Catch Me When I Fall (10 page)

we'd met, the way people meet in the movies. In any case it had been such an extraordinary evening that we'd probably all get together soon, although I was aware that you should always beware of trying to recapture a brilliant experience. I dropped Annie a cheerful postcard saying what fun it had been, with a flirtatious reference to Glenn. And then nothing. I didn't hear back from her. Or him. About a year later I bumped into her at a party. I mentioned the dinner and she just mumbled something. I asked about Glenn and she turned vague, said she wasn't sure. She was blatantly unfriendly, looking over my shoulder at the room, getting away from me with a brusque excuse.
I went over the evening again and again in my mind and tried to see it from other perspectives. Had I been kidding myself? Had I just been loud and brash when I thought I was being charming? I tried to remember other people's responses but I couldn't. That might have been the problem. Maybe I hadn't let anyone else get a word in.
I wasn't sure if it was me or if everybody experienced this disconnection between their own feelings and those of the people around them. I thought I was making Glenn fall hopelessly in love with me and he had disappeared in a cloud of dust. And then there was the wretched Rees. A casual, meaningless, repulsive one-night stand and he felt we were bound together. I didn't know if he loved me or hated me, or which of the two was worse. ALL these discrepancies. If only the world matched the insides of our brains; if only the insides of our brains matched the insides of other people's brains.
Nothing fitted together. You're wearing headphones and you think you're talking normally and people are flinching because you're shouting. It was all like that. I knew that things had got out of control, in my life and inside my head. There was a storm in my head and what I needed to do was batten down the hatches and ride it out, like Glenn with his round-the-world yachts. At

the now-legendary dinner, I'd asked him what was the biggest storm he'd ever been in but, now that I thought about it, I couldn't remember his answer. I probably hadn't given him a chance to utter one.
That's one of the things about life. The times you really want it to go well, it's a disaster. When you don't care, everybody loves you. And so, when I gave this talk to a collection of businesspeople-- at a time when I had too much else on my mind -it went fine. I didn't look at my notes. I just climbed up on the platform, opened my mouth and did my party piece. The man who had introduced me wouldn't let me go. He talked about what I'd said, asked me about strategy and whether I could visit their office and see them at work. It sounded like a result. I raced back to the office, had a quick meeting with Trish while Lola organized the hire car for me, drank a double espresso, then jumped into the car, which smelt of leather and pine and cleanness. It was slow getting out of London, as always. I was starting to live like a commuter, but without the country house. I shifted between crawling queues, revved up at traffic-lights, looking anxiously at the clock on the dashboard. It seemed urgent that I should get there on time, though I knew it didn't matter that much.
I sped off from a light with a screech of tyres. The car I left behind blared its horn furiously and I looked up as it drew level with me at the next lights. A man was shouting soundlessly through the window and then, as if I couldn't imagine what he was saying, he jabbed his middle finger in the air. There was a woman next to him who was also shouting something. I looked at her face, twisted, a gargoyle. I put my index finger against my forehead and mouthed, 'CRAZY':, out of the window. Their faces contorted even more furiously. The lights changed and I drove off, out into the clearing road ahead.
The next thing I knew, the red Escort had shot past and braked in front of me, forcing me to stop. The man got out of the car

and strutted over like a big fat cockerel. I opened my door and got out too.
"Yes?" I said.
'Cunt,' he said. 'What the luck are you playing at?'
He stepped towards me. I looked down at my left hand, which was coming up towards me. My nails were getting a bit too long, I thought. I must remember to cut them this evening. My fingers curled round themselves. I saw my wedding ring, my knuckles. I saw his shouting mouth. That's where I punched him, smack on his lips, with all the weight of my shoulder behind the blow, shoving his words back down his throat.
He folded up neatly, his knees collapsing on to the ground. He looked as if he was praying or abasing himself.
'Nightwatchman," I said. 'That's the answer to that crossword clue. Yes!"
I stood back a few feet. There was a racket going on behind me. The woman got out of the car and wobbled hysterically towards him and he lifted his head, his face wiped clean of any expression, his mouth open in mute astonishment, blood on his teeth. I edged back towards my car and watched him unconcertina himself and stand up. Quite calmly, I got into the car and drove away. I wasn't even late.

