The Old Bridge (unpublished)

How long had he been living in that flat? Four, five years? And how
many times had he done this walk, down the road from town, over the
bridge, and up to the flat? Most Friday nights since the separation,
and plenty more besides. This was the first time he'd ever seen anyone
on the bridge.
Craig put the last bit of his donner kebab in his mouth, wiped his
fingers on the wrapping and threw it over the wall into the car park.
He should have known by now to wipe his mouth as well before he threw
the paper away, grease was all over it. He wiped his mouth with his
hands.
Yes, there was definitely someone on the bridge. It wasn't his blurred
vision. The sight had sobered him up a bit, but he had a plan, and that
involved exaggerating his drunken stumble. He'd done that before. When
he'd met someone who was actually on the bridge, not dangling over the
side. A girl on her own. He'd pretended to be more pissed than he was
so she wouldn't think he was a rapist. He ended up kissing her. So,
he'd pulled once, and also got into a couple of fights walking over the
old bridge. It had been a good spot for him, (except for when he broke
his hand on it). Now he was going to save someone's life on it as
well.
There were no cars coming along, not even taxis as Craig lurched onto
the bridge. They all used the flyover above to his left. He didn't even
look at the person thirty yards or so along. He was trying to use his
peripheral vision to make sure they/he (it was starting to look like a
bloke) didn't jump before he got there. Since he'd thrown the wrapper
away, Craig had been swearing to himself, but loud enough to be heard
by someone else.
"Fuckin' bitch! Can't fuckin' believe she's done that to me. I'm gonna
fuckin' kill her!"
He'd started sobbing as well, and finally stopped walking, close to
where the bloke was. Craig leaned on the railings with his elbows, and
shook his head a few times, still cursing. Then he put his head in his
hands and sobbed in fine style. He'd had the practise for this one five
years ago when Donna first had him evicted. That's why he was playing
his part so convincingly. The groan grew louder until he began hitting
the balustrade. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd noticed the bloke
flinch and adjust his grip. Craig carried on punching and kicking the
fence, now shouting about 'that fuckin' bitch'. He nearly broke his
hand again as a few years of pain came raging out.
Someone was hurrying past on the far pavement. They must have been
scared by his actions, and kept their heads down. They probably hadn't
even noticed the bloke standing a penalty kick away from him. Craig
sobbed again and wiped the trickle of blood from his knuckles. He moved
along the fence, head down, still pretending to stagger. He could tell
the bloke was looking at him and getting twitchy.
"Don't come any closer! I'll jump you know!"
Craig ignored him, kept his head down, swore again and got within three
yards before the bloke shouted:
"I will! I'll do it!"
Craig finally looked at him.
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"I'm gonna kill meself." He was shaking so badly, he was likely to lose
his grip. Craig was close enough to grab him now though. Probably. If
he could haul a hod full of tiles up a ladder, he could pull this idiot
over a fence no trouble. He didn't move forward to attempt it though,
he had his plan.
This went back to his first walk across the bridge. He'd stopped to
stare and think halfway across. He punched the railings as he thought
what a bitch Donna had been. That was when his hand went. After a long
time of thinking, someone had laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Are
you alright mate?' he'd asked. When Craig nodded, the bloke said
'You're not going to do anything stupid are you?'. Craig said no, and
was then told he needed his hand fixed up. He'd not even noticed the
blood coming off it until then. He thanked the bloke, who told him to
take care and then carried on. The internal dialogue that went on in
his head after that was going to come out again tonight. He hadn't even
thought of trying to kill himself. But what if he had? What could the
bloke have done then? What would he have said? What would Craig say if
he had walked past someone wanting to kill themselves? What would
work?
It was lucky for him that he hadn't had much to drink that night. He
knew from experience how minor things built up into big things when
you'd had a skinful. He'd had plenty of fights with his friends when
they were hammered, and they were willing to do it over the smallest
things - What they should drink; chilli sauce on kebabs; taxi fares.
There was never a problem the next day. They laughed about it. Just
think what they'd be like, what he'd be like, if he'd drunk lots when
he was feeling sorry for himself. He'd probably have been on the other
side of the fence, contemplating the leap. The bloke had done it in a
touching, kind way. Just what Craig had needed. But how could you talk
a drunk out of something like that if they really wanted to do it? You
couldn't make them see sense. You had to try something else. He'd
thought about it quite a lot after that. Every time he walked across
the bridge, he thought about it.
The bloke, more of a lad really, twenty or so, looked surprised when
Craig didn't try to talk him out of it.
"Don't fuckin' blame you. I feel like toppin' meself an' all. Think I
might join you."
He climbed over the fence and stood facing inwards rather than
outwards. He was a roofer by trade, not scared by things like this at
all. He'd shit his mates up by walking along these railings pissed one
night a couple of years back.
The lad was thrown, he hadn't seen that one coming.
"What's up with you then?"
"Fuckin' everything!" Craig blubbered and hit the bridge with his
bloody hand as he held on with the other. "That fuckin' bitch!
I&;#8230;I can't tell you."
"Why not? I aren't gonna tell anyone, am I? I'll&;#8230; I'll be..."
- he nodded at the ground.
"At least you've got a choice in it."
"What?"
"If I don't kill meself tonight, I'll die soon anyway. Might as well do
it now."
