Dumped, Actually(14)

I mime the trombone once more, putting a little more effort into it. ‘Oompah, oompah, oompah-pah,’ I repeat, this time adding the little bobbing motion in my knees.

For a few moments, Wimsy just stares at me as I continue to bob up and down. And then, with absolutely no warning, he lets out the loudest and heartiest laugh imaginable, throwing his head back as he does so. I stop bobbing up and down instantly. A man chuckling that uncontrollably is in danger of losing his balance.

‘Why are you laughing?’ I ask, a little offended. I didn’t laugh at Mr Sparkles, did I? Or the Phuketian long one. He could show my misfortune the same kind of courtesy.

Wimsy looks at me in amazement. ‘Why am I laughing?’

‘Yes . . . why?!’

He wipes a tear away from his eye. ‘My life has fallen apart completely, and you’re actually up here contemplating chucking yourself off, just because some lass gave you the heave-ho.’

I am incensed by his lack of sympathy. ‘It was in front of hundreds of people,’ I say, trying to further justify my position. ‘One of them wiped a bogey down my nose.’

‘B . . . bogey?’

‘Yes! Right down my poor bloody nose.’ I point to the protuberance in question, by way of underlining the gravity of the situation.

Wimsy is clearly unable to grasp this particular gravity, as he starts to wail with laughter again, putting him ever closer to losing a fight with the other kind of gravity.

‘Oh God,’ he exclaims, slapping his thigh. ‘You are too much, pal. Just too much!’

‘My heart is broken!’ I shout at him, trying to make him see the seriousness of it all.

‘Oh, I’m sure it is, mate. I got dumped by a girl once when I was a kid. It was horrible.’

‘We were going to ride an elephant!’ I blurt out, some uncertainty now creeping into my voice. I’m keenly aware at this stage that my sad story of heartbreak and loss doesn’t really stack up to what Wimsy’s just told me about his own life. I’m in the depths of depression right now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost all perspective, thank God.

Wimsy stares at me. ‘You were what?’

‘Going to ride an elephant. A big, happy one with a curly trunk.’ I say this in a deflated voice, knowing full well that I sound just a little bit ridiculous.

‘Really? What would that trunk have looked like?’

For a moment, I distractedly start to wave my right arm around in front of my nose – then I realise Wimsy is taking the piss, and stop. The damage is already done, though. Wimsy goes off into another gale of laughter that sends him even closer to tipping over the edge.

I take a small step closer to him. He may have mortally offended me by not taking my pain and misery seriously, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him fall off this car park.

Saving Wimsy’s life has now become inextricably tied up with my own pathetic existence. Thanks to my run-in with this poor bastard, I am no longer feeling even slightly suicidal. His tale of extreme woe has brought me up sharp, and has thankfully knocked some sense into me.

Yes, I am as miserable as sin because I’ve lost the love of my life, but Wimsy here has instantly proved to me that things could be so, so much worse.

I feel like I owe him quite a lot for doing that. Stopping him from killing himself would be a good way to repay him.

‘Stay back!’ he roars, getting the crazed laughing under a bit more control.

‘I don’t want you to fall!’

‘I don’t care what you want!’ he snaps. ‘I came up here to end this sad little life of mine, and instead I have to get into a conversation with a walking comedy sketch.’ He looks skyward and bares his teeth. ‘I can’t even commit suicide properly!’

‘Then don’t! Don’t kill yourself, Wimsy!’

‘But I want to!’

‘But you shouldn’t!’

‘Why? Why the fuck shouldn’t I?’

Oh good grief . . . why shouldn’t he?

‘Because . . . Because . . . Because Mr Sparkles wouldn’t want you to!’

He looks incredulous at this, and with good reason. ‘Mr Sparkles?’

‘Yes! He was a good dog, I’m sure! I bet he loved you! I bet he wouldn’t want you to kill yourself!’ This is a horrible, horrible gambit to take, but I’m committed now. ‘He’d . . . He’d want you to go on! He’d want you to live! He’d want you to . . . to . . . get another Mr Sparkles!’

Wimsy looks at me with pure hate in his eyes. I don’t think I’ve helped matters. ‘Mr Sparkles jumped off a twelfth-storey balcony to catch a pigeon that was a hundred feet away. Mr Sparkles was a moron.’ His eyes narrow. ‘And do you know who called him Mr Sparkles in the first place?’

Oh God.

‘Yeah. That’s right,’ Wimsy hisses, nodding slowly. ‘It was bloody Penny!’

And with that, Wimsy tips himself backwards off the ledge.

I act on instinct, leaping forward and grabbing at Wimsy’s flailing legs as they fly up into the air. By some stroke of pure luck, I manage to get a firm grasp around both of them. As I do, though, his left heel kicks me in the face.

Both of Wimsy’s flip-flops have flown skyward. One describes an arc out over the drop, while the other flies directly up for a few feet, before falling back . . . and landing perfectly on top of my head.