Another Way to Fall (11 page)

‘I thought I’d be giving you inspiration to write about life but this,’ he began, pointing towards a cabinet that housed the mummified remains of some poor, ancient soul, ‘this is all about death. In fact, the whole museum is about the past. It might celebrate humanity and the living world but the exhibits here are far from alive.’

Emma didn’t reply immediately, she wasn’t sure how to, so she carried on moving through the exhibits, eventually stopping at one particular display board, which she read out loud: ‘
Knowing that death lays us low, knowing that life lifts us up, the house of death is for life.
’ It was a quote from the teaching of Prince Hardjedef and there was something she found quite profound in his words.

‘And what does that mean? To you?’ asked Ben gently.

‘It means I’m still alive and it means I want to make my own mark on the world, however brief my time here is. Those words were written nearly five thousand years ago and people are still reading them today. I don’t expect my writing will survive such a test of time but I want it to matter and that way it will give me eternal life too.’

‘You’re unbelievable, did you know that?’ Ben whispered as Emma gazed into another glass-fronted display cabinet, this one housing the tiny remains of a small boy.

‘I’m as fragile as the next person,’ she told him. Emma took a breath of warm and slightly stale air, the mustiness of the exhibits leaving a distinctive, ancient taste on her tongue. Then she set her shoulders straight. ‘Come on, there’s still plenty more to see.’

‘Fragile but with a will of iron,’ Ben added as they headed towards ancient Greece and Rome before moving on, with the simple press of an elevator button, to the rainforests, the jungles and the African plains. It was only when they took time out from their travels for a cup of coffee that Emma was ready to talk and make sense of the jumble of ideas that had flooded her mind.

‘I need to plan my first big assignment,’ she began. ‘I want to storm the business world, flitting between London, Paris and New York, but I also want to see some of the greatest sights the world has to offer. I’ve got so many ideas spinning around in my head that I’m not sure where to begin.’ She was sitting in the museum’s cafeteria, her elbows on the table, and she was holding a large cup of coffee to her lips but she had yet to take a sip. For the moment, it was enough to smell the aroma and feel the warmth of the steam as it wafted across her face.

‘You said you wanted to see the Valley of the Kings,’ Ben reminded her.

Emma smiled. ‘So I did. Yes, I think that might be a good place to start. We can learn a lot from the past.’

‘Our own included,’ Ben said.

Emma thought about that for a moment. ‘If I’m relying on my past, then I’m going to end up with a rather miserable story,’ she said, finally taking a sip of her coffee, which was now disappointingly tepid.

‘All the more reason to make some good memories,’ Ben said. ‘And I’m sure your family and friends will help, and you have Alex.’ His last words were more of a question than a statement.

Emma eyed him suspiciously. ‘So what exactly did Steven tell you?’

Ben’s face was a picture of innocence but Emma could see through him and he knew it. ‘He only mentioned that the atmosphere looked a little frosty between you two.’

‘And?’

Ben grimaced as Emma glared at him. ‘And he sort of mentioned that you ordered him out of the restaurant.’

Emma sighed heavily. One of the reasons she had wanted to leave so early that morning was to avoid further questioning from her mum about her dinner date. ‘So now everyone’s going to find out that we’ve split up.’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, Steven isn’t a gossip and neither am I. We won’t say a word.’

Emma’s anger softened a fraction. ‘I’d rather people didn’t know, for now at least.’

‘Does that mean you haven’t even told your family?’

‘I have so little privacy these days, I’d rather keep some things to myself, and besides, I’m not expecting them to be particularly sympathetic.’

‘And do you need sympathy?’

Ben’s question was probing. But by letting him into her secret world of fiction, she had opened doors to other parts of her life and Emma didn’t hesitate in baring her soul. ‘I’m getting used to being on my own,’ she said as she stirred her cold coffee with a spoon as if it would revive it. ‘And I’m starting to realize it’s better that way. It might add a bit of a challenge to my writing but every story needs a dilemma.’

Ben took the cup from her. ‘Would you like me to get you another cup?’ he asked. ‘And then maybe I can convince you that you’re not on your own.’

