How to Fall in Love

‘What’s your name?’

‘Leave me alone,’ he snapped, then added gently, ‘Please.’

Even in distress, he was polite.

‘I’m concerned. I can see you’re distressed. I’m here to help you.’

‘I don’t need your help.’ He blocked me out and focused on the water again. I watched his knuckles, wrapped around the iron, going from white to red as he tightened and loosened his grip. My heart hammered each time his grip loosened and I dreaded them letting go completely. I didn’t have much time.

‘I’d like to talk to you.’ I moved a tiny bit closer.

‘Please go away. I want to be on my own. I didn’t want any of this, I didn’t want a scene, I just want to do this. On my own. I just … I didn’t think it would take so long.’ He swallowed again.

‘Look, nobody is going to come near you unless I say so. So there’s no panic, no rush, you don’t need to do anything without thinking it through. We have a lot of time. All I ask is for you to talk to me.’

He was silent. More gentle questions led to no answers. I was ready to listen, ready to say all the right things, but my questions were being met by silence. On the other hand, he hadn’t jumped yet, at least there was that.

‘I’d like to know your name,’ I said.

There was nothing from him.

I pictured Simon’s face as he looked me in the eye and pulled the trigger. A wave of emotion rushed through me and I wanted to cry, I wanted to break down and cry. I wasn’t able for this. Panic welled inside me. I was on the verge of giving up and returning to the small crowd of spectators to tell them I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want to be responsible for another victim, when he spoke.

‘Adam.’

‘Okay,’ I said, relieved he was engaging with me. I remembered a line in one of the books that said the person attempting suicide needed to be reminded that there were others thinking of him, loving him, whether he felt it or not, but I was afraid it would send him in the opposite direction. What if he was here because of them or because he felt he was a burden on them? My mind raced as I tried to figure out what to do; there were so many rules, and all I wanted was to help.

‘I want to help you, Adam,’ I said finally.

‘There’s no point.’

‘I’d like to hear what you have to say,’ I told him, remaining positive. Listen thoughtfully, don’t say ‘don’t’, don’t say ‘can’t’. I ran through everything I’d read. I couldn’t get it wrong. Not one single word.

‘You can’t talk me out of it.’

‘Give me a chance to show you that even though it may feel like this is the only option, there are many more. Your mind is so tired now – let me help you down. Then we can look at the choices. They may be hard to see at the moment, but they do exist. For the time being though, let’s get off the bridge, let me help you to safety.’

He didn’t answer. Instead he looked up at me. I knew that look, that familiar look. Simon had worn that expression too. ‘Sorry.’ His fingers loosened on the iron bars, his body leaned forward, away from the railings.

‘Adam!’ I dashed forward, pushed my arms through the wide railings and wrapped them tight around his chest, pulling him back so hard that he slammed into the railings. My body was pressed so close to the railings that his back was tight against my front. I buried my face in his woolly hat, squeezed my eyes shut and held on tight. I waited for him to pull away, wondered how I would keep my grip on him, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to for long if he used his strength to resist me. I waited for a spectator to come running and take over, hoped that the gardaí were nearby so that the professionals could step in. I was out of my depth – what did I think I was doing? I squeezed my eyes shut, rested my head on the back of his head; he smelled of aftershave, clean, like he’d just taken a shower. He smelled alive, like someone who was on his way somewhere, not someone who had been planning to jump off a bridge. He felt strong and full of life too; I could barely wrap my arms around his chest he was so broad. I held on to him, determined never to let go.

‘What are you doing?’ he panted, his chest heaving up and down.

I finally looked up and checked on the crowd behind me. There was no sign of garda lights, no sign of anyone coming to help me. My legs were trembling as if it was me that was staring down at the depths of the Liffey’s darkness.

‘Don’t do it,’ I whispered, starting to cry. ‘Please don’t do it.’

He tried to turn around and see me, but I was directly behind and he couldn’t see my face.

‘Are you … are you crying?’

‘Yes,’ I sniffed. ‘Please don’t do it.’

‘Jesus,’ he tried again to turn and look at me.

