‘Do you think this will work?’ he asks.
‘It can’t do any harm. We have to do
something
. He can’t just carry on like he is. I hate seeing him look so sad, and he sounds miserable.’
‘It’s like he’s lost all of his energy. He used to go out all the time but now, apart from going to the gym, he barely leaves the flat. Most of the time when I’m there he’s either sitting in silence or asleep. Even when you talk to him he barely says anything. It’s like he’s there but he’s not there, do you know what I mean?’
Amy nods.
‘When I took him to the see the new flat, he hardly said anything. The old Mark would have been telling me it was too small or he didn’t like the bedrooms, or that he hated being by the river or something…
but he was just drifting from room to room, and expecting me to take the lead all the time.’
‘I think he’s lonely, and he said that if he was you, he wouldn’t want to be mates.’
‘When did he say that?’
‘Last week. He hadn’t seen you for a couple of days and was getting a bit upset.’
Craig frowns and picks at his chin. ‘He was a complete dick at times. I just wanted him to be more like he was at uni, more normal, less like your old boss. It didn’t suit him.’
‘I said that I didn’t think you’d be moving into a new flat if you didn’t want to be friends.’
‘However much he annoyed me, I don’t like seeing him like this.’
C
raig has a two-minute shower and pulls on jeans and a hoody. He bangs on Mark’s door, tells him to get up, and says he’s off to get the van.
When he returns an hour later, Mark’s bedroom door is still shut. Craig mutters swear words, knocks twice and when there is no answer, goes in.
All of Mark’s clothes and possessions are boxed and labelled. The bed has been stripped, there’s nothing on the walls, and the bathroom has been cleaned. The wardrobe doors are open, as are the windows.
‘Meant to do this on my own, am I?’ Craig says to himself. He sends Mark a text and walks out to the kitchen.
All the kitchenware is packed up, the cupboards have been emptied, and the fridge and oven are spotless. Craig searches through the boxes, finds a glass wrapped in newspaper and has a drink of water.
Mark has left a note on the table:
Gone to Tower Bridge. Go on without me as I may be some time - I know you’re strong enough. Take care of my stuff. Sorry for doing this to you. I’ll make it up to you in another life. M
‘Oh my fucking god, what’s he…’ Craig says, starting to panic. He stands holding the note and reads it back to himself again and again before stuffing it into his pocket and grabbing the van keys.
He gets behind the wheel of the rented Volkswagen and leaves Amy a message asking her to call him straight away as he hurtles up to Lavender Hill. It’s a gloomy, overcast morning and the roads through Clapham are relatively clear. He gets a call as he reaches Battersea.
‘AMY,’ he shouts, switching the phone to speaker and placing it on the passenger seat. ‘CAN YOU HEAR ME? IT’S MARK.’
‘Mark? Craig? What about Mark? I’m on my way to a meeting.’
‘Shit,’ he says, just making it through a red light.
‘Craig, are you driving? I can’t hear you very well, the reception’s awful.’
‘AMY, I THINK MARK’S GONE TO THROW HIMSELF OFF A BRIDGE.’
‘What? What do you mean?’ she asks calmly.
‘WE WERE MEANT TO BE MOVING OUT THIS MORNING BUT HE’S DISAPPEARED AND HE’S LEFT ME A NOTE
SAYING
HE’S SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING AND THAT HE’LL SEE ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.’
‘Craig I can’t really hear you. Are you sure? I can’t imagine Mark-’
‘HE’S LEFT ME A NOTE SAYING HE’S GOING TO TOWER BRIDGE,’ he shouts louder. ‘WHERE’S TOWER BRIDGE?’
‘Where are you?’
‘BATTERSEA.’
‘You need to go towards the City. Craig, are you sure he’s there?’ she says, sounding increasingly anxious.
‘YES! YES, I’M SURE. I’M VERY SURE. HIS PHONE’S SWITCHED OFF AND HE’S CLEARED HIS ROOM OUT. AMY, I NEED YOU TO MEET ME THERE.’
‘OK, OK. I’m in Kings Cross, but I’ll leave now. Craig, don’t panic. And be careful. Ring me as soon as you’re there. I’ll keep trying his phone.’
Craig speeds across Battersea Bridge and turns right onto Chelsea Embankment narrowly missing a taxi whose driver slams on the brakes and beeps furiously as Craig accelerates away. He follows the signs for Central London but gets held up at the traffic lights by Albert Bridge. Once they turn green, he powers along the tree-lined road, the Thames on his right and Battersea Power Station rapidly approaching in the
distance
.
‘Where the hell’s this?’ he says as he passes Chelsea Bridge and drives down into Pimlico. He reaches the junction of Millbank and
Vauxhall
Bridge Road and goes straight ahead, but there are roadworks and he ends up tailgating a Mercedes people carrier.
