If Ever I Fall. S.D. Robertson

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      ‘Ring any bells?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      He stands up. ‘Never mind.’

      ‘Hang on,’ I say, also rising to my feet. ‘Do you know where my mobile is?’

      Miles hesitates for a moment before replying. ‘Um, I do. Yes.’

      ‘Great. Where is it?’

      ‘In the sea.’

      ‘Sorry? I don’t understand. What do you mean, in the sea?’

      ‘You dropped it just after you arrived here, lad.’

      ‘Hang on. What sea?’

      Miles nods towards the window. I look outside for the first time and there, sure enough, is the blue-green swell of the sea.

      ‘Right,’ I reply, my head swimming. ‘I didn’t realise. And I haven’t bought a replacement phone?’

      ‘No.’

      He starts to head out of the room again, mumbling something about making us a cup of tea.

      I grab hold of his arm. ‘Wait. You told me you’d give me some answers today if I needed them – and I do, especially now I don’t have my phone to consult.’

      Miles lets out a gentle sigh and sits back down on the chair. ‘Very well, although I still think you’ll remember everything by yourself soon enough.’

      ‘So what’s my name?’

      ‘It’s Jack.’

      ‘Jack what?’

      ‘Um, I can’t tell you that.’

      ‘Why the hell not?’

      He smiles at me. ‘Because you haven’t told me. The truth is, Jack, I know very little about you.’

      ‘What?’ I ask, more confused than ever. ‘I don’t get it. I thought we knew each other. I thought we were maybe even family. I didn’t have you pegged as my dad, but perhaps an uncle or something.’

      Miles shakes his head. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Who are you, then? What am I doing here? How about you tell me what you do know?’

      ‘You’re my lodger. I bought this place after I retired and I’m in the middle of doing it up. You’re helping me in return for bed and board. The reason I thought the bathroom might ring a bell is that we fitted it together. Not long ago.’

      I stare at him for a moment. That wasn’t what I expected. ‘How long have I been here?’

      He explains that I’ve been staying with him for a couple of months. Apparently we met one night in a local pub and got talking. He was looking for a hand with the renovation and I needed somewhere discreet to stay – a place where I wouldn’t face too many questions.

      ‘Questions like my surname?’

      ‘Exactly. You never told me and I never asked.’

      ‘Didn’t you think you ought to know?’

      ‘Why? What’s the difference?’

      He says it was obvious I was in some kind of trouble, but he didn’t need or want to know the details. Considering himself a good judge of character, he decided it was worth taking a chance on me, particularly since I seemed to know a thing or two about DIY.

      ‘Turns out I was right. You’ve been a big help. I wouldn’t be anywhere near as far on without you. There’s still a long way to go, mind.’

      ‘Oh? This all seems finished.’

      Miles chuckles. ‘You really don’t remember, do you? Wait until you see the rest.’

      He’s not kidding. I find that out soon enough when I follow him to breakfast. I want to see as much as I can of my surroundings, hopeful that they’ll trigger some memories.

      We pass through the door opposite my bedroom and I’m stunned by what’s on the other side. ‘Wow. This place is huge.’

      ‘A huge wreck, for the most part. Careful where you walk. Follow my lead or you might find yourself knee-deep in the ceiling below.’

      He guides me along a broad landing, lined on each side by door after door, until we reach an imposing curved staircase wide enough for the two of us to descend together. As grand as the place is – or once was – it’s dilapidated: a dirty, mildew-flecked, musty mess of ramshackle floorboards and part-stripped walls.

      I spot the sea again through a grimy window with a rotten frame I could poke my finger through. ‘Where exactly are we? By the beach?’

      Miles glances back at me as he swings away from the bottom of the stairs and heads for the belly of the building. ‘I’m not going to tell you everything, lad. I want you to try to remember things by yourself. Seriously, it’s no good me feeding it all to you. How are you to know it’s not a pack of lies? Tell me, where do you think we are?’

      I’m tempted to say ‘in the kitchen’ as we reach our destination and he offers me a seat at a large oak dining table, pouring me a glass of orange juice from a jug. But I bite my tongue. This room has been renovated to a similarly high spec as the upstairs bathroom: granite surfaces, floor tiles and fancy appliances. There’s even a built-in coffee machine above the oven.

      ‘Well?’ Miles asks again. ‘Any ideas?’

      I shake my head, taking a big swig of the juice in a bid to calm my anxiety.

      ‘Okay, I’ll help you out a little, lad. We’re on the North Wales coast.’

      ‘Really?’

      He nods. ‘Does that sound familiar?’

      ‘Um, I’m not sure. Maybe. I guess it wasn’t what I was expecting because, well, you don’t sound Welsh. Come to think of it, I can’t put my finger on where your accent is from.’

      Miles laughs. ‘I’m from Yorkshire originally, but I’ve not lived there for a very long time. I spent most of my working life in Cheshire and moved here after I retired.’

      ‘What about me? What accent do I have?’

      ‘I don’t know where you’re from, if that’s what you’re asking. You never told me. Somewhere in Northern England, I’d say, but it’s not a strong accent. The answer is locked away in your head somewhere, which is why I want you to try to remember things yourself. That’s all I’m telling you for now.’

      Before I can argue, Miles changes the subject and starts talking about the kitchen.

      ‘This was my first project,’ he says. ‘Did it before I even moved in. A man can’t live without a good kitchen – not me, anyhow. You should have seen the СКАЧАТЬ