live after you

LIVE AFTER YOU


The man emerged from the house; his face a contorted mess of anguish and disbelief as he gasped like a caught fish. With a slow stagger he shuffled along the pavement before turning slowly and looking back at the house they had called home for the last eight years. Tears welled and then broke uncontrollably, streaming down his face. He continued, head bowed in shame and trancelike, whilst searching the ground for non-existent answers. The scene, branded forever in his mind, played itself over with sickening clarity.
In twelve short months his ostensibly stable and secure life was now lying in tatters. His unremarkable rise through Ernst & Young’s regional accounts department owed more to steadfast diligence than flair. Ten years of repetitive number crunching had starved him of inspiration and sapped his energy leaving him constantly feeling isolated and exhausted. Added to this was the slow and increasingly painful realisation that his steady, unassuming rise had stalled, verified by the fact that he had held the same post for the last three years. His mortgage repayments, however, had not stalled and the arrival of his second child had caused his once cheerful and supportive wife to become impatient and irritable.
They had married young to the surprise of her friends; the outgoing, vivacious hairdresser falling for the shy, withdrawn and slightly balding accountant. The usual observations of the attraction of opposites followed and those attending the frugal yet otherwise charming service were left with the feeling that after a series of unsuitable boyfriends a dependable if dull man could only be a good thing. This view was held in particular, by the mother of the bride, whose own husband had left her with two small girls and a mountain of debt.
The marriage began well with the young bride throwing herself into creating an original and comfortable home. Despite her husband’s in-built thriftiness she was more comfortable than at any time in her life. This culminated in the purchase of her first car, a snappy and sporty number in bright red. This rare moment of exuberance (despite the very reasonable five year repayment scheme) was a surprise to the man himself, although he had been left in no doubt as to its worth that same night.
This newly found independence caused her to resurrect her vibrant social scene but this was soon cut short by the arrival of their first child, a healthy but reticent boy with his father’s poor eyesight as an early inheritance. The proud mother was keen to provide a sibling for the boy but was left unaware of her husband’s mounting stress at work. New auditing laws, seen by many as a result of the ignominious collapse of Enron and rising global debt, had doubled his workload whilst constantly living in fear of the farewell office party that had become increasingly frequent. By the time he had managed to oblige and their daughter, a sparkle-eyed miniature of her mother, had arrived it was not to the liking of their now three year old and increasingly jealous son. Contrary to “expert “ advice proffered by family and friends this relationship did not mellow but instead had become a constant battle of bickering and unseen violence followed by a constant process of accusation and denial.
This endless warring naturally took its toll; his wife was tired, emotional and becoming increasingly concerned by her dwindling bank account. Then one morning, whilst tidying the house she went to throw the newspaper in the bin when her eye caught several encircled accountancy positions in the Appointments section. Furious, she went straight to his desk, in the hall and rummaged for their joint bank account statements. No income had been received in three months and a formal letter of cessation of employment revealed that their car had been returned and not sold as he had claimed.
He arrived that evening to an icy reception and was met by the offending evidence lying accusingly on the kitchen table in place of his usual supper. He proceeded to tell her of his redundancy along with four others in his department but quickly went on tell her that he was sure he’d find something soon, perhaps something even better. Another three months, however, and he was left in little doubt that this was not to be the case. He had endured a roller coaster ride of raised hopes and rejection always expressed in earnest and sympathetic tones that acknowledged his excellent work record yet regrettably found his age and number of dependents a stumbling block in view of the burgeoning rise of graduates.
Eventually, he accepted the inevitable and succumbed to one of the endless, hopeful adverts urging him to sell cleaning products door to door whilst coaxing others to do so for him. He found himself having to travel further and further a field to make it work often having to stay away in cheap hotels while his wife had returned to work at a new salon in town. She was spending more and more evenings out leaving him to face the nocturnal battle of wills with the riotous pair further exacerbated by his terrible cooking and a fatal lack of assertiveness.
Armed with a fresh resolve to regain control of his spiralling demise and a bottle of her favourite chardonnay he cut short a typically fruitless foray into suburbia and returned homeward. Passing an Italian restaurant they had frequented in earlier, happier times he spontaneously reserved a table. He made a mental note of calling Abbie, the studious and responsible A-level student, who always seemed readily available for those rare occasions when the couple went out together.
