilled marks on the wall, and her bod
y tilted back hard as she pushed the drill into the wood. An inch more and we would be touching, the tip of my nose grazing the back of her neck, the hairline behind her ear.

  There was nowhere to go. I couldn’t budge an inch without releasing my hold on the platform. Panic seized me but I was trapped, frozen in position, my senses overwhelmed by her closeness and scent.

  This had been a mistake. Letting her help again had been a mistake. Hell, letting her through the door had been a mistake. How had I ever imagined I could control this? It seemed impossible she couldn’t feel my breath on her neck or hear the pounding of my heart.

  No more waiting. As soon as we secured the platform, I would have to say my piece and finish this.

  ‘And done!’ The whine of the drill trailed off. ‘The last platform is up.’ Julie turned towards me with a flourish. ‘Oh.’

  She hadn’t realised how close we were. She drew back a touch. Her lips parted in a half-smile, and her hand flitted to my right shoulder, as if to gently guard her space.

  If I’d been determined to bring this closeness to an end before, the wide eyes and the crooked half-smile filling my vision settled the question. It had to be finished now. Right now.

  I took a deep breath. Her eyes met mine and she jutted her chin upwards a millimetre—the tiniest, most trivial movement—and I kissed her.

  It happened without thought. Just a sudden, insane urge, the movement towards her as natural as gravity, as effortless as walking. Our mouths met in a soft crush. If there had been resistance—some fleeting flinch or tiny tension—that might have been enough to snap me from my madness, but the lips meeting mine betrayed no hint of hesitation. They yielded to my press and then kissed back hard. Her mouth opened and—

  I tore myself away. ‘Sorry.’ I released my hands from the platform above and raised them helplessly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ She smiled and shook her head a little in surprise. Her cheeks and lips had blushed red. Even in my horror, she looked more beautiful than ever. ‘Really, it’s fine.’ She reached out a hand towards my face, as if to cup it.

  I lurched backwards out of her reach, stumbling over the stepping stones to the safety of the central pathway. ‘No, it’s not.’ I shook my head vigorously. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It was a mistake. A crazy stupid mistake.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt quite deliberate.’

  If anything, she seemed bemused by my apology. Perhaps that was understandable. I must appear mad to her. Kissing her without warning, and then reneging on the whole thing.

  ‘You don’t understand. There’s no way we—’ I bit off the word. There was no ‘we’. There never could be. The concept didn’t apply. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  If the kiss hadn’t taken Julie aback, my blundering apology seemed to do the trick. A frown replaced her smile. ‘All right. We’ll call it a mistake, then.’ She spread her hands, palms out. Pacifying. ‘No harm done. Everybody makes mistakes. Let’s just stay calm.’

  The situation called for anything but calmness. I felt like my lips and body had betrayed me. And in doing so, poor Julie had become collateral damage in the battle for myself. The battle against myself.

  I had to get her out of the apartment. Out of my life. I didn’t know what scared me more—that I had kissed her or that she had kissed me back. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We have to finish this. All this. You coming over and helping me. You have to go.’

  ‘Okay.’ She kept her hands raised. ‘If that’s what you want, I’ll go.’

  ‘That’s what I want.’

  She looked at me for a moment longer. My reaction must have seemed bizarre. What kind of crazy person kisses someone and then turfs them out? ‘I’ll get my purse.’ She turned towards the kitchen, her head a little bowed.

  Guilt clutched at me. What an awful thing I’d done—acting as if I had feelings for her, then instantly denying it. I pushed the guilt away. This had to be finished right now. I couldn’t trust myself around her. Keeping my distance from her as she walked by, I moved from the pathway and out onto the stepping stones.

  She turned around as she passed me. ‘So…’ she began. ‘Just friends, right? Let’s say it never happened.’

  ‘No.’ She still didn’t understand the stakes. How could she? ‘I cannot see you again. Ever. It’s all over.’

  She stopped short. ‘What are you saying?’ Her arms folded across her chest. ‘Why are you being like this?’

  ‘I’ll call your work. I’ll explain to them. I’ll say—’

  ‘You can’t call my work. I need this job. I just started.’

  ‘I won’t get you in trouble. I’ll tell them it’s all my fault. I’ll say I have a problem.’ That would be true enough. I reached out towards her, not trying to make contact but just to shepherd her towards the door. All I could think was to get her out of the room as fast as possible.

  ‘No!’ she cried, her arm swatting aside my hand. ‘You can’t do this. It’s not fair.’

