The Harder They Fall (2 page)

“Ta-da!” Adele declared, freeing the short flowery dress and jacket. The dress was predominantly orange, with large pink roses, and the cropped, single-breasted jacket was of the same shade of pink.

“Oh, it’s very you,” Shaunna gushed. Adele held the dress, still on hanger, against her front and twirled.

“My shoes are the same as these,” she indicated to the black high-heeled wedges she was wearing, “only in pink, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Shaunna echoed. It was a lovely outfit, but it was one which only Adele could get away with, or maybe women under the age of nineteen who hadn’t had children. Adele carefully replaced the cover and took the dress back inside, satisfied with her friend’s response. On the way back, she switched on the garden lights and transferred the other bottle of wine to the fridge.

“So, are you all packed?”

“Nope,” Shaunna replied in a flippant tone.

“Me neither.” Adele was about to elaborate further when her mobile phone sounded. She squinted at the screen. “Message from Jess.”

“Really?”

“She’s coming round, it says.”

“I bet you anything it’s to do with her wedding outfit.”

“Yeah, it is.” She handed the phone to Shaunna to let her read the rest of the message herself.

“She bought a blue one too. How funny.” She handed the phone back. Adele sent a response and swapped her phone for her glass.

“I told her to bring some more wine,” she said. Shaunna nodded.

“Good idea.”

George was straddled across three foot of loft space, a leg on either side of the water tank, unable to move backwards or forwards for fear of putting his foot through the ceiling below. Between them they had six suitcases; they knew this because they’d spent the past two hours wracking their brains, trying to remember where any of them were. So far, they’d located one: on top of the wardrobe in what was now George’s room, but wasn’t when it was put there, hence long enough for it to essentially be rendered invisible. As for the others: they could be anywhere at all, but, George suggested, the loft seemed the most likely place.

Needless to say, Josh claimed to know exactly where they were, but there was no way he was climbing up there. The bravest he could manage on that score was to get far enough up the ladder to reach through the hatch and deposit old case notes; if he ventured any further he’d need the fire brigade to come and help him down again. So, his contribution to finding the suitcases consisted of standing on the fifth rung up and shining a torch into the furthest recesses of the roof space, in the vain hope that it might somehow pick out the distinctive silhouette of a suitcase lurking in amidst the scratchy insulation material. Under the circumstances, he found the suggestion of buying a replacement wholly unacceptable, even if George went to buy it on his own. It was wasteful and unnecessary; they just needed to try harder, that’s all. However, George had cramp in both calves and a bump forming from where he’d bashed his head on a rafter, and was beginning to feel very much not in the mood for trying harder. He took one final, long look around, declared mission unaccomplished and carefully tightrope-walked his way back along the beam to the hatch. Josh pointed the torch upwards, lighting up his companion’s thunderous expression to dramatic effect. He clambered back down the ladder and waited.

“I don’t care what you have to say about it. I’m going to buy another suitcase tomorrow,” George stated. Josh waited to see if there would be any further justification for this assertion, but there wasn’t. It didn’t really matter that much, yet somehow, like most things of late, the mystery of the missing luggage had been blown out of all sensible proportion. The holiday, for want of a more appropriate name for it, was still two weeks away—plenty of time for further searching—but the decision had been made for him once again and if it had been anyone else (other than Ellie, perhaps, but even then) it would have annoyed him. George’s bossiness was a revelation, in spite of knowing each other for thirty years, and he rather liked it, if he was completely honest. After so long living alone, making all of the decisions for himself, it was good to have someone with whom to share the responsibility.

By the time Josh folded away the loft ladder and made it back downstairs, George was sitting on the sofa, flicking through TV channels. Not another word was said about the suitcases.

All of the other stemmed glasses Adele owned were of a normal size, so Jess settled on a pint glass: a sensible move, considering she’d arrived with two boxes of wine. She’d also brought with her three different, brand new dresses, leaving the original choice of blue at home. Now they were laid out on the patio table, while Adele gave each a thorough analysis. The first of the three was very much like her own, in pattern but not design, for it was a swirling floor-length affair, with cupped sleeves and buttons all down the front. This was Jess’s least favourite, although Shaunna liked it the most. The second was grey and lilac with a faint pin-stripe through it and was quickly dismissed as being too dull and a potential clash for whatever shade of blue Eleanor had in mind. The third was a very slinky number, in deep orange and red, with a slit right up the side. This was declared perfect for the reception, but not the ceremony, so it came down to a choice between number one or yet another shopping trip. Jess shoved the three dresses back in their bag and dumped them on the floor. She’d quite had enough of trying on clothes that she wouldn’t normally wear and it made her realise just how far she’d come. Not so long ago she’d have been delighted to take any excuse to go shopping; nowadays she was happy to go with a best fit, so it was looking like the swirly, ankle-length frock. Decision made, she settled back with her friends to drink too much wine and discuss the wedding.

