If Ever I Fall: A gripping, emotional story with a heart-breaking twist. S.D. Robertson
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worry, Jack. I understand.’
‘Are you sure it’s not worth going today? Isn’t there a chance there might be someone who can help?’
‘No. It would be an utter waste of time. You’ll have to trust me on that.’
‘Could we go on Monday, then?’
‘Yes, Monday we can do.’
After a shower and breakfast, I find Miles busy laying floorboards.
‘Can I help?’ I offer.
‘No, I don’t think you’re ready to get back to work yet.’
‘But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’
‘It’s too soon.’
‘What shall I do, then? I need to get busy with something or I’ll go crazy.’
Miles shrugs.
‘Maybe I’ll get some fresh air. The weather looks decent: the sun’s out and there’s no sign of any rain.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea in your condition.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I insist. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t go near the edge of the cliff. I could really do with …’
Miles throws me an expectant stare.
‘Yeah, I was going to tell you that I need to clear my head,’ I say. ‘Then the irony of the expression struck me. What I really want to do is fill my head back up. But you know what I mean.’
‘I’d rather you put your feet up.’
‘Just a little walk. I’ll stay close to the house, I promise.’
‘Fine. You’re a grown man and you seem steady enough on your feet now. But please don’t go close to the edge, and don’t push yourself too hard.’
‘I won’t. Thanks, Doc.’
Outside, the fresh sea air feels great on my skin. Despite what I’ve told Miles, I can’t resist walking over to the rickety fence and peering down the jagged cliff face to the swirling sea, which looks chilly and agitated. I’m not sure what time of year it is, which is an odd feeling, yet I’m dressed for winter in a jumper and jacket. That must be right, I think. The sun might be out, but there’s no warmth, especially in the coastal breeze. I take in my surroundings, noting the bare branches of the few trees nearby and the lack of any flowers. Then I look back at the house: a last outpost of civilisation in this remote spot, as worn and neglected as it is imposing. There’s so much still to be done, I think, eyeing all the flaking paintwork, rotten wood and damaged roof tiles. No wonder Miles needs my help.
Wandering over to the rear of the house, I come across a mud-caked green Land Rover parked at the top of a winding dirt track. I assume this leads to a proper road. The car looks old but functional. I stare down the track; just knowing for sure that there’s an actual route to civilisation comes as a relief.
I hear a thumping noise behind me and I turn to see Miles struggling to open a decrepit wooden window on the first floor. He eventually succeeds and waves to me with a smile. ‘Ring a bell?’
‘Sorry?’ I say, cupping one ear and moving closer.
‘There,’ he replies, pointing to a spot of overgrown grass and a mound of earth to my left-hand side.
Despite having a good look around, I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. I shrug, perplexed.
‘That pile of soil,’ he says, pointing again. ‘It’s where I found you unconscious after your accident.
‘Really?’ I look again, but still nothing comes back.
He nods to one side. ‘The ladder’s over there.’
I go to it, run my hands over the cold aluminium, but it’s as unfamiliar as the rest.
‘I think you must have been looking at the state of the roof. We’d been talking about sorting out the tiles for a while. I’m not sure why you decided to do it when I wasn’t around, though; it’s not wise to go up a ladder alone.’
‘Clearly not.’
‘And? Any recollection?’
I look around again, as if that might somehow trigger my memory, but there’s nothing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen this side of the house. I shake my head. ‘It’s not familiar at all. I was—’
I stop mid-sentence as something catches my eye: a flash of red in my peripheral vision. I turn in that direction, but there’s nothing there.
‘You all right?’ Miles calls down to me.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m going for a wander. See you in a bit.’
‘Be careful. Make sure not to lose your way.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
I’m convinced the red is from the woman I spotted out of the window yesterday: the slender figure looking over the cliff, who Miles claimed not to have seen. There’s no logic to this other than the fact that she was wearing a red coat, but I’m gripped by the notion and I race in that direction to try to catch her.
There’s no sign of her at the front of the house. I’m confused. I look all around, casting my eye up and down the coastline. I retrace my steps to the rear of the house, taking care to stay out of Miles’s view, but still no luck. Eventually, after several minutes of scratching my head, I figure I must have imagined it. It’s the only rational explanation. I have had a recent head trauma. Seeing flashes of colour is probably a side effect. Besides, if I’m to believe Miles, I probably imagined her in the first place. And yet somehow I’m still not convinced of that. The first time I saw her she was so realistic, so alive.
I return to the front of the house and decide to walk to the place along the clifftop where I first saw the mysterious woman in red. Miles wouldn’t approve, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I soon reach the spot, but of course she’s not there and there’s no sign of her either. So I carry on, focusing on a crooked sea stack in the distance that reminds me of a witch’s nose.
I take in the cool, fresh air with deep breaths – as slow as I can manage – in a bid to calm myself down. I feel all worked up; my shoulders ache. I hadn’t realised how tense I was until now. Having no memory is so frustrating; how can I understand myself when my past is a mystery? My mind is like an empty library: useless without the volumes of knowledge that define it.
I’m picturing that image in my mind when it’s ripped apart and set alight by the burning arrow of another memory.
It’s dark and the streets are full of monsters with bags of loot.
A little ghost is gripping my hand and pulling me towards the light of a nearby front door. ‘They have a pumpkin in the window,’ she says. ‘They should definitely answer.’
‘Well spotted,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got excellent eyes for a ghost. Would you like me to come to the door with you or to hang back?’
‘I want you to come. You don’t look scary though. I said you should have worn a mask.’
‘Never mind. I’ll pull a really creepy face instead. How’s this?’
She looks up at my attempt at facial contortion and giggles while pressing the bell.
A moment later the door swings open and we both shout: ‘Trick or treat!’
‘Wow! You do look scary,’ booms the large bald man who answers. ‘I’d better give you some sweets, hadn’t I?
He reaches to grab a big bowl of mini chocolates from a shelf above a coat rack standing beside the door. How strange, I think. All the jackets hanging there are red.
‘Here,