Falling by Emma Kavanagh Read Free Book Online Page A

sound. He had a smoker’s voice, a deep throaty bass, even though he’d never touched a cigarette in his life. She remembered that voice, how it sounded through tinny telephone lines, distant and surprised that she’d called him. Three years ago. After she had left him, assumed she would never see him again. After all, they weren’t much, were they? A little casual affair, dipping her toes back into the water. And then, after it had drifted to its inevitable conclusion, she had left, retreated home, back to her parents’ in the leafy outskirts of Hay-on-Wye, even though she had sworn she would never go back there to that house choked full of silent hostility and jagged edges. But she had nowhere else to go. She had sworn that she was laying off men. No more pointless dating, killing time with men that left her feeling empty inside. Then had come the nausea and the backache and the little blue line on the unremarkable white stick. And she had called him, because she didn’t know what else to do. There had been a ripple in his voice, forced politeness because he just was that kind of man, and she had known that he had missed her no more than she had missed him. Her hand had hovered for a moment. He didn’t want her. She didn’t want him. What was the point? But then the memories had crowded in on her, and she had felt a shiver of fear, and almost without meaning them to, the words had tumbled out. Pregnant. Feeling like she was falling down the rabbit hole and knowing that she was sealing her fate, that uttering that word would make it so. The stunned silence, as he figures out what he needs to do next, then the soft sigh as he realises that he is as trapped as she is now, and the quiet “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
    For a moment, she had almost believed him.
    It had all tumbled away from her then. Had told her parents, words digging into her throat. Her mother resting her head in her hands. You’ll have to get married. It’s the right thing to do. Cecilia shaking her head, but doing it without conviction. I’m telling you. Motherhood is tough. You don’t want to do this alone. A screaming baby. Enough to push anyone to the edge. You know how it was for me. If he’s willing…her mother had shrugged…you tie him down. You won’t be able to do it on your own, Cece. It’s not in your nature. And then, before she could turn around it seemed, she was married, in a civil ceremony in a scuffed registry office, her parents and Tom’s mother the only witnesses. The air had been clogged, a stupefying July day, heat pressing down on her chest so that she couldn’t breathe. Everything in her pulling her backwards, telling her to run, because this isn’t the life she wants. But her mother’s fingers are wrapped around her arm, whispering something about cold feet being natural, and there’s a wall of pressure at her back, so that she can’t turn around either. And then they were married, and it was too late. They went for a meal afterwards, in a little bistro that no-one really liked. Her father had drunk too much, not looking at her, or anyone else, concentrating steadily on the bottom of his wine glass, her mother laughing too loudly, like she thinks if she makes enough noise she can distract from her husband. Then when they were done, she had hugged Cecilia, whispering about how she had done the right thing, because otherwise, what would people have thought?
    It was three months later that her parents announced they were getting a divorce. A late night phonecall from her father, slurring his words. That slut. Having an affair. Moving to Glasgow with her fucking boyfriend. Cecilia had cried, from frustration or anger or childish despair she wasn’t sure.
    Cecilia buried her head in the pillow. But it didn’t help. The walls still crept closer, licked with flames, and the sheets still smelled of petrol and death. She pushed back the bedding, movements too quick so that her arm jarred and pain shot