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‘Or that.’ His laugh turns into a sob. ‘I shouldn’t be up here. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. My family would be devastated if they knew it had come to this.’
‘You haven’t let anyone down because you’re still here. The only thing your family would care about is you being all right. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I promise you, there’s nothing in the world worse than that. Any business that’s failing is just a business, a building, a job. Losing that can be recovered from. You are irreplaceable.’
‘Thank you.’ His voice breaks and I can hear the thickness of tears welling up again. My heart constricts in my chest and I want nothing more than to hug this man I don’t even know.
‘None of us know how much we matter until it’s too late. No matter how bad you feel, you’re so important to so many people. One person’s life touches so many others.’
‘Do you know It’s a Wonderful Life?’
I feel myself sitting up a bit straighter because he obviously recognized the quote. It’s a Wonderful Life is not just a film to me. It was my mum’s favourite, so much so that she named me Georgia Bailey after it. ‘I would be seriously concerned for anyone who didn’t know It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s an amazing film.’
He makes a noise of agreement.
‘It’s kind of life-affirming,’ I say pointedly. ‘It really shows the importance of every life. No matter how insignificant we think we are, our little lives still make a big difference.’
He considers it for a moment. ‘You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight.’
We sit there in silence for a while, neither of us speaking, and I realize I’m holding the phone handset so tightly that the plastic must be in danger of cracking by now. It feels like a lifeline to him and I could sit here all night just listening to him breathe. His breath has got that shuddery hitch you get after a long cry, and I have never wanted to hug someone so badly in all my life.
At the end of the high street, the church bell dongs for midnight.
‘Every time a bell rings,’ he murmurs. ‘Did you hear that?’
It makes my heart pound harder. It’s what I say every time I hear a bell ring too because they make me think of my mum. I love that he knows the film so well because it means so much to me and not many people get that.
‘I heard something,’ I say, because I don’t know whether he’s asking if I heard it through the phone or if he realizes I’m just down the road.
‘That was the Oakbarrow church telling us all it’s officially December.’
‘Christmas month,’ I say.
‘Don’t remind me. I can’t deal with Christmas this year.’
‘Why not?’
‘It makes me realize that another year has gone by and I’ve done nothing with my life. You’re supposed to be all happy happy, joy joy at Christmas and I’ve got nothing left in me to give.’
‘I wouldn’t mind betting that the only reason you’ve got nothing left is because you’re so busy looking after everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself,’ I say, because so many men are the same. He’s probably a guy who’s grown up thinking men must always be strong and never let their feelings show. It’s a toxic masculinity that’s dangerous to men’s mental health. It’s why suicide is the biggest killer of men under fifty. Men bottle things up inside and don’t let it out until it’s too late. I don’t know the exact figures off the top of my head, but I do know that a majority of One Light’s callers are male because of this exact reason.
‘My mum always says that.’
‘Mums are always right,’ I murmur, wishing mine was still here.
‘Sometimes I feel like I’m frightened of being alive.’
My breath catches in my throat. ‘Me too.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, nodding even though he can’t see me. ‘No one’s ever hit the nail on the head like that before. That’s exactly how I feel too.’
‘I’ve always wanted to travel but I never have.’
‘Me neither. I’ve never told anyone this but my ultimate dream is to go backpacking around Europe,’ I say wondering what it is about him that makes him so easy to talk to.
‘Really?’ he says again. ‘I’d love to do that.’
‘I think I’m a bit old for it now, it’s kind of a “gap year” thing, isn’t it?’ I shake my head at myself. I’m too old for daydreams like this, I should’ve forgotten it years ago. ‘It’s just a dream anyway. I have responsibilities that I can’t just leave.’
‘Me too. I was going to travel after college, but family stuff happened and I couldn’t leave, then I was going off to uni but more family stuff came up, and it made more sense for me to get a job and stay here, so I’d been saving up for years to do one big trip somewhere, and then my dad died, and I bought the business, and now … well, I’m still here. I keep feeling like there has to be more to life than this.’
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Wow, really? Sorry, I keep saying that, don’t I? I’ve never spoken to someone who knew that feeling before.’