I was crying harder now, sobbing uncontrollably, my shoulders jumping up and down, my arms still wrapped around his chest, holding on for dear life.

‘What the hell?’ He moved some more, shuffled his feet along the edge of the ledge so he could turn his head and see my face.

Our eyes locked together.

‘Are you … are you okay?’ He softened a little, coming out of whatever trance-like state he had been in.

‘No.’ I tried to stop crying. I wanted to dry my nose, which was running like a tap, but I was afraid to let go of him.

‘Do I know you?’ he asked, confused, searching my face, wondering why I cared so much.

‘No,’ I said, sniffing again. I squeezed him tighter, hugging him like I hadn’t hugged anyone for years, not since I was a child, not since my mother held me.

He was looking at me like I was crazy, like he was the sane one and I had lost it. We were practically nose-to-nose as he studied my face, as if looking for far more than what he could see.

The spell between us was broken when some idiot watching from the quays shouted ‘Jump!’ The man in black started trying to wriggle out of my grip with a renewed anger.

‘Get your hands off me,’ he said, struggling to shake me off.

‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘Please, listen …’ I tried to compose myself before continuing: ‘It’s not what you think it’s going to be in there,’ I said, looking down and imagining how it would feel for him, staring into that darkness, wanting to end it all; how bad things must be for him to want that. He was studying me intently again. ‘You don’t want to end your life, you want to end your pain, the pain you’re feeling right now, the pain that I’m sure you wake up with and go to bed at night with. Maybe no one around you understands that, but I do, believe me.’ I saw that his eyes were filling, I was getting through to him. ‘But you don’t want to end it all the time, do you? Just sometimes it passes through your mind, probably more often lately than before. It’s like a habit, trying to think of different ways to end it all. But it passes, doesn’t it?’

He looked at me carefully, taking every word in.

‘It’s a moment, that’s all. And moments pass. If you hang in there, this moment will pass and you won’t want to end your life. You probably think that no one cares, or that they’ll get over you. Maybe you think they want you to do this. They don’t. No one wants this for anyone. It might feel as if there are no options, but there are – you can come through this. Get down and let’s talk about it. Whatever is going on, you can get through it. It’s a moment, that’s all,’ I whispered, tears running down my cheeks.

I took a sidelong glance at him. He swallowed hard. He was looking down now, thinking about it, weighing up his options. Live or die. Surreptitiously I scanned the bridge entrances on Bachelors Walk and Wellington Quay; still no gardaí, still no members of the public to help me. I was glad of that at this stage; I had managed to engage with him, I didn’t want anybody else to distract him, panic him, bring him back to that place again. I thought about what to say next, something that would make the time pass until professional help arrived, something positive that wouldn’t trigger any anger in him. But in the end I didn’t have to say anything because he spoke first.

‘I read about a guy who jumped in the river last year. He was drunk and decided to go swimming, only he got stuck under a shopping trolley and the currents swept him away. He couldn’t get out,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

‘And you liked the sound of that?’

‘No. But then it will be over. After all that, it will be over.’

‘Or it will be the beginning of a new kind of pain. As soon as you’re in that water, no matter how much you want it, you’ll panic. You’ll fight it. You’ll struggle to take in oxygen and your lungs will fill with water because, even though you think you don’t want to live, your instinct will be to stay alive. It’s in you to want to stay alive. As soon as the water is drawn into your larynx, another natural instinct is for you to swallow it. Water will fill your lungs, which will weigh down your body, and if you change your mind and decide you want to live and try to get to the surface, you won’t be able to. And the thing is, there are so many people around you right now, they’re ready to dive in and rescue you – and do you know what? You think it’ll be too late, but it won’t be. Even after you lose consciousness, the heart will carry on beating. They can give you mouth-to-mouth and pump out the water and fill your lungs with air again. They could save you.’

His body was shaking and not just from the cold. I felt him go limp beneath my arms. ‘I want it to end.’ His voice shook as he spoke. ‘It hurts.’

‘What hurts?’

‘Specifically? Living.’ He laughed weakly. ‘Waking up is the worst part of my day. Has been for a long time.’

