Catch Me When I Fall (17 page)

19

Charlie woke me the next day. He helped me to sit up and gave me a flannel wrapped around several cubes of ice for my cheek, and a mug of coffee, very hot and very strong. He sat by me on the bed and watched me drink it. It brought me round a bit. The layer of glass that seemed to separate me from everything that wasn't me grew a bit thinner.
"I'm sorry,' I said. 'About... about, well, everything, really.' "That's all right," he said, stroking my hair. "I think I'm not completely well.' "We're going to get you better," he said.
"Oh, Charlie,' I said. 'I know you're good at fixing things, but . . .'
'It'll be my hobby.' He had shining eyes.
I wanted to say, Who are you sleeping with? I knew there was someone: he was being so attentive and yet at the same time so remote. Ali of a sudden, he looked younger, smoother, more like the eager young man I'd met and fallen for a year ago. I wanted to say: "Why don't we stop lying to each other? Why don't we spill out the dirty, toxic truth and look at it and call it by its name?" Instead I touched his cheek and rolled away so he wouldn't see my face.
It was almost eight o'clock. I would leave work at six. I would have to play the part of Holly Krauss for ten hours until I could get off the stage, lock the door and go to bed. If I could get through the day without making anything worse, tomorrow would be a little better and so on and so on.
At first it went all right. I got through all the early-morning

rituals and I even managed to pick at something that Charlie pushed in front of me, saying it was important to eat, which sounded right. My skin felt prickly as if I had just been ill or was just about to become ill. A light fog hung over everything, indoors as well as outside. I took great care dressing and applying makeup, my disguise, my armour against the world, although nothing could cover up my puffy discoloured cheek. I pulled on my coat under Charlie's careful gaze.
Before leaving for work, I took my mobile out into the garden, there was no chance of Charlie overhearing, and phoned Stuart.
" 'Holly? Well, well, well. I didn't think I'd be hearing from you for a bit.'
"Oh?' I said weakly.
'Great evening, wasn't it?' he said, too loudly.
'Which one?'
'I guess you have lots to choose from. I was thinking of your card-playing exploits and everything that went with them.'
'That's what I wanted to talk to you about.'
'Where shall we meet, then?' he asked, strangely quick to agree. I took a deep breath. I didn't want to meet him at all but I
couldn't think of a way of saying, 'I need a big favour but could we handle it quickly?' over the phone. So we made an arrangement for midmorning.

I met him in a coffee bar. I tried not to feel guilty about slipping out of the office, telling myself they were probably glad to have me out of their sight. Stuart arrived looking smart and assured in a dark suit and a white shirt with no tie. He bought us coffee in vast, brightly coloured mugs that looked as if they had been designed for giant toddlers.
He looked at me with an appraising air. "Someone finally showed you exactly what they thought of you?"

I put my hand to my cheek. 'I fell over.'
'Oh, yeah?' He grinned sarcastically. 'And you're looking wiped out as well.'
'I'll sleep when I'm dead," I said. 'As the saying goes. Or at least when I've got everything sorted out. You saw what happened with the poker game?'
Stuart's smile became even more mixed. 'Yes, I saw."
Im sorry,' I said. 'My memory of the evening is a bit patchy.
But I remember being a bit rude. If I was rude to you, I'm sorry.' 'You were rude to me.' 'I'm sorry."
'Afterwards I was wondering what I'd done to you to make you want to humiliate me like that.'
'I'm sorry, Stuart. I think I must hare felt that you were getting
at me and I hit back. But it was unforgivable''
'What did you want to see me a 'I lost a lot of money.' 'I know. I was there.'
'They must have seen that I
can't believe they want to take your money. But this guy came round to the house. He threatened re. I don't even know how he got my address."
Smart looked at me evenly but he didn't speak.
"Do you think I could talk to someone?"
Smart pulled a face as if none of it really mattered very much. "You could talk to Tony, if you want" Or Vic. But I don't know what you expect them to say. It vas a serious poker game. You saw that they were playing for money." It's a bit like going to supermarket, filling your trolley, then asking if you can take it all away without paying."
'It's eleven thousand pounds.'
"As I said, you could talk to T0Y."
This was the really awful bit. I see allowed hard.

