The Harder They Fall (3 page)

So, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for his time off, but the walls needed doing and he was up now. He headed downstairs (George had filled the filter machine; apparently it wasn’t quite so bad as he’d thought), tipped some cereal into a bowl and poured a very large mug of coffee: his essential fuel for the task ahead. He’d had plenty of opportunities to practise his wallpapering skills over the years; living on your own (and even before that being the only man about the house) does that for you, although his grandmother would fight him all the way, watching over his every move, questioning whether there was enough paste, was he sure the pattern was the right way up, had he left enough trim, or too much? It was no wonder he was such a perfectionist. Funny. He’d imagined he excelled above all others in this regard, until George moved in. And then he discovered precisely what true perfectionism looked like.

Josh scooped a heap of cornflakes into his mouth and shoved the bowl on top of the bookshelf so that he could move the sofa, pulling it into the middle of the room and retrieving the rolls of wallpaper. He still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, although with the sofa away from the wall, he remembered how much he disliked the colour of the paint and wondered why he’d chosen it in the first place. He turned on the TV, with the intention of tuning into a music station, but thought pop and dance music at this still relatively early hour might be a bit much, so he stuck on the news instead. It was a decision that immediately put an end to his interior design intentions. The remote control tumbled from his hand and cracked as it hit the corner of the table; Josh moved backwards to sit down on the sofa, forgetting completely that he had moved it, until it hit him in the back of the legs and felled him. He watched on, dazed, shocked, a futile hope forming in his head that he had heard wrong. Upstairs, his abandoned mobile phone tinkled away unanswered, vibrated across the bedside table and on the third missed call toppled off the edge and landed with a thud that was sufficiently loud to stir him out of his trance. He went upstairs and retrieved it, returning Eleanor’s call on the way back down.

“Josh! Turn on your TV, quick!” she ordered him breathlessly.

“I’ve seen it.”

“They didn’t make the conference call last night.”

“Oh God.” Both of them went quiet and stayed that way for several minutes, before Josh finally found his tongue again. “Have you heard from Jess at all?”

“Not yet. She’s in court this morning.”

“And Adele?”

“No, but then that’s nothing unusual.”

There was an undertone to the dialogue that consisted of each knowing they ought to try calling Jess and Adele, whilst hoping that the other would offer do it. Just as Josh was about to relent, his phone started to beep intermittently, indicating another call.

“Incoming from George. Hold on,” he said, switching calls. “Hello?”

“Have you heard?”

“Yes. I’m just on the phone to Ellie.”

“Does Jess know?”

And so the conversations continued in this manner for the better part of the morning, from Eleanor to Josh, to George, to Kris and finally to Shaunna. All the while Jess was in court, unable to be reached, and Adele wasn’t answering. The staff on the advertised information line were either reluctant to share with non-relatives or simply didn’t know any more than that which had been broadcast, but one thing was absolutely certain: Dan and Andy had made no contact in twenty-four hours and by now it was on every news channel, on the hour and in the ticker: a small passenger jet had crashed in Kathmandu; no-one was thought to have survived.

Creatures of habit: they gathered first in the waiting room of Josh’s surgery, then moved on to The Pizza Place, where the children could be entertained, or contained, depending on which adult was making the judgement. The children, thankfully, were completely oblivious to the dread surrounding them. Little Shaunna was clutching a fat, red crayon and happily colouring everywhere but within the outline of an elephant. Toby was slumped against one of James’s palms, the other entirely covering the tiny tot’s back. Josh refreshed the newsfeed on his tablet to see if anything different displayed, but the same words were etched across the screen and into his retinae. George glanced over Josh’s shoulder and read them for himself. Again.

“How many planes land in Kathmandu on a daily basis? I mean, I realise it’s not Heathrow, but surely the chances of it being their plane are pretty slight?”