“Who’re you texting now?” George asked without taking his eyes off the TV. The programme showing was a crime drama, filmed to look drab and grey, with a script to match.

“Ellie.” Josh pressed the ‘send’ button and locked his screen. There was little point putting his phone away, seeing as the only delay in her responding would be the time it took her to type out an overly long reply.

“Let me guess. You asked if she had a spare suitcase? You know she’ll freak if she thinks we’re not organised.”

“Actually, that’s not what the message was at all. I was just checking on the stag party arrangements.”

“An evening in a moody jazz bar? Some stag party.” George’s tone was terse, still bemoaning the hour spent crawling around the loft, no doubt.

“That’s what James wanted, so what else could we do?”

“I still say we book a stripper.”

Josh’s mouth dropped open of its own accord, but then he spotted the telltale twinkle in George’s eyes. Good. It looked like he was finally going to relent on his bad mood. “So what’s up?” he asked in the most carefree tone he had to offer.

“Tired.”

“Is that all?”

“Yep.” George turned the TV off and stood up. “Sorry. Were you watching that?”

“No, no,” Josh said lightly and moved out of the way so he could pass.

“Good night.”

Josh watched as he disappeared up the stairs, a door slamming shut a few seconds later. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock. “Good night, I guess.”

Wine is an interesting beverage for many reasons, the main one being the sudden onset of its effects, something that the three women were now considering at length, through fits of giggles brought on by nothing of particular hilarity. Their helplessness was exacerbated further by the text message Jess received from Eleanor to ask if she had any spare suitcases knocking around. Quite why they found this so funny, none of them could say. Indeed, they were having problems saying anything at all. Alas, it was Monday and therefore a ‘school night’, as they still liked to call them, so once they’d all taken turns to visit the loo, Jess called a taxi for Shaunna and herself, and they bade each other a somewhat teary farewell. It had been fun to sit, just the three of them, in the warmth of the evening, chatting and appreciating the time away from their respective menfolk, who, they concurred, were all right most of the time, but every now and then it was nice to have some space, if only to get the house back in order. Interestingly, neither Jess nor Adele noticed how little Shaunna had to contribute to this discussion, and nor did they realise that there had been no call to confirm whether Dan and Andy had arrived safely at their destination, until the following morning, when the news of the accident was all over the TV channels.

Eleanor kissed Toby on the forehead and handed him back to his father, who promptly returned him to the baby sling dangling from his shoulders. Over the past month, as Toby gained control of his very wobbly head, the papoose had slowly replaced the suit and tie that was James’s customary attire, although the shirt and trousers remained ever-present and perfectly pressed. It was difficult to say which of the three of them looked the most exhausted, and yet James was fully enjoying being a stay-at-home father. It was his privilege, as MD, to set in motion changes to what he now realised was a dreadfully outdated maternity leave policy, or ‘new parent leave’, as it was called in the comprehensive documentation he had drawn up, in between feeds and nappy changes, and emailed to his office. Eleanor repeated her earlier forehead kiss, this time with James as the target, and mouthed the word ‘tea’ on her way to the kitchen. James stifled a yawn and rested his aching back against the sofa cushion. What strength women had, he confirmed to himself once again.