He parked his beaten up Ford and strode purposefully up the indistinguishable gravel path of his Barret home. As he entered the front door he was surprised to be met by his wife’s shoes lain in casual abandon at the foot of the stairs. Not expecting her home for at least another hour he shot a cursory glance in the adjoining kitchen and living room before climbing the stairs with a mounting sense of trepidation. He heard them before his hand grasped the door handle; he gripped momentarily as the unfettered gasps of ecstasy, that he had never heard from his wife, filled the empty daytime air. In disbelief he slowly and breathlessly opened the door. Her luscious blonde locks tumbled down her neck resting on her swollen breasts, which heaved upwards as she rode triumphant on the as yet indistinguishable man. The husband raised his devastated gaze from their entwined legs and looked at her ecstatic face caught at the peak of her pleasure. She opened her eyes and screamed in shock at the sight of her crumpled husband. Disengaging herself from the healthy physique of the training instructor at her gym, she covered herself in the discarded sheet. She called out his name but he had already turned and gone, descending the stairs as though entering Hell itself.
Falling out of the front door he was met by an icy October wind as he turned for one last look at their home. She appeared at the window with an expression of guilt and shame etched on her face with an outstretched hand pressed against the pane like a convicted prisoner. He turned again and fled past the identical neighbouring house but did not notice the rustling front curtain. Desperately trying to erase the sickening image he turned into the high street that was now seizing up under the oncoming rush hour. He stumbled on regardless of the now howling east wind that was bringing a fierce downpour that flew horizontally into his clenched face, wandering aimlessly along the high street. For hours the man traipsed on, zombie like, seemingly invisible to the hordes of people busily making their way home like ants. He came to a fork in the centre of which presided a large, imposing church, which loomed over him menacingly. He snorted indignantly and made for an illuminated newsagent that seemed to beckon him. He strode out emboldened by the litre of whiskey he had bought, the fiery contents of which brought an immediate but sickly solace and continued up the street towards the abandoned playing fields. He clasped his now drenched suit jacket around his translucent white shirt while his sodden feet squelched in his mud encased cheap leather shoes. Free of concrete impediments the wind swirled with an increasing intensity but the now half gulped bottle had left him impervious to the ferocity of the elements.
The bridge emerged out of the encroaching darkness; it’s myriad of small lights twinkling as though taunting the stricken man, gradually revealing the towering suspension turrets. He slowed as the enormity of the thought that now plagued his tortured mind took hold. He threw back the bottle and downed the remains, paused hesitantly, and then with stiffened resolve swayed towards the bridge. His vacant and wretched look of self pity was quickly melted by wild, enraged eyes, as the branded image of his wife seared in his mind.
He entered the jaws of the cabled bridge and made his way along the side pavement until he reached the midway point. Returning to the now empty bottle he grimaced before hurling it with all his might, watching it sail downwards before being swallowed by the ravenous darkness. He climbed over the railing, onto the outer ledge, which he grasped fervently as his sodden foot slipped and gave way causing a sudden pang of terror. He gazed down barely making out the swirling dark waters that rushed through the ever-widening gorge bustling its way to the freedom of the sea. He raised himself up and with a vacant, lifeless gaze he carefully positioned himself onto the edge still clasping the ledge with his arms outstretched behind him. Cars flashed past unaware of the haunched figure staring down at the swirling mist of the watery abyss. The wind intensified its fury as it drove him back against the railing.
A flicker of hope flashed in his eyes as his thoughts turned to happier times; Josh’s first steps, the look on his wife’s face as she proudly presented their newborn daughter and their last holiday in southern Spain. He turned, aghast at coming so close to letting go and reached for the ledge but his hand only found the cold, wet stone that offered no grip. As his hand slipped back he lunged out again in desperate panic only for his left foot to slip. He teetered on the edge for what seemed an eternity before letting out a desperate wail, which rang out before being stolen by the wind as he tumbled downwards into the darkness amidst the buffeting wind. His arms flailed desperately in the deafening roar of the angry wind.