'Actually, Stuart, what I was hoping was that maybe you could, you know, say something to them.'
There was a long pause now. I got the impression that in some way he was savouring the moment.
'You want me to deal with that?' he said. 'As well?"
'What do you mean, "'as well"?'
'You asked me to deal with Debbie Trickett, remember?'
"I didn't actually ask you. You offered. Anyway, I haven't heard anything from her for days.'
'And why do you think that is?'
'Because she knows she hasn't got a case.'
'I hope you're sure about that,' said Stuart.
'What do you mean?'
'I've seen her. I've talked to her. Her flat is on the market. She's going to be homeless. She's got to look for work without any references. She left a good job to come to KS Associates and now she's lost everything. So it would be good to know that she was treated justly.'
"Whose side are you on?'
"I'm not on anybody's side. I'm a mediator. I want to find common ground. I thought it was important for you to realize
that she's been hurt by this. She's vulnerable. You may not have fully understood that.'
'Oh, I understood...' I began, and then I stopped and looked at him hard. He reddened slightly. 'I can't believe it. You're fucking her.'
Stuart's face flushed terribly red and he glanced around. 'Keep your voice down,' he said. "What's wrong with you?' 'Well, are you?'
He jabbed at me with a trembling finger. I thought he was going
to poke me in the eye. Im not, as it happens,' he said. He could barely speak. He was gasping for breath. 'What is it with you? You do it to everybody. You look for their weak spot.

We've all got one. You find it and then you destroy them. That's what you did with Debbie. You caught her out making a mistake. Clever you. And you used it to destroy her. You did it to me. And you think you can get away with it all. Is it to do with power? Or do you enjoy it? Just seeing how far you can go. For a start, you can't sweet-talk your way out of what you owe to Vic Norris. You try fluttering your eyelashes at him and see where it gets you. He does not forgive and he does not forget, and if you hang around hoping for the best, you'll discover what I mean.'
He stopped, as if he had run out of breath.
'Have you finished?" I said.
"No,' he said. "I came here to talk to you about Debbie." 'And?'
"Show how you can make at least one disaster go away. Give her another chance. She promises it'll be different. And she says she'll put it all behind her.'
"She'll put it all behind her?"
'That's right. So, what can I tell her?"
I had to take a moment. My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear what Stuart was saying. I couldn't think properly.
'I've got a message for Deborah,' I said. Stuart leaned forward. 'You can tell her to luck off. We were lucky we caught her when we did. I wouldn't trust her to carry out the garbage."
I got up and left.

I came back to the office, lurching like a drunk woman, and fumbled my way into my chair. My legs shook under me and when I tried to access my computer my fingers were trembling so violently that I kept pressing the wrong keys, bringing up forests of nonsense words. I don't know how much time passed: everything seemed to run together. There was a cup of coffee that Lola put down in front of me but I spilled it all over the

desk and I remember lots of fuss with files being whisked out of the way and sodden tissues and people saying it didn't matter really. There was a sandwich that I took one mouthful of but it made me feel sick so I dropped it into the bin.
I do remember a conversation I had with Meg and Trish, because it was about Deborah. I heard myself saying, in a voice that didn't seem to belong to me, that maybe I'd been too hasty and did they think she needed a second chance, and Trish replying firmly that our solicitor had now been through all the documents and seemed satisfied that we had behaved perfectly correctly in the circumstances. It was an open and shut case, and there were no second chances.
'So that's that,' said Meg. 'Don't think about Deborah any more.'
'Don't think about her," I repeated bleakly.
Later, I remember that Meg put her hand on my shoulder and said my name over and over again, asking me if I was all right. I told her I was fine, but it was hard to concentrate on anything. I kept picturing the youth last night, Dean, smelling of glue and sweat, giggling as he told me to pay up, sauntering out of the house as Charlie came in. And recalling Stuart's face, which I'd thought of as pleasant and amiable but this morning had been wrenched with hostility and disgust. And then there was Rees. Was it only yesterday that he'd ripped my dress, slapped my face? I heard the rap of my head against the stone wall. !t was all like a dream, a horrible dream where all bad things come at you at once, all the terrible things you've done return to haunt you and you know you can't escape. Everything you do, fighting or fleeing or crying out for help, is futile. Risible.
"You're crying,' said a voice by my side. Meg, who seemed to
have come out of nowhere. "Why are you crying?'
"I can't stop.'
I sat there for a while, staring at the blank screen and hearing

phones ringing, and she returned with Lola. She said there was a cab outside and that Lola would go back with me to see me to my house. That sounded an odd idea but sensible as well. I wasn't sure I'd be able to remember the way if the cab driver needed instructions. I told Meg I just needed to batten down the hatches to survive the storm and then I'd be back to normal. She told me to take as long as I needed. I said that was all I'd been asking for. She said that tomorrow we had to talk about how I should take precautions against Rees. And against Deborah, I didn't say. And the debt collector's off-the-wall messenger. And me. How was I going to take precautions against myself?
We seemed to arrive home in just a couple of minutes. Lola let me inside with my own key. As she undressed me, I told her it was the first time I had been undressed by a woman since my mother. A few men, I said, but no women. I apologized to Lola. I should be helping her. That was my job. She tucked me into bed, the cover pulled right up to my chin. I wriggled inside, warming myself. I heard the door close. The house was quiet. I was alone. A few noises leaked in, hisses and squeals and toots from the traffic. Outside there were people who hated me, for good reasons and bad reasons and no reasons at all. They were everywhere. I pulled my head under the cover. I pulled my knees up under my chin; I pressed them against my weeping, scalding eyes.