Charlie and I went to see a film with Sam and Luke, Meg's cousin. I invited Meg, who said she was feeling better and maybe she'd join us but cancelled at the last minute and wouldn't tell me why. After the film, we all went out for an Indian meal together, though I only pretended to eat, pushing the red, oily chunks of meat round the plate, making little heaps of rice. I assumed I was losing weight. I had stood on the scales that morning, but the figures were in kilos. I'd made an attempt to convert it to something I understood by multiplying it by two and a bit, then trying to divide it by fourteen in my head but the

figure I got was something meaningless like three stone or twenty-seven stone, so I must have made a mistake somewhere. Or maybe I was disappearing, becoming invisible at last, or even filling the entire world so that soon there would be no room for tone else.
At one point Charlie leaned across the messy plates and took my hand. I flinched, and saw for the first time, with a mild, dispassionate interest, that there was a dark bruise across my knuckles. I was puzzled, then remembered the man I'd hit. Only when I noticed the bruise did it start hurting.
'You should see the other guy,' I said, and they all laughed I laughed too, louder than the rest of them.

We got back at half past ten. Sam and Luke came in for coffee, and then the doorbell rang. Naomi stood on the doorstep, clutching something. 'A parcel came for you a cbuple of hours ago,' she said. 'Courier service. I had to sign for it, and then it was too wide to fit through your box. I thought it might be

"Thanks.' I took it from her.
"Are you OK? You don't look yourself, Holly."
"I'm just a bit washed up. Done in, I mean. Why don't you
come in for a bit?"
"Are you sure?'
"The more the merrier,' I said, and she followed me into the living room and took her place between Sam and Charlie, looking as plump and pretty as a cat.
'Open your parcel, then,' said Luke.
I tried to pull open the padded envelope, which turned out to be full of the horrible grey fluff that gets everywhere, and in the process I jabbed myself on a staple, cutting my finger. I hate these bloody things. They ought to be banned, along with clingfilm.'

'Here. Let me,' said Charlie. He took the envelope and pulled it
open, then thrust his hand inside. "What's wrong with clingfilm?' 'It's -' I began, then stopped dead. "What's this?' said Charlie.
I looked at the flimsy black object dangling from his fingers. Suddenly I felt feverish. I could feel the dots of sweat on my forehead.
'Some dumb publicity stunt,' I said, in a high, merry voice, and grabbed at them. 'Who thought this was a smart idea? Imagine lots of middle-aged men in suits sitting round a shiny table and one of them saying, "We should send sexy underwear out to all our clients."'
Naomi turned the envelope upside down. 'Publicity for what, Holly?'
'That's the stunt,' I said desperately. I put the knickers against my hot cheek and realized they hadn't been washed. They smelt of me. My face burned with shame. 'It's meant to get you wondering.'
'Well, it certainly does that," said Luke, and snickered.
'Then later,' I prattled on, "something else will arrive and you'll understand what it's all about. They do it all the time. The latest thing. Drives me mad. Anyway, I wish they wouldn't send me stuff at home like this. Look, they're quite the wrong size. I'd never wear these, would I? I'll just chuck them in the bin, shall I?"
Charlie didn't say anything. He looked at the knickers clutched in my sweating hand, and he looked at me.

10

I ordered a spicy tomato juice at the bar. Twenty past five and it was already getting dark outside. Soon it wouldn't be autumn any more but proper winter, pinched grey days and long black nights. In certain moods I love the dark. It's like velvet around me, not scary but protective.
'I thought I'd find you here!"
I turned and saw a face I recognized, but out of context I couldn't place it. White smooth face, dark hair pulled back. Attractive face, though now it was filled with hostility and the red mouth was open and words were streaming out.
"Holly Krauss. Swilling your drink as if you didn't have a care in the world.'
'Deborah,' I said, startled. 'What are you '
'You didn't think you'd not see me again, did you? I told you
I wouldn't go that easily."
'What do you want?"
"What do I want? What do I want? I want my job. I want to keep my fiat. I want my self-respect back. I want an apology. I want you to grovel. Or, failing that, I want to take you to the cleaners. And I will, you'll see.'
I managed a shrug that I thought might look as if I wasn't bothered. "If you've anything to say, you need to talk to our lawyer.'
"Yeah, yeah, we're dealing with Mr. Graham. But I wanted to deal with you too. In person. You can't just wreck someone's life and expect to hand it all over to a solicitor.'