He continues past rows of Georgian mansions and uses the drop-off area outside the Tate Gallery to overtake the Mercedes and a Royal Mail van.
As he approaches Westminster, the traffic is heavy and he’s stuck behind a lorry loaded with timber. The roads around Parliament Square are slow and Craig tells himself to stay calm. His hands are sweating on
the steering wheel. He tries Mark’s mobile again at traffic lights on the Victoria Embankment but the call cuts out without ringing.
Amy calls as he passes Temple underground station, but he
accidently
cancels it as he grabs at his phone and it drops between the
passenger
seat and handbrake. He leaves it and concentrates on the road as he flies down into Blackfriars underpass.
Craig reaches the City, where offices and commercial buildings block his view of the river. He mutters, ‘Fucking hell, how many bridges are there?’ as he passes Southwark Bridge Road and repeatedly thumps his fist on the dashboard along Lower Thames Street as he’s boxed in by courier vans, taxis and motorcycles.
The Tower of London and Tower Bridge dominate the horizon as he crawls past All Hallows Church. He tails a bus and takes a right onto Tower Bridge Approach then swings left down St Katherine’s Way, a side road running parallel to the bridge. He brakes sharply and parks on double-yellow lines in the shadow of the Tower Hotel.
He retrieves his phone, locks the van and runs down the cobbled street to the water’s edge.
There is a police boat and a black motorised dingy bobbing on the river less than a hundred feet away. A police helicopter hovers high above and a crowd has formed on the bridge at the base of the north tower.
Craig sprints up the steps and shoves his way through the onlookers, who are mainly tourists. Some of them are filming the search operation. He hangs over the ramparts and looks down into the water. A police diver on board the dingy is relaying a message to the pilot of the boat.
‘What happened?’ Craig demands to know from an elderly man in a baseball cap.
‘Someone jumped in,’ says the American.
‘Who jumped in?’
‘A woman. I saw it all. I was just walking across the bridge and then all of a sudden this lady – tall, smart lady in a suit – takes her shoes off and climbs up on the barrier by that lamppost there,’ he points over Craig’s shoulder, ‘and throws herself in. It was all over in seconds. Just like that. Boom. Straight in. We all looked down there but she just
disappeared
in the water.’
‘Definitely a woman?’
‘Yes. A tall, thin lady. She jumped straight down. No hesitation. Are
you feeling OK, son? Do you need to sit down?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ Craig says, swaying into the woman behind him.
He turns away from the edge, pushes his way through the pack and staggers back in the direction of the van, barely looking where he’s going. He stumbles down the steps and makes it to a bench overlooking the river. It takes a couple of minutes for him to stop panting as he sits
staring
vacantly at the rescue boats.
Two police frogmen resurface. There are stunned faces and a couple of camera flashes on the bridge as the divers pull a body from the water.
Craig walks to the railings on the water’s edge. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and he shivers. After several minutes of gazing down into the water, some colour returns to his face and he wanders along the river, away from the bridge, past the reception of the hotel.
Amy calls.
‘Amy.’ His voice is strained.
‘Thank fuck for that.’ He sits on a low brick wall facing the river by a statue of a sundial. He leans forward with elbows on knees and
apologises
for swearing.
‘Where is he?
‘I’m by the river.
‘Why didn’t he ring me? I left so many messages.
‘I got here and police divers were looking for someone in the river. They’ve just pulled a body out, I think. They’re still out there now. When I got here and saw that I-
‘No, it was a woman. I ran up onto the bridge and I saw all that
happening
and couldn’t help thinking the worst. God I was-
‘Well he better be. I feel like I’ve had a heart attack.
‘No, I’m OK.
‘OK.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, but I’ll show you the note…
‘When I got here and saw all the people looking into the water, part of me was just waiting for them to find him. I-
‘No, it’s fine. I might just go and get a coffee and something to eat first, then I’ll go and find him.
‘It’s my fault.
‘Thanks. I just need to sit down, my heart’s still racing. All I was thinking about was how was I going to tell people, and what I would tell
people. I don’t know why but I felt like I’d caused it.
‘When I was driving here I was thinking about everything he’d said in the last few days and wondering if he’d been trying to tell me
something
which I’d ignored or not picked up on. And then the note this morning…
‘No, don’t worry I won’t. I’m not angry, I’m just glad he hasn’t done something stupid.
‘No. Are you sure?
‘Text me where you are and I’ll-
‘OK. I just need to sit on my own for a minute and cool down though. I think I’m still in shock. I’ll ring you if I can’t find him.