‘Why don’t we talk about this somewhere else?’ I said, concerned, as his body went rigid again. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk about his problems while he was hanging off the side of a bridge. ‘I want to hear everything you have to say, so let’s get down now.’

‘It’s too much.’ He closed his eyes and spoke more to himself. ‘I can’t change things now. It’s too late,’ he said quietly, leaning his head back so that it rested by my cheek. We were oddly close for two strangers.

‘It’s never too late. Believe me, it’s possible for your life to change. You can change it. I can help you,’ I said, my voice little more than a whisper. There was no reason for me to project; his ear was right there, at the tip of my lips.

He looked me in the eyes and I couldn’t look away, I felt locked in. He seemed so lost.

‘And what happens if it doesn’t work? If everything doesn’t change like you say it will?’

‘It will.’

‘But if it doesn’t?’

‘I’m telling you, it will.’ Get him off the bridge, Christine!

He studied me, his jaw hardening as he mulled it over. ‘And if it doesn’t, I swear I’ll do this again,’ he threatened. ‘Not here, but I’ll find a way, because I’m not going back to that.’

I didn’t want him dwelling on the negative, on whatever it was that had sent him here. ‘Fine,’ I said confidently. ‘If your life doesn’t change, it’s your decision what you do. But I’m telling you that it can. I’ll show you. You and me, we’ll do it together, we’ll see how wonderful life can be. I promise you.’

‘It’s a deal,’ he near whispered.

Dread immediately flooded my body. A deal? I hadn’t intended on making a deal with him, but I wasn’t going to discuss it now. I was tired. I just wanted him off the bridge. I wanted to be in bed, wrapped up, with all of this behind me.

‘You need to let go of me so I can climb over,’ he said.

‘I’m not letting you go. No way,’ I said sternly.

He half laughed, a tiny one, but it was there. ‘Look, I’m trying to get back on the bridge and now you won’t let me.’

I took in the height of the bars he needed to climb, then the drop below. This was going to be dangerous. ‘Let me call for help,’ I said.

Slowly I removed one hand from his chest, not totally trusting that he was going to keep his word.

‘I got here by myself, I can get back on the bridge by myself,’ he said.

‘I don’t like the idea of this. Let me ask someone to help.’ But he ignored me and I watched him trying to turn around, his large feet on the narrow ledge. He moved his right hand to a bar further away and shuffled his feet so that he could turn to face the bridge. My heart pounded as I watched, feeling helpless. I wanted to shout to the spectators to help, but shouting at that point would have given him a fright and sent him into the water. Suddenly the wind felt stronger, the air seemed colder and I was even more aware of the danger he was in after our brief respite. He angled his body to the right, twisting from his waist and preparing to swing his left foot over the water and turn to face the bars, but as he pivoted his weight on his right foot, it slipped off the narrow ledge. Somehow his left hand managed to grab the bar he had been reaching for just in time, leaving him hanging on with one arm. I heard the collective intake of breath from the spectators as I reached for his flailing right hand and clinging on tightly, used all my strength to pull him up. In that moment it was the fear in his eyes which terrified me the most, but on reflection it was that look that gave me strength, because the man who only moments ago had wanted to end his life was now fighting to live.

I helped pull him up, and he clung to the bars, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. I was still trying to compose myself when Detective Maguire came rushing towards us with a thunderous look on his face.

‘He wants to get back on the bridge,’ I said weakly.

‘I can see that.’ He pushed me aside and I had to look away while they manoeuvred Adam to safety. As soon as he landed on the bridge, we both sat down hard on the ground, all our energy spent.

Adam sat with his back pressed up against the railings; I sat opposite him on the other side, trying to stop my head from spinning. I tucked my head between my legs and took deep breaths.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Yeah.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Thanks,’ I added.

‘What for?’

‘For not jumping.’

He grimaced, the exhaustion showing in his face and body. ‘Always happy to oblige. Seemed like it meant more to you than to me.’

‘Well, I appreciate it.’ I gave him a shaky smile.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Christine.’

‘Adam.’