The lad adjusted his grip again, swallowing and sweating. He kept
quiet. Craig carried on.
"Suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? She's given me fuckin' Aids!"
- he broke down again and crouched on the ledge, his arse hanging out
to dry over the empty car park below. The lad was quiet and still,
taking in the enormity of it. This was what Craig thought someone would
have to say to him if he was in that position, thinking of the worst
possible thing Donna could have done to him, and then what she really
had done didn't seem quite so bad.
After a while, the lad said 'Fuck' quietly.
"Aw, that's not all mate. Know who she caught it off? Me best mate. He
were a junkie. He's dead now. Fuckin' wanker. Found out he'd fucked her
a few years ago. Fuckin' cunts! She had it for years and never told me!
BITCH!"
He lashed out again, holding on with both hands and kicking the ledge.
Then he went quiet, breathing heavily. The lad next to him had been
engrossed, but now he turned outwards once more, gulped, swallowed, and
seemed to switch off from the world around him. He was lost in his
suicidal reverie again. Craig spoke up.
"What's up with you then? I said 'What's up with you then?'.".
"Eh?"
"Why are you here?"
"Me bird&;#8230;.me ex-bird&;#8230;won't let me have access to me
kids. Court case were today. Magistrate's said I weren't fit to look
after kids."
Craig waited for more. It didn't come. "And?"
"And what? Isn't that enough? I can't take no more! I've given
up."
Craig looked at him for a bit, then burst out laughing.
"What? What the fuck are you laughin' at?"
"&;#8230;Cheers! You've made my night!"
"Fuck off you cunt!"
"Are you serious? You were gonna kill yourself cos of that?"
He got no answer.
"Well go on then, you silly cunt! Don't let me stop you. Them
magistrates were right weren't they? You're not fit to be lookin' after
kids if you wanna kill yourself when something like that goes wrong! Go
on, fuck off! They'll be better off with you dead! I'll give you a
hand!"
Craig reached out a hand as he stepped towards the lad, who let go with
one hand and knocked Craig's away. Craig grabbed again and was
punched.
"What's wrong? You wanted to kill yourself a minute ago, thought you'd
given up!"
The lad threw another left-handed punch, but Craig didn't flinch.
"Is that the best you can do?"
"Well it's me left hand, isn't it!"
"Well let's get over here then and we can do it properly!"
Craig vaulted the fence. He stood beckoning the lad over, swearing at
him, calling him a useless cunt. The lad had turned towards the bridge
now. He'd nearly done it. Just that next step, climbing over, and Craig
had saved his life. He was shaking. He wouldn't make it over without
falling off. One foot was up on top. His grip was weak. Craig made a
grab and pulled him right over by his hair. The lad screamed. Craig's
pretend fight had gone out of him. He was relieved now. Proud of
himself. It had worked.
He helped the lad up off the floor. Craig looked down at his hands as
he wiped a few bits of hair off them onto his trousers. He was caught
by a surprise punch. Before he had time to say 'What the fuck?', he was
caught twice more. The lad was in a rage. He'd obviously done
kickboxing before, and connected with a roundhouse right in Craig's
solar plexus. Craig doubled over, gasping for air. Then he had his head
banged on the metal fence and felt the blood dripping past his face,
onto the pavement. He was pushed over the edge, his feet off the
floor.
"Now say I don't deserve to see me kids! Go on! Say it!"
His temper was probably why he wasn't allowed to see them.
"I didn't mean it mate! I were tryin' to save you!"
Craig was slipping further down, the lad clinging on to his shirt at
the back. He could feel it starting to rip.
"You were tryin' to throw me off you cunt!"
Craig was falling out of his shirt. His legs couldn't kick, it was too
dangerous. He'd overbalance. His hands were on the ledge he'd been
standing on a couple of minutes ago.
"No mate! Please! I'm sorry!"
The lad tried to pull him up by his shirt, which split all the way up
the back and he was left holding the right half of a shirt as Craig
tumbled over, his right arm the last to lose contact as his sleeve
turned inside out and then ripped away from the rest. Craig fell with a
scream, his right sleeve flapping upwards like he was trying to use a
windsock as a parachute. He hit the car park with a slap, bounced a
couple of feet and was still.
Up on the old bridge, the lad still clung tightly to the remainder of
the cheap shirt. He hadn't moved, still in shock. He'd only meant to
scare Craig. His chin was wobbling, he was trying to ask what he'd done
out loud. He couldn't get the words out. What had happened to him? Then
his senses returned with a start. He had to get away from this
place.
He threw the cloth over the edge, where it flapped and floated all the
way to the bottom. By the time it settled gently on a fence, the lad
was off the bridge and halfway home. He sat listening to sirens, trying
to shut everything out for hours, crying over the events of the last
twenty-four hours. He turned the television on to drown out his sobs.
After a few hours, he'd fallen asleep and missed the midday news which
announced that a man had killed himself in the town. He was known to be
still upset about his the break up of a relationship some years
earlier. He'd been heard shouting about Donna on the road that led to
the area he lived. This road ran across the old bridge. His body was
found under it.
The lad was still in his bedsit as darkness fell again. He hadn't
stopped shaking for hours, until he'd come to a decision. He'd do it
properly this time. He was going to go back to the old bridge.