The Other People: A Novel(29)

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But did you really? Katie thought. Or did you do it for you, Fran?





Gabe first met the Samaritan on a motorway bridge at two in the morning. He remembered the time because he had just checked his watch. He wasn’t sure why. He was about to kill himself and you could hardly be late for your own suicide.

He had thought about killing himself before. Quite regularly over the last six months. Usually at around this time in the morning. That was when the bad thoughts came. The dark hinterland between midnight and dawn. The time when the demons would emerge, slithering and sliding out of the shadows, trailing mucous membranes of bitter bile and stinging misery and regret.

The thought of Izzy had always stopped him. The thought of finding the car. Hope, or perhaps persistent, dogged denial, had managed to ward the demons off. But they were persistent. They didn’t tire. They didn’t let go. Their claws just dug in deeper and deeper.

At some point along the drive tonight, the despair had overwhelmed him. He hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours. The nightmares wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t face sleep. He couldn’t face being awake either. He had pulled off the motorway, circled the roundabout off the slip and on to the bridge that crossed to the south side.

Halfway across, he stopped and pulled the car up on to the curb. He climbed out and walked to the railing. He stood there in the bitter cold, staring down at the speeding traffic below through eyes blurred with tears. White lights, red lights, white lights, red lights. After a while, it became hypnotic.

He swung one leg over the railing.

Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that this was a shit thing to do. That it might not just be himself he killed. But truthfully, that voice was a long way down. All he was really thinking was that he just wanted it over. The pain, the sheer exhaustion of trying to stay alive. It was too hard. Life itself had become an instrument of torture, every minute of every day bearing down on him like the spikes of an iron maiden.

He slung his other leg over the railing. Now he was perched on the narrow metal, gripping tightly with his hands. All he had to do was let go. Let gravity do its job. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

“Waiting for something?”

He jumped. Or rather, he didn’t. He started, wobbled and grabbed at the railing to steady himself.

“Fuck!”

“Didn’t mean to make you jump.” The man chuckled. “Unless that’s what you want.”

Gabe turned his head. The wind grabbed and snagged at his hair with icy fingers. He felt his eyes water and blur. Slowly, his vision drew into focus.

A tall, thin figure stood behind him. All black. Jacket, jeans, hat. Skin. Just the thinnest rim of white around his eyes. Gabe had no idea where he had come from. He hadn’t heard another car approach. Insanely, Gabe wondered if the man was an angel, come to visit him at the moment of his death, or maybe it was the other way round and he was a demon, come to drag him down to hell.

He giggled, a mad, shivering thing that dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

The man continued to stand and look at him, placidly, hands stuck in his pockets. He looked like he might just stand there all night.

“Something funny, man?”

“No,” Gabe shook his head. “No. This is pretty fucking serious.”

“Killing yourself is a pretty fucking serious business.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m a good listener.”

“I’m a man of few words.”

A chuckle. Deep, throaty. “Got away with them, though.”

“I used to be a writer.”

“Yeah? What did you write?”

“Lies, mostly.”

“Honesty is overrated.”

“Especially in advertising.”

“You worked in advertising? Sounds interesting.”

Gabe smiled. “This won’t work.”

“What?”

“Trying to get me to talk about myself. Distract me. Stop me from jumping.”

“Can’t blame a brother for trying.”

“No. No, I can’t.”

“So you gonna do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing I can say to stop you?”

“No.”

“Any final words?”

“Always look on the bright side of life?”

“Life’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Wouldn’t have had you down as a Python fan.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

The man pulled his hands out of his pockets. One held a gun. He pointed it at Gabe.

“Do it.”

“What the fuck?!”

“You want to die, go on. Jump.”

He moved closer. Gabe gripped the railing tighter.

“Wait—”

“For what?”

“I—”

So close now Gabe could smell him. Expensive aftershave, mints and metal. Gun metal, he thought wildly. The man pressed the gun into his side.

“Jump. Or I will kill you.”

“No!”

“No?”

“Don’t kill me.”

The man stared at him. No light in those eyes. Gabe’s heart pounded. Sweat was gathering on his palms. The wind was buffeting him back and forth. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.