He reached across and held out his hand. I moved from the railings to reach and as I took his hand in mine he held on tightly and looked me in the eye.

‘I look forward to you convincing me that this was a good idea, Christine. I think my birthday would be a good deadline.’

Deadline? I froze, my hand still wrapped in his. He’d said it softly, but it felt like a warning. Suddenly I felt faint, not to mention foolish, at the thought of the deal I’d agreed to. What had I done?

Despite wanting to take it all back, I nodded nervously. He shook my hand once, a firm single shake, in the centre of the bridge, and then he let go.

5

How to Take Your Relationship to the Next Level

‘What the hell were you doing there?’ Detective Maguire growled, pushing his face close to mine.

‘Trying to help.’

‘How do you know him?’ Meaning: him as well?

‘I don’t.’

‘So what happened here?’

‘I was just walking by and saw that he was in trouble. We were concerned you wouldn’t get here on time, so I thought I’d talk to him.’

‘Because your talking did so well the first time,’ he vented, then appeared to regret saying that. ‘Seriously, Christine, do you expect me to believe that story? You were “just walking by”? Twice in one month? Do you expect me to believe it was a coincidence? If you’re playing at being some caped crusader—’

‘I’m not. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I thought I could help.’ Getting angry at my treatment, I added: ‘And I did, didn’t I? I got him back on the bridge.’

‘Barely,’ he fumed. He paced before me.

From afar I could see Adam watching me with concern. I gave him a weak smile.

‘I don’t think this is funny.’

‘I’m not laughing.’

He studied me, trying to figure out what to do with me. ‘You can tell me about this from start to finish at the station.’

‘But I didn’t do anything wrong!’

‘You’re not under arrest, Christine. I need to file a report.’ He walked away, expecting me to follow him to the car.

‘You can’t take her too,’ Adam protested. He looked and sounded exhausted.

‘Don’t you worry about what we’re doing with her.’ Maguire adopted a different, much softer voice for Adam’s benefit, one I didn’t know existed within him.

‘Really, I’m fine,’ Adam objected as Maguire started helping him to the car. ‘It was a moment of madness. I’m fine now. I just want to go home.’

Maguire murmured supportive words but accompanied him to the car all the same, disregarding his wishes. While Adam was taken in one car, I was taken in another to Pearse Street station, where I was asked to tell my story again. It was obvious that Maguire wasn’t entirely convinced that I was telling the truth. The fact is, I was holding back and he knew it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I was really doing on the bridge or at the housing development. And I couldn’t tell it to the nice lady who came into the room after him, wanting to chat to me about my experience.

After an hour Detective Maguire told me I was free to leave.

‘What about Adam?’

‘Adam isn’t your concern now.’

‘But where is he?’

‘Being assessed by a psychologist.’

‘So when can I see him?’

‘Christine …’ he warned, trying to get rid of me.

‘What?’

‘What did I tell you about getting involved? There are taxis outside. Go home. Get some sleep. Try to stay out of trouble.’

So I left the garda station. It was midnight on a Sunday and the cold went straight to my bones; the streets were empty of traffic, apart from the odd taxi. The all-seeing Trinity College stood dark and empty before me. I don’t know how long I was standing there, trying to figure everything out, the shock finally sinking in, when the door behind me opened and I felt Maguire’s presence before I heard him.

‘You’re still here.’

I didn’t know what to say to that so I simply looked at him.

‘He’s been asking for you.’

My heart lifted.

‘He’ll be spending the night away. Can I give him your number?’

I nodded.

‘Get in a taxi, Christine,’ Maguire said, and threw me a look so threatening that I found myself hailing the nearest cab.

I went home.

Unsurprisingly I didn’t sleep. I sat up, my coffee machine keeping me company as I watched my phone and wondered if Detective Maguire had given Adam the correct number. When seven a.m. arrived and I heard cars on the road, I started to nod off. Fifteen minutes later my alarm clock woke me for work. Adam didn’t call me all day, then at six p.m. when I was turning off my computer, my phone rang.

