The Harder They Fall Read online

  “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.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  NEWS FLASH

  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.

  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.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  THE LONG WAIT

  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 wa
s 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.