sort of person you both hated and wanted to be, wrapped into one.
‘I’m bipolar,’ was the answer Stephen settled for.
Maclure nodded. ‘That’s a tough one. And the treatment makes you feel like crap on the good days, so you stop taking it, then all the good days become bad days anyway. Is that about right?’
‘Something like that,’ Stephen said.
Only the truth was exactly like that and, annoyingly, he could never have put it that concisely, even though he was the one living it.
‘But you’re still alive. You’re making it work. You have a mobile phone, which means you contact people. That’s a great start. This wallet’s pretty thick, which means you’re living a normal life – credit cards, bills, driving licence, I would think, access to cash. You haven’t been reduced to life on the streets. Pretty admirable, given what you’re going through. A lot of people in your situation can’t cope within normal social boundaries at all. You should be proud of yourself.’
That was certainly a new perspective on his life. Pride. Not something many people could have applied to him, however creative they were. Rune Maclure could talk the talk.
‘I need you to tell Rosa that this isn’t her fault,’ Stephen said.
It was time to get down to business and he wasn’t enjoying standing here in the cold.
‘Rosa – girlfriend, I’m guessing. I’ll need a surname if I’m going to be able to trace her.’
‘Her contact details are in my mobile. The security code is 1066. And could you tell her the extension cable is hers. She’ll know what I mean. I just remembered.’
‘So you’ve split up?’ Maclure asked.
‘She couldn’t take it any more,’ Stephen muttered.
‘I’m sorry, I really can’t hear in this wind. Stepping closer, okay, but I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.’
He moved to a position directly beneath Stephen, who turned his body more fully to the interior of the bridge to be heard.
‘I said, she couldn’t take it any more,’ he shouted. ‘She did her best. I’m not angry with her. It’s important she knows that.’
‘Okay, that sounds like an unresolved relationship, though. You should probably do her the favour of saying it to her yourself. What do you think?’ He pulled Stephen’s mobile from his pocket.
‘Just jump already! I’m late for my shift!’ someone yelled from the viewing sidelines.
‘Ignore that,’ Maclure said quickly, reaching a hand up towards Stephen, who frowned and shook his head.
‘I’m annoying everyone,’ he muttered, shifting his leg back over the barrier so his full body was on the water’s side.
‘Listen to me, there’s always one, okay? One sick bastard who wants to see carnage. Drown him out. Let’s phone Rosa. She’ll want to hear your voice. You know that in your heart, that’s why you wanted me to talk to her for you. I’m coming up so I can hand you the mobile.’
‘You’re not wearing gloves,’ Stephen said vaguely, the ache in his own body almost overwhelming him. It took so much energy to balance. ‘Your hands will get torn to …’
Maclure was already climbing. Stephen contemplated stopping him by threatening to jump, but he really did want to hear Rosa’s voice one last time. As Maclure climbed, Stephen studied the sea of faces behind the improvised crime-scene tape barrier the police had hastily erected. One man stood, eyes glittering, hands in pockets, grinning at him. Another woman was ranting at a police officer. An older lady was in tears, and although he hadn’t thought it possible, Stephen hated himself just a little more for causing such distress.
The grinning man began to laugh, throwing the sound out so Stephen couldn’t miss it. The noise was chalkboard awful. Jamming his hands over his ears, he lurched forwards, trapping the toe of one boot between two metal bars.
He went head first, grabbing for the railings, crashing a knee into metal followed by a hip, then rolling forwards onto his stomach, head down towards the water. The laughing man laughed louder. In spite of the wind, the roar of the water and the screams from the crowd, that cackling was all he could hear.
He gripped the fence with both hands, fighting his body’s desire to pull himself back up and the voice in his head telling him to let go. It would all be over in seconds. He didn’t need to speak to Rosa one last time. That would only cause more problems than it solved. There would be a rush of air as he fell, the chance to experience free-fall flight, then perhaps a fleeting sense of cold or of impact, but not for long enough to process it or to feel pain.
Stephen let go with one hand, closing his eyes.
‘He’s going to let go!’ a woman shouted.
There were yells, the sound of boots hitting the concrete hard and an excited screech. It was the shiny-eyed man, Stephen thought. Here to see him die. Perhaps he was Death. He’d never been religious or superstitious, but maybe at the last he was seeing the world without blinkers. All those horror films, true-life experience programmes, children’s stories, were real.
A hand clamped down hard on the ankle above his trapped foot.
‘I’ve got you,’ Maclure said. ‘Talk to me, Stephen. This is no time to be making choices.’
‘Death’s here,’ Stephen said, straining his neck to turn and look up into Maclure’s calm brown eyes.
‘If he is, then he’s not here for you. Not today. Come on, grab that railing and use your stomach muscles to pull halfway up. I just need to get a grip on your belt.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Stephen said.
‘Fair enough, but I’m your side of the barrier. You pull your foot out now and you’re taking me with you.’ Maclure smiled gently.
It wasn’t a threat and it wasn’t posturing. Stephen could see the truth of it.
As Maclure extended his grip to clasp more of the denim of Stephen’s jeans, a mobile phone tumbled from his pocket and plunged towards the freezing flow beneath them, disappearing as if it had never existed at all.
‘Shit, sorry about that. I wanted to give you the chance to speak to Rosa. I’ll buy you a new one if it’ll get you back up here. How about it?’
Stephen stared after his mobile phone. He didn’t want to go like that. To simply cease to exist, wiped from the world without trace, his entire life made pointless. He tensed his core, suddenly grasping the real reason why sit-ups hadn’t been a waste of time, and took a grip of the lowest railing, for the first time seeing what the climb up the inverted suicide fence had done to his rescuer’s hands. Blood dripped in gashes from his palms and skin was flapping in the breeze as he reached out to take hold of Stephen’s belt.
‘I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,’ Stephen said. ‘Thank you.’
He managed to get his knee into a gap between the metal struts and pushed his body up high enough for Maclure to get to him.
‘Thank