We arranged to meet at the Ha’penny Bridge, which seemed right at the time as it was our only link to one another, but once we were both there, twenty-four hours after the incident, it felt inappropriate. He wasn’t on the bridge but standing beside it on Bachelors Walk, looking down at the water. I would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

‘Adam.’

At the sound of my voice, he turned. He was wearing the same black duffle coat and black woollen hat from the previous night, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, sure.’ He sounded shell-shocked. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Where did they take you last night?’

‘A few questions at the station, then St John of Gods for a psychological assessment. I passed with flying colours,’ he joked. ‘Anyway I called you because I wanted to thank you, in person.’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘So, thank you.’

‘Okay. Well, you’re welcome,’ I replied, awkwardly, not knowing whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. All the signs indicated I should leave him alone.

He nodded then and turned to cross the road to Lower Liffey Street. He wasn’t looking where he was going and a car honked angrily as it narrowly missed running him over. He barely registered the sound and kept on walking.

‘Adam!’

He turned around. ‘Accident. Promise.’

I knew then that I would have to follow him. The hospital may have believed him, but there was no way I would leave him alone after what he’d been through. I pressed the pedestrian button for the lights to change but they were too slow; afraid I’d lose him, I waited for a gap in the traffic and ran across the road. Another car honked. I ran to get close to him and then slowed down, deciding I could make sure he was safe from afar. He turned right onto Middle Abbey Street and when he was around the corner and out of sight, I sprinted to catch up. When I rounded the corner, he was gone, as if he’d vanished into thin air. At that hour there were no businesses open for him to have disappeared into. I searched the deserted, dark street ahead and cursed myself for losing him, wishing I’d at least gotten his phone number.

‘Boo,’ he said suddenly, deadpan, as he stepped out of the shadows.

I jumped. ‘Jesus, Adam. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

He smiled at me, amused. ‘Stop pulling your Cagney and Lacey tricks on me.’

I felt my face redden in the dark. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t want to be in your face.’

‘I told you, I’m fine.’

‘I don’t think that you are.’

He looked away, blinking repeatedly as his eyes started filling again. I could see them sparkling under the lamplight.

‘I need to know that you’re going to be okay. I can’t just leave you. Are you going to get some help?’ I asked.

‘And how will all this amazing talking that people want to do with me fix anything? It won’t change what’s happening.’

‘What is happening?’

He backed away.

‘Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But are you at least relieved? That you didn’t jump?’

‘Sure. It was a big mistake. I regret going to the bridge.’

I smiled. ‘You see? That’s good – steps forward already.’

‘I should have gone up there,’ he said, lifting his gaze to Liberty Hall, the sixteen-storey building which was the tallest in Dublin’s city centre.

‘When’s your birthday?’ I said, remembering our deal.

He actually laughed.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, running to catch up with him as he strode along O’Connell Street. My feet and hands were numb, so I was hoping we hadn’t far to go. He seemed to be walking aimlessly, without a destination in mind, which made me wonder whether death by frostbite was to be his next suicide method.

‘I’m staying in the Gresham Hotel.’ He looked up at the Spire. ‘Or I could have skydived and landed on that. It might have speared me right through the stomach. Or better yet, my heart.’

‘Okay, I’m starting to understand your humour. And it’s a bit sick.’

‘Thankfully the hospital didn’t think so.’

‘How did you get out of there?’

‘Charmed them with my boyish joy and wonder,’ he said, still straight-faced.

‘You lied to them,’ I accused. Adam shrugged. ‘Where do you live?’

He hesitated. ‘These days? Tipperary.’

‘And did you come to Dublin especially to …?’

‘Jump from the Ha’penny Bridge?’ He looked at me, amused again. ‘You Dubs are so arrogant. There are perfectly good bridges in the rest of the country, you know. No, I was here to see someone.’ We reached the Gresham Hotel and Adam turned to me. ‘Well, thank you. Again. For saving my life. Should I, I don’t know, give you an awkward kiss or a hug or … I know—’ He held up his hand in the air and I rolled my eyes before giving him a high-five.

And then I really didn’t know what to say next. Good luck? Enjoy your life?