Emma shook her head, refusing the coffee. The air felt cool against her glowing cheeks. She had been so busy watching for signs of mutual interest between Ben and Louise, only now did she suspect his interest had lain elsewhere all along. ‘How am I not on my own?’ she asked, taking a tentative step outside her comfort zone.

‘Because I’m your sidekick,’ Ben said rather slowly, as if explaining something very complicated to a small child.

Emma’s cheeks sizzled as she retreated back into the safety of her box, housed on a dusty shelf in the shopkeeper’s store. ‘You’ve been planning it all along … you want to be in my book!’ she said.

Ben wasn’t fazed by the accusation. Instead, he beamed a smile. ‘It hadn’t crossed my mind but now you’ve mentioned it …’

‘Now I’ve mentioned it, wouldn’t it be a good idea?’ she said with a smile.

No matter how much he tried, Ben couldn’t wipe the smile from his face in time to convince Emma that he’d had no ulterior motives in offering her his assistance so readily. ‘If you insist,’ he said with false modesty.

Emma laughed. The physical act of laughing felt good. Why on earth had she even contemplated any romantic involvement, she asked herself, when all she needed right now was a friend to share her adventures with. ‘Well, I might be able to find a part for you somewhere but be warned: you should be careful what you wish for.’

It was less than two weeks to Christmas but Emma and Meg were too preoccupied with hospital visits to even acknowledge the season. The appointments were unwelcome reminders that Emma was gravely ill and served to add to her misery. She had to be measured up for the mask that would keep her head still during the radiation therapy, which was still scheduled for January. Meg was adamant that the preparations were unnecessary as she was more confident than ever that she would find her daughter’s miracle cure further afield. Amongst Emma’s other visits, she had a clinic appointment where her medication was reviewed by a registrar who suggested tapering off her steroid dosage. Her anti-seizure drugs were increased slightly but Emma was relieved not to have to face Mr Spelling, who would have been able to extract a confession from Emma that the seizures she had experienced were far more disturbing than she was letting on. They were different from any she had experienced before and different was never a good thing. But while the doctors remained unaware, Emma could ignore it too and, after all, she was regaining her health in so many other ways. She was feeling stronger in body if not in mind and she was hoping that one would compensate for the other.

It was Thursday morning before she had her first taste of freedom when Meg at last returned to the office to catch up on work. Left to her own devices and in a repeat of the previous week, Emma opted for a trip to the bistro. This time she decided not to phone for a cab; she gathered up her things, laptop included, and stepped out into the grey and damp December morning.

When she reached the pale grey railings that stretched the length of the promenade, the damp air became an incessant drizzle as wintry gusts swept droplets of broken waves into the air. Turning eastward, she headed towards Otterspool, which was about two miles upriver, an expanse of parkland that rolled towards the water’s edge but was currently hidden from sight by the curve of the river. The slapping of the waves against the sea walls gave the Mersey its heartbeat and Emma matched it beat for beat with her footfalls, steady and unstoppable as were her thoughts.

She hadn’t heard from Alex since Saturday and as the days passed, she had waited for her broken heart to mend. It took less time than she would have thought possible but she was starting to realize that there was little point in mourning the loss of something she had never had. She had wanted someone to be there by her side, through the good times and the bad. That person had never been Alex, even in her wildest dreams. Her book was testament to that.

The news of their break-up was still restricted. Ben and Steven had been true to their word and she had also enlisted Ally and Gina’s help to keep the news from reaching her mum’s ears. She knew that the longer she left it, the harder it would be to break the news but she still felt like she needed the breathing space.

Seagulls screamed overhead but it was the flock of brightly coloured kites that caught Emma’s attention as she neared the park. Her pace had slowed and, although the walk had been revitalizing, she knew when to call it a day. She searched out a cab and completed the remainder of her journey to the Traveller’s Rest in less than ten minutes.

Emma was relieved when she reached the sanctuary that the Traveller’s Rest offered, but as she pushed the door, she found it firmly locked. Confused, she peered inside, leaning her forehead against the cold glass. She glimpsed only dark shapes and shadows before her breath fogged up the window and obscured her view.