The sun arose to a clear, blue sky that bore little resemblance to the torrid night before. Seagulls that had come in for shelter gleefully returned seaward, eager to scour for victims of the storm riding a fresh, gentle breeze that had replaced the banshee like gale. Swallows skipped playfully over the calm water, while the river meandered lazily under the bridge, which towered above majestically. A dog walker casually made his way along the exposed riverbed, occasionally stooping to retrieve the stick being eagerly proffered by his small terrier.
The man raised his matted head and gazed up in disbelief. His body was numb, not even feeling the cold of his drenched, bedraggled clothing. ‘Was this a vision of Heaven’ he thought disbelievingly, before a lorry rumbled over the bridge swallowing the natural quiet of the trees and birds. He lowered his eyes to find himself buried to the waist. Still questioning his existence his mind turned to the other, infinitely less appealing alternative. It wasn’t until he tried to turn his head, only to remain locked forward, that he realised that he was paralysed from the neck down. He tried to move the lifeless arm that lay on the silt bed but it was as though the link between body and mind had been severed.
Instinctively he coughed and spat out sandy water followed by blowing the silt from his nose. Despite the fact that this was the extent of his ability to move it did, at least, bring confirmation that he was alive and not spiritually trapped in some imaginary hell. Astonishment turned to an overwhelming sense of relief as he realised that the formidable wind coupled with the low tide had driven him straight into the cloying mud shattering both his legs, his pelvis and his spinal column in two places.
Flashes of the night before returned broken and fragmented like a hallucinogenic nightmare. The terrible scene that had brought him here returned with a pang of anguish but in the light of recent events lacked its original intensity. He had been a fool, he thought. Life was more than equity plans, club cards and all the other banalities of this socially competitive modern life. No, he continued, he had bowed to the consuming pressures with no regard for the sanity of his inner voice. He had been asleep to the realities of life for so long that he was prepared to throw it all away and, if he was being honest, had become a victim of his own pride and had abandoned himself to the cruel vagaries of fate.
Well, if fate had thrown a lifeline then he would grab it, he determined. His thoughts turned to his family and with fresh clarity realised that his fear of failure had caused him to isolate himself from them especially as the problems mounted. A pertinent recollection of his wife’s idea to open a salon together appeared like an unexpected visitor. He also realised that his decision to be away from home so much had left his wife lonely and his children unruly and disobedient, except to the television that to all intents and purposes ruled the house demanding reverential silence and hypnotic devotion. His thoughts turned guiltily to the joys of his own unremarkable upbringing as distant memories of fishing trips, holidays on the south coast and days in the park rushed through his swirling mind.
The bark of a dog brought him back to the present as he furtively scoured his field of vision for possible saviours. His burning eyes offered the only proof of his vitality; his lifeless body remaining immovably fixed like an Easter Island Maori. Suddenly the terrier hurtled into view before skidding headlong to capture the scented stick. An indistinguishable call carried by the breeze was heard in the direction that the dog was now returning, bringing the crumpled figure a glimmer of promise.
This resurgent sense of hope only lasted a fleeting moment as his gaze returned to the calm river in devastating realisation of the water level rising inexorably toward him. The incoming tide surged upstream replenishing the thirsty mud flats causing the burgeoning river to lap mockingly toward him. In desperation he scanned the river for help for what felt like hours before eventually focusing on the distant figure of a man wrestling over a stick with a small dog.
Summoning whatever internal strength he had he filled his bruised lungs with air before crying out in a plaintive wail. The swirling waters enveloped his imprisoned body heightening his sense of terror as he let out increasingly breathless cries for help. The rising water inched its way up his rigid torso. It wasn’t until the river had reached his neck that he felt the icy water envelope his body before playfully lapping at his mouth like an affectionate dog. Straining for air the man let out one final desperate plea for rescue.
Both man and dog turned in surprise, as the strange, terrified wail battled its way against the strengthening wind. The dog walker looked up and down the desolate riverbank before resting his gaze on the strange boulder he had noticed earlier. Gazing intently the dog walker watched the uncannily statuesque rock disappear beneath the dark waters before turning with a baffled shrug in the direction of his car.