‘Call me when you get to Tower Hill.’
Craig wipes his forehead and watches as the rescue boats disappear down river. The crowd on Tower Bridge has dispersed. He gets to his feet and crosses the lock into St Katherine Docks.
The marina – bordered by the back of the Tower Hotel and a Victorian-era warehouse which has been converted into shops and offices – is teeming with multi-million pound yachts. Beyond them are two larger docks full of equally expensive vessels, surrounded by modern apartments and a decked piazza of shops and restaurants. Facing Craig across the cobbles is the Sir Frances Drake, a timber-framed pub with verandas overlooking the marina. After stopping to admire the boats, he starts to walk towards Starbucks but then heads to the pub instead. As he approaches the entrance, something catches his attention in the window: Mark, drinking a pint.
Mark does a double-take and grabs
The Daily Telegraph
from the next table as Craig bounds up the steps. Craig turns the corner to see him, arms outstretched, trying to hide behind the newspaper.
Craig walks up to him and stands there.
Mark brings the paper closer to his face.
‘Put the paper down, Mark.’ Nothing happens. ‘Mark, stop being a prick,’ Craig says grabbing
The Telegraph
out of his hands.
‘Sorry mate,’ he says sheepishly. He’s had his hair cut and is wearing a smart suit and tie. ‘I swear I was only having one pint and I was coming straight back. Please don’t go mental at me.’
Craig sits down. His face is red and he’s clenching his jaw. ‘What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that? Have you-’
‘I’ve had a job interview.’
‘What? Really?’ Craig is instantly less agitated.
‘Yes. Sorry. I was hoping it wouldn’t last that long so I could come back and help, but it overran and then they called me back for
psychometric
testing. I didn’t want to tell you in case nothing came of it. I did leave you a note.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Craig says, tugging it out of his pocket. ‘Do you know what I’ve done this morning?’
‘Got angry and come looking for me?’
‘I wasn’t
angry
mate. I, I thought you’d thrown yourself in the river.’
‘
What?
’ Mark says, dumbfounded. ‘Why did you think that?’
‘Look at what the note says.’ Craig flicks it over to him.
Mark reads it. ‘What made you think I’d thrown myself in the river?’ he says half-laughing.
‘
Gone to Tower Bridge
.’
‘I had gone to Tower Bridge.’
‘Yes, but why didn’t you write,
Gone for an interview near Tower Bridge
? This makes it sound like you’re standing
on
the bridge.’
‘Mate, I meant the Tower Bridge area, why did you take it so
literally
? And what made you think I was going to throw myself off?’ Mark says open-mouthed.
‘
Go on without me. I may be some time
.’
‘I didn’t want you to be sitting around waiting, that’s all. I didn’t know what time I was going to be back. I hoped I’d be back quickly; I was just warning you.’
‘Yes, but
I may be some time
was what that explorer said before he walked off into an Arctic storm to die.’
‘What explorer? When was this?’
‘I can’t think of his name, but it’s a famous quote. It was probably about a hundred years ago. He thought he was slowing the team down, so to give the others a better chance of surviving, he killed himself.’
‘Really? I’ve never heard that before.’
‘It’s a famous story. Google it. Anyway, how about all this about me being strong and
take care of my stuff
?
‘I was talking about carrying boxes! Some of my stuff’s a bit delicate. I didn’t want you chucking it around and breaking it. Not that you’d do that, but I just wanted to tell you.’
Craig shakes his head. ‘And
sorry for doing this to you
.’
‘I am sorry, genuinely. I didn’t want to leave you to carry everything on your own. That’s why I did as much as I could before I left.’
‘Yes, I know but that just made me even more worried because it was so tidy, it was totally unlike you. It was like you were packing everything away and saying goodbye.’
‘That’s what I
was
doing. We’re moving out! What did you expect my room to look like?’
‘A tip as usual! But I… but you said you’d make it up to me in another life. Who says that? Why not write,
I’ll buy you a beer
or
something
like that?’
‘That’s just one of those sayings,’ Mark says, trying to play it down. ‘Anyway I won’t make it up to you in another life; I’ll make it up to you today. Do you want a beer?’
Craig ignores the question. ‘Do you realise I almost caused about four accidents driving over here and I’ve probably been done for
speeding
. And when I arrived they were pulling someone out of the river!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Craig snaps. ‘I thought it might have been you. I thought I was going to have to identify your body and call your mum and dad to tell them that you’re dead!’
Mark starts laughing.
‘It’s not funny Mark. I was going mad.’
‘OK, OK, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just never thought you’d jump to such a mental conclusion. I’m really sorry. I never meant to cause all this fuss. Honestly.’ He looks out towards the water. ‘Who was in the river?’