One-Way Ticket

It was always quiet this time in the evening. Brendan had been down this road, passed this letter box, crossed at this corner, and waited at these lights, many times before. Only this time it was different. He took special notice this time. Little things. That streetlight not working; that car with the flat tyre; those pavestones a different colour. Goodbye streetlight. Goodbye pavestones. This was the last time he’d see them. No more coming back. One-way ticket.

Brendan reached the bridge, and stopped. This was it. No regrets. He took a deep breath and headed for the middle, where he knew there was a widening of the parapet – where the handrail leaned out above the inky water. Here the rail was smooth, where countless hands of many beings peering out over the murk had long since worn the paint away. Time for reflection? No. He’d made up his mind. The note to Alice was by the telephone. Brendan could just imagine her face as she read the note. Was that a twinge of regret? He forced her memory out of his mind, and gripped the handrail. Right foot on the bottom rung and…..
A sob.
Brendan froze, listening. The silence pressed in. He strained to hear. Only the lapping, oily water and the distant wail of a siren briefly punctured the stillness. Imagination, he thought. Ready now!
Another sob.
Unmistakeable this time. He lowered his foot, and peered through the black. Was that a shadow further along the walk? Funny, he thought. Easy to complete his resolve in isolation, but with somebody watching? And somebody was upset. Brendan’s curiosity was whetted, despite himself. He edged towards the shadow.

The moon found a small tear in the quilted fabric of cloud, and lanced down to the footbridge, briefly illuminating the girl’s face. “She’s beautiful.” Brendan thought. She was huddled down by the rail, knees drawn up to her chin, her thin cotton dress crumpled under her tightly clasped arms. She cringed away as he approached, fear etched on her face. Her mascara had made little rivers of black down her cheeks. She looked a pathetic sight. Brendan stopped a short distance away. “I’m Brendan,” he said simply. She relaxed ever so slightly but said nothing. She just stared at him, wary. “I was walking,” he lied. No reply. Just those big sad eyes regarding him. Brendan fished in his pocket and found his handkerchief. “Here,” he said. He held it out to her. She stared at it as if it were lethal. Brendan didn’t move. He’d read somewhere that sometimes it’s better not to say anything, so he was silent. The pair made a strange picture. She, with her knees drawn up to her chin, staring. He, like a statue with his proffered gift. She made the first move, and reached out and took the handkerchief, dabbing at her watery eyes. He watched, not wanting to disturb the silence. “Thanks” she said, offering the handkerchief. “Keep it,” he said, “It looks as though you need it more than me.” She relaxed noticeably.
“Can I help?” asked Brendan.
“Nobody can.” And her eyes welled up again.
He let her dab at her eyes once more, and slowly sat down a short distance from her, against the railing with his back to the deserted road.
“It can’t be that bad,” said Brendan, and tried to put on a sympathetic smile.
“What would you know about it?” said the girl. Brendan knew she didn’t want an answer, so continued in his efforts to radiate sympathy. He guessed she was in her late teens, and looked as though she’d had the all-too-familiar bust-up – a Lover’s Spat. The girl reminded Brendan of Alice in the early days, before….

“You can’t help,” repeated the girl, but there was a note of pleading in her voice.
Brendan pushed his memories into the background. “Tell me about it,” he said.
The girl was quiet for a time, and Brendan thought she hadn’t heard, or had decided to ignore the question. He opened his mouth to speak when the girl started talking.
“My boyfriend doesn’t w-want me any more,” she stammered. “I’ve l-lost my job, and when I t-tried to get home I found my car’s been s-stolen. I’ve got no m-money to pay the rent on my flat and….” She broke up into a succession of sobs.
“So that’s it,” thought Brendan. The ‘last straw’ was probably the car theft. “So why are you here?” he asked.
She looked at him piteously, then at the inky water below.
“That’s not the answer. Things can only get better,” said Brendan
“How?” she pleaded. “My life’s a mess. I’m useless. Useless…” and her little body was racked with sobs again.