No-one replied, because they were all silently following the same line of placation, desperate for the odds to be on their side. As well as this thought, Eleanor was ashamed to admit that she was worrying about the wedding. Andy had assured her that this was a quick round trip—no longer than a week, he’d said—and that they’d be back and all set for both the ceremony and the somewhat unconventional honeymoon to follow. If she’d doubted his word, it was not for reasons like this. Andy made and broke promises all the time, but they were inconsequential and within his control. She turned towards James and put her finger in Toby’s hand. He gripped it tight and it made her feel better. James smiled and lifted his thumb to touch hers. She closed her eyes and held on to that feeling.

Kris’s phone wasn’t so loud really, but in the solemnity of the moment it broke through like a fanfare trumpet. He glanced at the screen and quickly headed outside to answer the call. It was his boss at the radio station.

“A quick interview, no more than two minutes,” he coerced, eager to get a local twist on the news of the plane crash. Kris glanced back through the window at his friends. If he did this it might keep them safe from other prying journalists. On the other hand, it might bring even more to the door.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Not right now. We don’t know anything and it might not even be their flight.”

“I understand, but we know there were only two Britons on-board, so if you could just perhaps give us a quick line or two about how you’re all feeling, you know, mention the humanitarian aspect…”

Kris hung up and threw his phone so hard it hit the pavement opposite, breaking apart and bouncing into the path of an oncoming bus. So there were two UK passengers. How was he going to tell the girls? He went back inside and headed straight for the toilets, locking himself in the cubicle. His heart was pounding and he could feel the tears pricking his eyes. He couldn’t lose Dan, he just couldn’t. Not now. It would be so unfair. He pressed his hands against the cool cistern, trying to steady his thoughts with deep breaths and distractions. He heard the door to the men’s room spring to a close and waited for whoever had entered to finish using the urinal before he flushed the toilet. He rubbed his eyes and went outside.

“Hi,” he smiled weakly.

“Alright?” The other man washed his hands and moved to use the dryer, but Kris was standing in the way, preparing himself to face the others.

“Sorry,” he said and reluctantly returned to the restaurant. A short while later, the other man followed, acknowledging the group with a tip of the peak of his enormous hat, before disappearing through the kitchen door, leaving it to swing behind him.

“That’s Wotto, I take it?” Kris asked no-one in particular. Four voices confirmed that it was. Krissi was in the kitchen too, where she’d been since they’d arrived and told her what was going on. He decided to go and check on his stepdaughter, because it was easier than telling his friends what his boss had disclosed. As he approached the kitchen door, he slowed right down. Through the circular window, he could see her leaning against Wotto’s shoulder, a length of blue paper towel scrunched up and soggy around her red eyes and nose. Perhaps this wasn’t the easy option after all, but she’d spotted him now, so it was too late. She feigned a bright, carefree smile and moved away from Wotto.

“How’re you doing?” Kris asked.

“OK, I guess. You?”

“Yeah. OK.”

“Good, good,” she replied, collecting a clipboard hanging on a wall hook and busying herself with reading whatever was on it.

“What you up to?” Kris peered over the top of the clipboard.

“Ordering stock. My scanner’s playing up.”

“Right. What’s that then?” He wasn’t interested in knowing and she didn’t especially want to explain, but she obliged anyway, understanding that her dad was probably feeling this a lot more than she was. Her dad. That’s who he was.

“I’m going to err…” She dashed across the kitchen and disappeared inside the walk-in refrigerator. Kris watched on, rendered helpless by his own impending loss. Wotto came over and patted his arm.

“As I told her,” he nodded in the direction Krissi had just taken, “you shouldn’t think the worst. Don’t grieve for them yet.”

Kris lifted his eyes and looked straight into Wotto’s face. He was young—no more than twenty-five, at a guess—with a bright, sincere expression. He’d seen pain; it was written all over him, yet it didn’t drag him down. So much wisdom in those words.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “Thanks.”

“She’ll be OK, you watch,” Wotto added, thumbing at Krissi as she emerged again, clipboard still in hand. “She always is.”

“Yeah, she’s tough,” Kris agreed.