‘I don’t think it’s open in the mornings any more,’ said a cheery voice. ‘But if you’re looking for a cuppa, there’s a café open just around the corner.’

Emma peeled her eyes away from the gloom and found herself staring at two elderly women, one very tall and thin, the other much shorter and wider but both wrapped up in brightly coloured padded coats, hand-knitted scarves and matching woollen hats in garish colours. The animal-print Wellington boots weren’t an obvious choice to finish off their outfits but somehow it worked.

‘It’s my sister’s place,’ explained Emma.

The shorter woman shrugged. ‘You need to tell her to lower her prices. Have you seen how much she charges for a cup of tea?’

‘I’m surprised the place is still in business. No-one I know bothers with it,’ added the tall lady.

‘It was open as normal last week,’ Emma said, more to herself than to the ladies. She wondered if this had been the cause of the guilty looks from Louise and her mum when she had walked in on them on Saturday night. She felt a stab of guilt as she recalled all the promises she had made to Louise about helping her get back on her feet when Joe first left. And she had done a lot to help Louise at the beginning … but circumstances had taken over. She had become involved with Alex and had been too busy taking on his work as well as her own to find time for much else. She had taken her eye off the ball and even the promises she had made to Louise after leaving hospital hadn’t been followed through. She had been too focused on her own problems to give her sister the support she needed.

‘Oh, don’t listen to Iris. I’m sure it does well enough while we’re tucked up in bed. Your sister must know what she’s doing. She probably doesn’t even want to attract old biddies like us.’

‘Speak for yourself. I’m not an old biddy and if that place was run properly it would be doing a roaring trade right now.’

The two women launched into an argument about whether their generation’s custom would be of any value to the bistro. Emma coughed politely. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me plenty to think about.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Iris. ‘We didn’t mean to worry you. Come on, Jean, let’s leave the poor girl in peace.’

‘But if your sister ever wants some more of our advice, we have very reasonable rates. A cup of tea and a slice of cake should do it,’ offered Jean. Her plump cheeks wobbled as she laughed at her own joke.

Iris raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Ignore her,’ she told Emma. ‘But if you can convince your sister to have special rates for pensioners, you might find there’s enough trade to make it worth opening in the mornings.’

‘And nicer biscuits,’ Jean called back as Iris pulled her away. ‘Not those ones you could break your teeth on.’

‘It was nice meeting you,’ Emma called after them as they disappeared around the corner.

Turning her attention back to the bistro, Emma sighed. The ladies were right, the bistro should be doing a roaring trade. There were plenty of visitors in and around Sefton Park who would be eager for a warm drink on a cold, winter’s morning. Iris and Jean may have been a little eccentric but they could be the demographic that Louise should be encouraging into the bistro during the quieter periods. It had to be better than shutting up shop.

Emma felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of launching into a campaign to save her sister’s bistro and new ideas were already beginning to take shape in her mind. This was exactly the kind of purpose she had been searching for. Now all she needed was somewhere to work. She considered using the intercom at the side entrance that led to the apartment above but that would mean interrupting Steven or Ben. The thought was appealing but there were still some areas of her life where she was feeling far from assertive. The walk had left her wet and windswept and she dreaded to think what she must look like. She turned away from the bistro as she considered her options and that was when she noticed her mum’s car parked on the other side of the road. Her taxi must have pulled up next to it but she had got out on the other side.

Meg had distinctly told her she was going into the office. There had been no suggestion of a detour. Emma turned and took another look inside the bistro, hands cupped around her eyes in an attempt to chase away the shadows that were intent on holding onto their secrets. It didn’t take long for Emma to spot the tops of two familiar heads, partially hidden as they conspired within the walls of a booth at the rear of the restaurant.

‘Need some help?’ This second interruption was more familiar. The voice was deep and smooth, although at present, slightly breathless.

Ben was standing next to her, hot and sweaty and catching his breath after what must have been a jog around the park.