Brendan looked at this sad, pretty girl, and his heart went out to her. So young, and so much of life waiting for her. He thought of his own problems, but the pathetic, beautiful face of the distraught girl somehow pushed them away. “It can’t be all bad,” he said lamely. “It’s just no good,” said the girl in a small voice. “What good am I?” Brendan wanted to take the young girl in his arms and let her know how much someone could care for her. Then he remembered why he was here, and felt ashamed. What right had he to think he could help this girl? Wasn’t he running away from his problems in the same way? His decided solution to his own troubles could be put on hold until he’d had time to help the girl. After all, he reasoned, nobody could help him, could they?

“OK,” said Brendan, “Let’s look at all your troubles in turn, shall we?” The girl said nothing. Brendan pressed on. “Your boyfriend’s a fool. Did you love him?” She nodded. “Well, did he love you?” “I think so,” she replied. “You think so?” He thought she was about to start crying again, but she seemed to make a big effort, and said nothing. “Right,” he continued, “now, let’s look at what happened at work. What do you do?” She was beginning to show an interest. “I – I’m a receptionist.” He waited. She continued: “My boss wouldn’t leave me alone, and yesterday, I slapped his face. I got the sack.” Do you want your job back?” Brendan asked. She was about to speak, then sat for a long moment, thinking. “No,” she said, definitely. “Good!” he said. “Now. Your car. Was it insured?” “Y-yes,” she said, brightening. “Might be a blessing in disguise, then,” he said, brightly. “You could even get a brand new car out of it. Not many stolen cars are recovered in one piece nowadays.” He could see she was beginning to feel more positive. Her eyes had lost that dull look, and the ghost of a smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth. He pressed on. “So things might work out right after all. You’re going to end up with a better job, a new boyfriend that’ll probably appreciate you a whole lot more, and a new car. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket!” She actually laughed! She said: “You know, you’re not such a bad bloke yourself, are you? My Mum used to say, if you can help just one person in the world, then your whole life’s worthwhile.”

Just then the clouds parted again, and Brendan saw the girl’s face properly for the first time. His breath caught, as he realised how absolutely beautiful she was. He opened his mouth to speak, when a sound behind him made him turn. “What’s going on here then?” It was a big police constable, and behind him, there was the looming silhouette of a police car. Another policeman was standing by the driver’s door. “I was just talking to this young lady,” he explained, standing up and turning back to the girl. “What girl, sir?” asked the policeman. Brendan stared at the empty space. There was nobody up the path. Where had she gone? “I…..I….” He looked back at the officer. His face registered his astonishment. “Had a few, have we sir?” he asked. “Perhaps you’d like a lift somewhere?” He waited. Brendan shook his head slowly. “I think I’ll walk if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few things to think about.” “Well, mind how you go won’t you, sir. We don’t want you having an accident, do we?” He waited until Brendan started moving away from the parapet before he walked back to the police car. He said something to his colleague and they both laughed before getting back into the car. Brendan started walking back up the path, and they cruised slowly past him and waved. As soon as they were out of sight, Brendan doubled back to the bridge and made a thorough search. Nothing. Not a trace. Wait. Something white on the ground. He ran over to it. “My handkerchief,” he thought. Looking at it, feeling its dampness, he couldn’t help remembering those last words: “…. if you can help just one person in the world, then your whole life’s worthwhile.” He held the handkerchief tightly, closed his eyes, and whispered: “Thank you.” A gust of wind played around his neck, and the collar of his shirt flapped against his cheek. Just for a minute, it felt as though his cheek had been brushed very lightly by a pair of lips. The water below lapping against the bridge sounded like a tinkle of laughter. Brendan shook himself out of his reverie. “Must be more tired than I realised,” he thought. But he knew that for some reason, he’d been given a second chance – a return ticket. He suddenly realised his life was worthwhile, now. Even though, he reasoned, it was all in his imagination, he felt as though he had helped somebody. “What was I thinking!” he said out loud. Then he thought: “I’ve got to get back to Alice, before she finds that note. That stupid note!” It was true! He had been stupid. Now he’d put it right.

Later, much later, in his dreams he would remember the bridge and the pretty girl who’d saved his life. But of course, to Brendan, that would just be a dream, wouldn’t it? His own life would be far too full. And somewhere high above in the night sky, a star twinkled.