I looked at her, the creamy face and thick brows and red lips. "Look, Deborah, I don't want to discuss this here "
"You don't want to discuss it,' said Deborah. 'Don't want to? Poor Holly.'
She took a step forward, and I backed away so I was wedged against the bar.
"I think you need help,' I said. 'Medical help.'
Her whole face seemed to shiver with rage. It was like seeing a mask crack open, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
'How dare you suggest there's anything wrong with me?' she hissed. 'How dare you? First you fire me, then you say I'm sick. The only thing I'm sick of is you.'
And she raised her hand and took a wild swipe at me, knocking the glass from my hand. Tomato juice flew in an arc, splattering both of us. I looked at her, with a red stain down her white shirt and her face trickling with thick juice. 'Oops! You look like a Jackson Pollock painting,' I said cheerfully.
'Holly, are you all right? Can I be of any help?'
A tall, gangly man with a hooked nose, slightly close-together eyes and a flop of fair, greying hair. White shirt, black-leather jacket, grey cords, laced, high-ankled suede shoes. Stuart from the weekend. The premature-ejaculation man, who felt invisible with his sons. I smiled at him. For once I was pleased to meet a client out of office hours. 'I bet I know where all your items of furniture come from,' I said, and gave a giggle that even
recognized as a bit mad.
"Furniture?'
'Gap. That's definitely a classic Gap shirt, anyway. And, yes, since you asked, you can help. You can ask Deborah -this is Deborah, by the way -to buy me another tomato juice. I'll waive the cleaning bill.'
'Is this another of your lovers?" asked Deborah. 'Another of the men you string along? Watch it,' she said, turning to Stuart.

'she'll kick you out as soon as she has no more use for you.'
'We're late for the exhibition,' said Stuart to me, though he was staring at Deborah with fascination. "Put your coat on and we'll go.'
'I'm not done with you,' said Deborah, as I slid into my coat. 'You wait and see. You don't go wrecking people's lives on a whim and then just walk away.'
I took Stuart's arm. 'Let's go."
'Goodbye,' he said to Deborah, with curiously chivalric
formality. 'I'm sorry we met in these circumstances.'
'Oh, come on.'
He hesitated, gazing into Deborah's furious, beautiful face, en turned away.
'I'll ruin you,' she called after us. 'Don't think I won't. Bitch.'
'Thanks so much for that," I said, dropping Stuart's arm as we reached the street. 'I dread to think what you made of it.'
'It was fun. I felt like your knight in shining armour. What did you do to her?'
'Just a problem in the office.'
'Hmm. It looks like a problem that's got out of hand.'
'Yeah,' I said. My legs were shaking. 'You're probably right.
Maybe she was right to call me a bitch. I don't know."
'What did you do?"
'Fired her, basically. I had to. We're only a little company, a bit like a family. We've all got to trust each other or the whole thing collapses. But I kno,v I can be confrontational. Compromise isn't my strong suit. Charlie always says that in an argument I miss out all the build-up part and go nuclear at once. But I guess we should try to come to some agreement. We'll all lose out if we spend months with solicitors involved. I know that's what Meg and Trish think, anyway.'
'Can I do anything for you? I could be your middle man, no legal fee involved.'

'No, don't be daft. It's sweet of you but it's my fault and my problem, and if anyone's going to sort it out it's me.'
'You're the one person who can't, I'd say. Anyway, this is what I do in my job. I sort out personnel problems. Let me do it as a favour.'
'It wouldn't work. You saw what she was like.'
'Very flew," agreed Stuart. "Let me give it a go at least. What's her phone number?"
'I don't know. Trish would have it."
"Trish?"
"In the office. You could ask her. Or look her up in the directory -her name's Deborah Trickett and she lives in Kennington, I know that. Willow Lane, I think.'
"Deborah Trickett, Willow Lane,' he repeated. 'I don't think it's a good idea.' 'It's a challenge.'
"Listen, Stuart, I ought to be getting home.'
'But you're coming to the exhibition. That wasn't a brilliant improvisation. I really am going to a friend's opening, just down the road from here. Come along. It might be fun."
'That's very kind of you, and on another day maybe, but it's been a busy time and I don't think I'm up to it this evening. I've kind of run out of energy."
'That doesn't sound like you."
"What do you mean?'
'Running out of energy. That was one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. That weekend, there was something extraordinary about it. It wasn't what we did. I guess everybody does that stupid raft stuff. But the people in the office, they're really excited. You did that.'
'Ali right,' I said. Til come for a bit.' I stood up straight and hitched my shoulder-bag higher. My knuckles had started to throb, and I had blisters on my heels. My face was tingling a bit,