  ‘This is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No!’ She was almost shouting.

  I stopped short. ‘What do you mean “no”?’ I attempted the remote ushering again. ‘You have to go now. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. You have to leave.’

  She stood her ground. ‘Why are you punishing me?’ Julie demanded. ‘You kissed me.’

  I shook my head. It wasn’t hard to understand her anger. It just seemed to me she should have angrily stormed out, not angrily stood her ground. ‘I’m sorry. It was a moment of weakness.’

  ‘Or strength—and this now is the weakness.’

  Her response knocked me off-kilter. ‘I know this is hard to understand,’ I pleaded. ‘But I can’t be around you. Not even for the deliveries. It’s not safe for me.’

  ‘Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?’ Her voice softened and she advanced towards me. ‘I can tell you like me. You kissed me.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ My voice rose in volume and pitch, more in panic than anything else. I backed away but the dominoes at my feet and the platforms around my head hemmed me in.

  ‘Well, explain it, then.’ She advanced as I stepped back, her feet finding each stone with the precision of a stalking panther. ‘You can’t just throw me out. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘You have to go.’ My voice cracked. I’d reached the corner platform. Nowhere left to go. Yet still she came at me.

  ‘You don’t have to be frightened.’

  ‘I’m not frightened of you. I’m frightened of…’ I broke off.

  ‘Sunday.’

  My mind stumbled over her word. ‘What?’

  She gazed back at me, silent, eyes burning. She took a couple of calm, deliberate steps backward, as if giving me the space to appreciate what she’d said.

  Sunday.

  Six days away.

  The day of the forgetting.

  ‘You saw the date marked on my calendar,’ I said, pointing at her. ‘You’ve been spying.’ The calendar had been up in full view in the kitchen, the red cross straight through the Sunday. She might have linked it with my urgency to get the dominoes done.

  ‘I know what happens on Sunday. I’ve always known.’

  The reality hit me. ‘You’ve been through my journal!’ She’d had opportunity. I’d left it out every day. I couldn’t be by her side at every moment. ‘What have you been doing? Spying on me?’ I advanced towards her, pointing her to the door. ‘You should leave right now.’

  She didn’t budge. Or speak. My dominoes milled at her feet like thousands of tiny hostages.

  Enough was enough. Julie had revealed herself to be some sort of crazy person worming her way into my world. ‘Whatever you’re playing at, it’s over.’ I drew myself up to my full height, my voice loud and firm. ‘If you don’t get out right now, so help me I will carry your crazy—’

  She knocked my outreached hands aside and struck me in the chest.

  ‘I’
m your wife, Robbie!’

  Air whooshed out of my lungs. I struggled for breath and stumbled backwards. My foot missed its stepping stone, crumpling onto one of the cardboard barriers and skittering a little copse of dominoes, but I hardly noticed.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘We’re married, you dumb jerk.’ She wiped at the corners of her eyes, but they seemed to be shining with anger more than glistening with tears.

  I managed to get control of my knees before I toppled over onto the sea of dominoes under me. Barriers or not, there was no coming back from such a fall.

  ‘We. Are. Married.’ With each word a push. ‘Robert. Phillip. Penfold.’

  I didn’t know my middle name—just that there was a P on the medical certificate—but something about the way she said it smacked of truth. I recoiled against the very possibility. She had to be lying. Crazy.

  ‘You’re not married. You’re not wearing a ring.’ Nothing else came into my mind to say. I was drowning, and this looked like a straw.

  Julie scoffed. She fished along her neck, teasing out the gold necklace she always wore, exposing an elegant ring of gleaming white metal and green jewels. Emeralds, presumably. It matched her earrings and her eyes. It matched her.

  I scowled defiantly. It didn’t prove anything.

  Julie’s fingers closed hard around the ring and with one swift, violent tug, she snapped the chain. It slithered from her neck. She went to shove the ring on to the fourth finger of her left hand, but stopped.

  ‘Hmph.’ She looked at her hand with a half-laugh. ‘You never really stop wearing a wedding ring anyway.’ She held her left hand up, palm towards me and fingers splayed. ‘If you wear a ring long enough, your hand grows around it. It wears the flesh itself.’

  On her ring finger, just below the knuckle, an undeniable indentation curved into the skin. My throat clamped shut.

  Before I had a moment to register her movement, her fingers snapped around my wrist. She wrenched it up before my eyes.