If I Fell

~44~

I also grew blind. The lipstick on the collar sort of blind. The perfume surrounding sort of denial. Blaming the fans 'Oh yea they really were pushing us around at the studio carpark today' or 'they took off down the street after us' seemed to be the cover.

And I took it, cause I wasn't always there, I wasn't always beside him. Silly me, I wanted him happy so I let him.

Then there was the night they fought as I stood in the doorway of my room, not quite knowing what or who it was about.....

The front door slammed and they staggered in both drunk, both dangerous.

"You fucking do want her, don't lie" John growled and I heard him slam the door shut with his boot.

"Don't be stupid I'm with Jane. I don't have any feelings for-"

"Liar I see you. God, do you think me a fool?" John pushed Paul into a wall almost shaking the house and he let out a whoosh of air as he hit.

I stood atop the stairs unseen. Wanting to step off, go down offer tea, change the direction of conversation but it was different this fight.

"I like her, yes. Course she's beautiful, sweet and kind"

"And buxom and tight and -"

"John, keep it down you'll wake her" Paul hissed.

Me?

This is about me.

"Maybe she should wake up" I heard the fridge open and slam shut "Maybe, she should wake up to the fact you perve on her from sun up to sundown"

"John don't be daft. She's my sister"

"Fuck off" The tap ran and I sat atop the stairs hugging my knees "Sister, very convenient. Tell me... did you do her yet, did you fuck your sister"

Bang, and the punches started and I held my head and screamed silently for it all to stop. I held my breath as the punches went on, waiting for the words, hating the words before they were uttered, not wanting to hear anything more.

So instead I rushed the stairs to the bottom, my thump into the door opposite enough to wake them both to the fact I was close, turning, trying to decide what I should do.

I found the door and ran, the child that couldn't digest the information and the woman who could.

It was early. Daylight hadn't broken only the night was less. Less dark, less ominous, less scary a place to be as I roamed St. Johns Wood.

Replaying harsh accusing words over and over in the St. John's Wood Church Gardens around the corner from the house. The gravestones eerie in the half light of dawn, fingers trailing over the headstones, in a way peaceful that it was beyond quiet, petrifying in another, the damp morning air held close to me and a shiver ran my spine.

If I was here in the daytime I might have been blessed with butterflies landing close by or even on me like delicate lucky charms of beauty and fragility but I was here among the hedges, close to the small meadow, the woodland but steps away, I stayed adrift with gravestones.

They called into the morning together "Abigail, where are you?" Harmony to my ears, together again, united as they searched .... for me.

I stood perfectly still when I glimpsed them at the fork in the path, they pointed and shook heads and made to move apart, my voice catching and small . It was no use to hide, I would have to go home anyway and they were here... together..."Here, I'm..... here"