Eleanor’s pregnancy had progressed without a hitch, despite the doom and gloom of every health care professional they had encountered during that time. Was she aware of the risks of giving birth so late into her thirties? The question was incessant and unnecessary, and Eleanor had found it so difficult to stand up for herself, to explain that as a general practitioner of course she knew the risks, but these days so many women chose to start their family later in life that the odds of there being anything wrong were negligible, to her and James at any rate. They’d briefly discussed what they would do if the scans showed any abnormalities. The answer: absolutely nothing at all. Their child was special because it was
their
child, regardless of any challenges which might come their way. So that was that: Tobias Benjamin Brown was born on the sixth of August, three weeks before his due date, but of a perfectly healthy size—a little too healthy size-wise for Eleanor’s liking, particularly as she was still a few pounds away from fitting into her beautiful wedding dress the way she wanted to. She wasn’t so naïve as to assume she’d be back to her pre-pregnancy shape and had told her mum to allow a few extra inches; even so, her hips were so large and round now (Shaunna had warned her about this and James remarked frequently on how wonderful they were) and her boobs were a whole three cup sizes bigger (he liked those too), which was great; she’d never really had boobs before and hoped they’d stay long after she was done breastfeeding and expressing milk every night before she went to bed. The only downside, to be taken literally, was that by the evening, they were so heavy that she felt like she might topple over, but it was worth it to see James so happy caring for their son.

She returned with two cups of tea, to find both of them fast asleep, James resting his head on the palm of his hand and bound to wake with pins and needles, Toby with his cheek scrunched up against his father’s chest. She set down the cups, carefully extracted the baby and took him to his cot. He didn’t even stir. When she returned, James had slumped forward, his chin hidden inside the baby sling. He was in such a deep sleep that he didn’t wake until she caught his ear with the strap while attempting to free him.

“Thank you,” he murmured as she passed him his tea. It was an effort to lift the cup to his lips.

“How did the conference go?” Eleanor asked, smoothing her hand against his hair. He leaned into her and sighed contentedly.

“It did not, unfortunately. We waited for an hour, and even had a technician check to ensure that we were connected correctly, but they didn’t sign in.”

“Really? That’s a bit strange.”

“I thought so too, although as Jason says, we don’t know what the technology is like over there. I assume they couldn’t get a connection.”

“I guess. Or their flight was delayed, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” James took Eleanor’s hand and kissed it. “I should make supper,” he suggested. She shook her head.

“You stay right there, James Brown. I will make us supper this evening. You have worked quite hard enough and it’s very late.”

James didn’t protest at this and was once again fast asleep by the time she returned with a simple, pasta-based meal. Soon after, the ‘young’ parents went to bed, the missed video conference forgotten for the time being.

Josh was awoken by the noise of the vacuum cleaner banging against his bedroom door and turned wearily to check the time: 7:30? He’d clearly gone quite mad. He stumbled out of bed and threw open the door.

“George! What the hell?”

“Got a long day ahead and it’s my turn. It says so on the rota.”

Josh let out a small yell of outrage and grabbed his dressing gown. “That bloody rota,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past to the bathroom. “Who’s stupid idea was it to have a rota?”

“Yours actually, Joshua,” George called after him.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that!” Josh shouted back angrily. He slammed the door and turned on the shower, which didn’t quite drown out the sound of the vacuum cleaner, but it was halfway there. George was right; this was his fault, and all because he thought it would save any arguing over whether one was doing more than the other. He’d thought it was working too, until now: quite why it was necessary to vacuum at this time of the morning—well, it was entirely unnecessary, in fact, and about something far more significant than a spot of lint on the carpet.

Josh emerged from the bathroom half an hour later and just in time to hear the front door close. So that was it then. George was at university for the day and would hopefully return in a better mood this evening, although if he made it back before bedtime, then that would be just twice so far this month, which was September, and optional. George contended that it was quiet in the library and he found it easier to work there—just him and Sophie and a couple of postgrads on the desk. Josh had no grounds to criticise, for he’d spent many a summer break doing the exact same thing, but that was beside the point, and it was a point he had yet to fathom. Today was his first day off in months, which was what made George’s antics all the more infuriating, although it wasn’t as if he was without things to do. For example, there was still the shed to clear and a stash of wallpaper lurking behind the sofa, bought on the day before Eleanor went into labour. With James in Birmingham, Josh had just accompanied her to her last ante-natal appointment and only stopped off to take advantage of the DIY store’s toilets, but decided to go for a quick peruse whilst she did what she needed to. When she finally located him in the wallpaper aisle, he had picked up the rolls for the lounge and was mulling over possibilities for his bedroom. Under any circumstance other than a heavily pregnant and unpredictably hormonal best friend threatening a tantrum in the middle of a vast, echoic superstore, he’d have probably thought up some clever comeback to her very public suggestion that he was acting on a sympathetic, primitive instinct to nest. Instead, he went for the safe option of giving her the car keys, paying for what he already had in his arms and getting her home as quickly as possible.