The wind howled through the slats in the car’s grille and under the dented bonnet, making it vibrate. It also blew up and under the wheel arches and along the undercarriage. At times, the car felt as if it was about to be picked up and tossed into the air.
From the early evening onwards, I’d remained in the driver’s seat, draining every last drop from the vodka bottle. Now daylight was breaking through the thick veil of night and I was sobering up. But nothing was going to change for me with the dawn of a new day. No amount of alcohol could ever blot out what had become of my life.
I tried to imagine how it could have been, had I not tried to gain a greater understanding of Charlotte’s depression; if I’d just accepted that I’d lost my wife to it, then learned to move on.
Every now and again another car appeared in the car park and I’d watch as their drivers exited in running gear or with dogs on leads, all making the most of the early-morning quiet. The wind aside, it was as tranquil a location as I’d imagined it to be.
I’d driven for almost two hours in near silence to reach Birling Gap in East Sussex, the place where Charlotte had killed herself. Several times since her death, I’d mulled over whether I should go and see why she’d chosen that location, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to until now.
And for so long, I’d asked myself what could be so awful about a person’s life that they’d feel driven to end it. Now I understood that whether it’s a chemical imbalance in your head, a past that haunts you or other people making your world unmanageable, everyone can reach a point where it all becomes too much. It had for me.
Everything I’d once held so close to my heart, I’d lost. There was no coming back from the things I had done, the things I was being accused of doing and the things I was innocent of. I had no wife, no son, no job, no parents, no brother . . . absolutely nothing to live for.
I’d parked in the exact same place Charlotte had, according to the dashboard-cam footage. I opened the car door, grabbed an old coat from the back and slipped it on. I’d looked online at photographs and footage of the area so many times that it felt familiar – comforting, even – despite me never having been there in person.
I took my phone off airplane mode, and message after message flashed across the screen. Missed texts, missed emails, missed calls. Suddenly it started vibrating, and Johnny’s picture flashed up on the screen. I hesitated before answering, but I didn’t speak.
‘Ry?’ he asked. ‘Ryan? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where the hell are you? The police are looking for you.’
‘I thought they might.’
‘They’ve been to the flat and then Mum and Dad’s. What the hell has happened?’
I didn’t reply.
‘Ry? What the fuck? They’re saying you might have killed some woman?’
‘What woman?’
‘She volunteered at the End of the Line.’
‘Laura?’
‘No, Janine Thomson. Was she the one you left the Dictaphone with?’
‘Yes.’
‘You left her a threatening voicemail saying you were coming to see her and then she was found dead.’
I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes and laughed. She’d beaten me again. Time and time again I had underestimated Laura, and time and time again she had proved me wrong. Whatever she had done now, she had well and truly got me. My name meant nothing, so there was no point in trying to clear it.
‘In a moment, I’m going to email you something,’ I replied. ‘Look after Mum and Dad for me and tell them I’m sorry. I love you, bro.’
‘Ry, what are you—’
I hung up, sent Johnny the email I’d spent much of the night composing, turned off my phone and slipped it back inside my jacket.
I’d begun my search for Laura because I’d wanted answers as to why my wife had killed herself. But in my three confrontations with Laura, I’d been too busy trying to get revenge to actually ask her. I made my peace with the fact that I was never going to know.
I walked slowly in the direction of a fence that cordoned off the cliff’s edge. I imagined holding Charlotte’s hand in one hand and our son Daniel’s in the other, and talking with her one last time.
‘Did you have second thoughts when you got this far?’ I asked.
No. I was sure it was what I wanted.
‘Did you think about me?’
Yes, of course I did. I love you.
‘Did you talk to the baby?’
Yes, I told him I was sorry and that we would be all right.
‘What was the last thing you thought about?’
Our wedding day and when we all went out into the gardens to light the Chinese lanterns. Do you remember? We threw them up into the air and watched as they floated across the fields and into the distance. If I could go back and remain in any one moment forever, it would be right then.
‘Why did you leave me?’
It wasn’t your fault. It was what I had to do.
Only now, by following in Charlotte’s footsteps, could I understand that she wasn’t being selfish in taking her own life. No suicidal person is. Like I was now, she truly believed in her heart of hearts that sometimes it is all there is left to do.
And as I climbed over the fence and walked my last few steps towards the cliff’s edge, I stared into the horizon and let the wind blow through my hair. I closed my eyes, so that all I could see were the oranges and reds of the sun on my eyelids, and all I could feel were the soft, warm hands of my wife and son.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you or convince you to stay. I hope before you died that you found a way to forgive me for letting you down, as I forgive you. I love you.’
I love you too, Ryan.
I smiled as we all fell together.
PART THREE
CHAPTER ONE
LAURA – TWO MONTHS AFTER RYAN
The Mayor of Northampton smiled as she pulled the rope cord that opened a small pair of red curtains. The photographer’s flash lit up the heavy gold chain of office hanging from her neck as she, myself and the area manager of End of the Line posed for pictures either side of the copper-plated plaque.
Janine Thomson House, it read. In memory of our friend and colleague.
A small gathering of staff from our office, and some faces I didn’t recognise, representing neighbouring county branches, joined us to mourn our loss as I perched on the steps outside the building. I wasn’t sure if I was feeling jittery because I’d been asked to speak in front of a crowd or because Tony was standing just a few metres away from me. It was only the second time I’d seen him since poor Janine’s sudden demise.