“You’re not joking!” Wotto laughed and turned back to his preparations. The restaurant was due to open in twenty minutes and they were nowhere near ready. Krissi looked from Kris to Wotto, trying to ascertain what had passed between them. Kris gave her a wink and she came to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“I love you.”

“And I you,” he said, returning the kiss on her forehead. “I’ve got a bit more information. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

Krissi stepped away and waited while he searched for the words to tell her what he had discovered, each one piercing right into her like a poisoned dart. Almost two years had passed since her selfishness had pushed a wedge between them and still she didn’t regret what she had done. How could she now, when they were waiting, powerless and ignorant? Kris watched her carefully, taking in her reaction, for the first time truly understanding why she had needed to know the identity of her real father, and also finally realising that none of it mattered. She was his daughter: as good as blood, this love that filled his heart and kept it beating. However bad it was when they found out for sure, he knew that they would get through this together, the way they always had, and he would at last be ready to tell her the truth.

Opening time had merely shifted the friends to a table in the corner, where they dutifully sat, drinking purchased beverages and picking at a large pizza. None of them had an appetite, but they didn’t know what else to do. Every so often, Jess’s phone would beep and she’d glance at the screen, then return it to her bag. Shaunna was doing her best to entertain her young namesake, who really could have done with having a nap, but was as obstinate as her parents when it came to doing the right thing. Adele was pressing a few escaped granules of sugar to powder with her fingernail and Eleanor was feeding Toby. James was standing by the door, watching George and Josh engaged in what seemed to be a very difficult exchange outside, each looking past the other. Kris noticed Jess begin to crumble and took her hand.

“I need some air,” she said, getting up and pushing past him. She stumbled outside and walked a few yards down the road, in the opposite direction to George and Josh. A few seconds later, they came back towards the restaurant; Josh returned inside, while George stayed to talk to Jess.

“It’s not their plane,” Josh announced. “They landed a few hours before the crash.”

“Are you sure?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes. I’ve just checked the flight numbers. Apparently there’s been a big storm that’s taken out the communications system in the city, which is why we haven’t heard from them and also why the news channels couldn’t confirm the flight details. Anyway, they’re safe, as far as we can tell.”

Adele began to sob and Shaunna rushed to her, hugging her tightly. Little Shaunna watched on in bemusement.

The plane once again straightened out and slowed as it approached the airstrip from the opposite direction. Andy reached across his brother and opened the blind. The rain was torrential, the water that had accumulated on the tarmac creating a terrific spray, as the wheels bounced once, twice, then smoothed out, taking in the full length of the runway before they came to a halt. Some of the passengers cheered, although Andy wasn’t able to share their sense of relief just yet; he turned to his brother, who was fast asleep, and decided, against regulations, to dash to the toilet while no-one was looking. By the time he returned, Dan was unbelted and out of his seat.

“Come on!” he commanded. Andy hesitated a moment, waiting for the telltale tension in Dan’s neck muscles. After all these years he still loved to wind him up, although he was looking a little off-colour, so Andy took it no further. They shuffled forward and queued behind others awaiting their turn, some fussing with bags and belongings, unaware of the impatience building around them. Dan checked his watch and tapped his fingers on the back of a seat. They were going to miss the call at this rate.

It was the culmination of many months of planning and legal negotiations that could have been made all the more complex because of the emotive issues within which they were embedded, the final stage of setting in motion everything that had been ambitiously envisaged. Nine months had passed since Alistair Campion died, an unintended victim of a man crazed by loss and loneliness. There was still no credible explanation for why he targeted Campion in particular, but regardless, he was no more, and the fire had ensured his empire went with him. Almost.

Campion’s wife died not long after and what was left of the business would have remained forever intestate, had it not been for the discovery of a singular son and heir. With the directors dispersed to other boardrooms across the UK, Alistair’s estranged son Jason had finally and rightfully won his inheritance. If they made it to the hotel in time they might even find out what he intended to do with it.