20

It was afternoon, then it was evening, and then it was an early winter night. The sky darkened outside the window; the air chilled; the green numbers on the clock clicked round, from five, to six, to six thirty ... Charlie didn't come home. Where was he? He always used to be at home, waiting for me.
At last I made myself get out of bed and, wrapped in my
dressing-gown, I went downstairs and phoned Charlie's mobile.
Yes.
"Charlie, are you coming back soon? I feel a bit odd.' "Do you? Do you want me to come back now?' 'Where are you?" "With friends.'
I strained to make out sounds in the background. 'Don't worry," I said at last. 'I'm being ridiculous. Don't rush back. I'll be fine.'
'I won't be long,' he promised. 'Back by eight or so, all right?" "Yes,' I said finally. "That's fine.'

I called Meg.
"It's me,' I said, when she answered.
'Holly." She sounded flustered. "Are you feeling any better?' 'Sorry about earlier.'
"Don't worry about that. But listen, can I phone you back later? It's not such a good time...'
I heard a man's voice calling her name.
"Who are you with?' I asked. "Meg, who are you with?'
'Listen, we'll talk tomorrow, if you're in. Not now, not on the phone. Get some rest, take care of yourself, get well.'

'Meg," I said. But she'd gone. There was no one there, and all I could hear as I pressed the receiver to my ear was the sound of my own frantic breathing.
I trudged back up the stairs and climbed into bed once more. I watched the clock tick.

When I heard the sound of someone ringing, then banging at the door, banging so hard it sounded as if the door would break, I thought it was part of a dream in which someone was coming for me. But then I woke and sat up and the noise continued, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I didn't do anything at all. I just lay down again on my bed. A weariness came over me, so profound it felt as if I was rolled up in a fire blanket and didn't have the strength to throw it off. I knew something bad was going to happen, but I didn't have the energy to feel frightened. My legs were logs, my chest a boulder. I lay still, hugging the pillow to my breast. I heard the sound of a door banging, a chair being violently scraped along the kitchen floor.
I heard footsteps and at last hot terror swept through me, pumping round my body, leaving me breathless, prickling my skin, a thick snake in my throat.
The footsteps reached the stairs, paused, then began a heavy ascent.
"Get up, Holly,' I said to myself. "Get the luck up."
I lurched out of bed, half falling as my feet hit the floor. A small part of me was aware of my throbbing cheek, my hurting head, the grain of the floorboards beneath my soles, the glittering darkness of the clear night sky, the sounds of the world going on out there.
Phone, I thought. That was it -call the police. I crouched on the floor, grabbed the phone from the bedside table, and tried to jab 999, but the room was dark and my fingers were thick as sausages and I got it wrong. I heard the beep of a misdialled

number, then footsteps outside the bedroom door. It was kicked open, banging against the wall. From my position on the floor I could just see black shoes and grey trousers.
In the light spilling in from the hallway, I made out the numbers on the phone and jabbed again, whimpering as did so.
'There you are. Hiding, are you?'
At his voice, fear ebbed away and I was suddenly gloriously calm and steady, as if a gritty wind had died away and I could see clearly again. I stood up, still holding the phone. 'Stuart? What are you doing?'
'What d'ya think I'm doing? I've come to have a talk, that's all.'
His words slurred together, and he swayed as he spoke. 'You're drunk. Hello? Hello? Yes? Is that the emergency service? Yes. My name's Holly Krauss and there's an intruder in my'
He surged across the bed, and smashed the receiver from my hand. It bounced on the floor and he kicked it away from both of us, then wrenched the cord from the wall. 'There," he panted. His face was a mottled red.
'Get out of here at once." 'Not till we've talked." 'There's nothing left to say.'
'Holly Krauss. Think you're so clever, don't you? Think you're so gorgeous.'
"I'm going downstairs. Stand aside.'
'We spoke to your fucking lawyer this afternoon, after you and I'd talked. You didn't listen to what I said, did you? You never listen.'
'It was our lawyer's recommendation. '
"Shut the fuck up and listen for once. She's not even going to get a reference, is she?' His voice was getting louder as he spoke,