If Ever I Fall. S.D. Robertson

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, help yourself,’ he says. ‘And please don’t trick me.’

      As the little ghost reaches out, the man turns to me. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. His voice is different now, though. It sounds female. Like that of a young woman.

      What’s happening? One moment I’m looking him in the eye, wondering what the hell is going on with his voice, and the next everything fades to black. I’m shouting out, but I can’t hear myself, like I’ve been muted. I’m confused, afraid.

      Then I hear that voice again.

      ‘Can you hear me?’

      It definitely sounds like a young woman; maybe a teenager. The tone reassures me somehow. It seems familiar, although I can’t put my finger on why.

      ‘You have to get up. It’s not safe here. You need to open your eyes.’

      Bright sky is above me: light blue with fluffy sheep clouds. I turn my head to the right, feel damp grass under my cheek and view the sea through the gaps in the rickety fence. Why am I lying on the ground? What happened?

      I heave myself up. First into a sitting position and then, once I’m sure everything’s working, on to my feet. I feel dizzy, especially when I look at the sea far below. There’s a twinge from my head, but nothing like the pain I felt when I first woke up after the accident. I must have fainted or passed out. It didn’t feel like that, though. It was more like I was in a trance – reliving a forgotten memory, as I had before.

      So who was the young girl trick-or-treating with me? Was the little ghost my daughter? It felt like she was. But how can I be a father and not remember? That’s not the kind of thing you ever forget, is it? I must be mistaken. Maybe she was a niece, a young sister or a friend’s daughter. Perhaps it wasn’t a memory at all. It could have been a scene I watched in a film, although again it felt so real.

      I think back to the feeling I keep having that I should be somewhere else, with someone else. Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

      I shiver in the wind. What about the older girl’s voice that spoke to me at the end? She told me to get up. She said I wasn’t safe. Was she right? And why did she sound so familiar?

      I turn 360 degrees, scanning the open space in every direction for some clue. And then I see her: far in the distance along the clifftop, in the opposite direction from which I was walking.

      The woman in red. Or maybe not a woman at all. Could she be the one who just spoke to me? Could she be a girl? A teenager?

      She looks identical to the last time I saw her; same jeans and knee-length coat, billowing long black hair. She’s looking at me, although she’s some distance away: too far to clearly make out her face. So how could she have been talking to me?

      I cup both hands around my mouth and shout to her. ‘Hello! Can you hear me?’

      She doesn’t react, so I wave my hands above my head, staring at her the whole time and shouting some more.

      She stands there, hands in her pockets, looking straight at me but through me.

      Then I blink and she’s gone.

       CHAPTER 9

       Friday, 7 April 2017

      Dear Sam,

      Sorry about breaking off so abruptly last time. Ruby had got herself all confused, poor thing. She’d had some sort of nightmare; then she woke up and got into a panic at not being able to move her arm. It’ll take her a while to get used to the plaster cast.

      I’m keeping her off school for a couple of days. Yesterday she was shattered after all the time we spent at the hospital. Today it was more about giving her a chance to get used to doing everything one-handed. She should be fine to go back next week, from what the doctors said. As long as she’s not in any pain and keeps her arm rested in a sling. She’ll still be able to do most of her schoolwork, thanks to being left-handed, but there’ll be no PE or Games for a while. She’s mainly excited about all her friends signing the plaster.

      I didn’t have a chance last time to tell you about the hospital visit itself. We went to A&E at St Joseph’s and were there for hours. One nice – and somewhat surprising – thing was that Dan turned up.

      There, I’ve mentioned him. You probably wondered when I was going to. It had to happen eventually; he’s still in our lives and always will be, despite what happened between us. Forgive me if I’m not as impartial or diplomatic about him as I ought to be. I’m writing to your future self, Sam, not to the person you were. So these letters are making the assumption that you know all about the separation and so on. The whys and wherefores are not something I want to discuss here. I will say, though, that you mustn’t feel bad about any of that – I’m not suggesting you do; there’s absolutely no reason to. But just in case.

      I rang him at work after the accident. He said initially that he couldn’t make it, because it was deadline night, but then he turned up after all. That was unexpected and, in light of Rick’s disappointing response, it actually felt refreshing. Dan was really supportive, and I think Ruby and I both appreciated it.

      Things between us were really good for once. Dan stayed at the hospital the whole time and followed us home to tuck Ruby up in bed. He even stayed for a glass of wine. But then things turned sour. First he said something derisive after I changed into some casual clothes. Then he picked up on the fact that Rick had been here and got all narky with me. He didn’t actually accuse me of not paying enough attention to Ruby when she had the accident, but I could tell he was thinking it. He put me on a guilt trip about giving up work and, before I knew it, he was asking for a divorce and saying all kinds of hurtful things.

      After everything I’d been through that day, it was too much. I burst into tears. Pathetic, I know, but I didn’t have the energy to argue back. Dan went home. I sat there, sobbing my heart out until there were no tears left.

      All in all, a pretty dreadful day.

      The thing is, Sam, before we had that argument, I was feeling better about our relationship than I have in ages. Dan turning up at the hospital renewed my faith in him. It felt nice the three of us being together again as a family unit. A small part of me even started to wonder …

      No, I can’t bring myself to say it. Not after how it all turned out. I guess that was why it hurt so much when he started having a go at me. The irony is I’ve done that to him on loads of occasions; if I’ve not actually used the D word at some point, then I’ve definitely implied it. I’ve shouted and screamed at him; behaved in the bitchiest way possible countless times. I even made him return the present he gave me last Christmas, because we’d agreed not to do gifts. Nasty or what?

      That might not sound like how you remember me, Sam. I never used to lose my temper so easily, did I? It’s part of the personal problems I’ve been having: the breakdown I mentioned in my last letter.

      The thing about Dan is that he usually takes whatever I say firmly on the chin. As awful as that sounds, it’s true. He’s not the type to shout back, even when I deserve it. He definitely hasn’t asked for a divorce before. He’s never been one to say much at all about his emotions. That’s played a part in the problems between us. So in a way, although it sounds warped, I’m glad he shouted at me. It was good to see him being