‘Me neither. And there you go, I just keep repeating some variation of “me too” and “me neither”. It doesn’t make for the most exciting conversation in the world but I’ve never said this to anyone before.’
‘Me neither,’ he says, making us both laugh. My grip on the phone tightens, like if I hold it tight enough he’ll be able to feel me squeezing his hand through the handset.
‘This isn’t what I thought my life would be like,’ I admit. ‘And I know I can’t really complain because I’m so lucky compared to others, but I feel like I’m still waiting for my life to start.’
‘I think we might literally be the same person. I’m thirty-seven and I feel exactly the same. I’m too old to still be waiting for my life to begin and too young to be this jaded, but I don’t know what to do about it.’
So he’s only three years older than me. I couldn’t possibly know him, no matter how familiar his voice sounds. I can’t think of anyone around that age who could be in such a dark place and hiding it so well.
‘Me too,’ I whisper.
‘We grow up thinking life will be wonderful and amazing and exciting, and it’s just quite dull really, isn’t it? I keep thinking what if I die before anything wonderful or amazing or exciting happens to me?’ He gives a self-deprecating snort. ‘And yes, I know throwing yourself off a bridge isn’t exactly conducive to that.’
At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour. He lets out a wobbly little giggle and I feel something like butterflies in my tummy. How can I possibly have butterflies over someone I don’t even know? Someone who phoned because he was about to jump off a bridge?
‘Okay, so … I should go, shouldn’t I?’ he says after a few moments silence.
‘You don’t have to. We can carry on talking.’ I kind of want him to stay on the line for my sake now. I love talking to him. There’s something about him that’s so easy to chat to and a familiarity that you’d only expect to feel with a friend.
I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘As tempting as that sounds, I think I should go home. I’m so cold that I might actually die from hypothermia and, thanks to you, I’ve realized I don’t want to die tonight.’
‘Or any other night, right?’
‘Nah. I’ll stick to killing myself only in daylight hours.’
‘I’m glad you can joke about it, but it’s not funny. You were really going to –’
‘I know,’ he whispers. ‘But I feel better already just from talking to you, getting it off my chest, feeling like I’m not alone.’
He pauses and I can almost sense how ashamed he feels. I want to tell him that there’s no reason to be, but I’m out of my depth and don’t know how to word it.
‘I can’t thank you enough for staying on the line with me. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure I’ve totally ruined your night.’
‘Oh God, not at all. I’ve loved every second of talking to you. It’s been a wonderful night.’
I can hear a smile in his voice. ‘You just sounded so normal, it made me forget everything that’s been in my head and just feel normal for a change. I can’t remember the last time I felt connected to anyone. As daft as that sounds in our modern world of technology and the internet and being connected all the time.’
‘It doesn’t sound daft at all. It sounds exactly like what I was feeling too.’ I wonder how many more times he’s going to surprise me tonight. He seems to understand thoughts I’ve had but never put into words before. ‘I think it’s something that’s easy to forget sometimes. We get so caught up in social media and being as good as everyone else that we forget we don’t really “talk” anymore. And if you want to know about the modern world, I’m on an old corded phone that’s screwed to the wall, rarely seen in Britain since the Seventies. David Attenborough should be doing a documentary about something so ancient.’
He laughs and I’m glad he got a kick out of that because there’s something about his laugh that I just want to keep listening to.
‘Thank you for reminding me what it feels like to be alive,’ he says.
‘I think you might have reminded me a little bit too.’
‘I keep thinking I know you. Your voice sounds so familiar,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
My breath catches in my throat, but I think it’s probably best not to tell him that he sounds familiar too. If he is someone I could one day come across in real life, he’s not going to want to be reminded of this night, is he? People can be more open with a stranger. They can tell them things they wouldn’t tell a friend. If he thought we might run into each other somewhere, he probably wouldn’t have said half the things he said tonight. No matter what connection we have here, it has to end when we put down the phone. ‘I don’t know yours. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It’s often easier to talk to an anonymous stranger. Someone completely non-judgemental and impartial, who’s not involved in your life in any way at all. Like ships passing in the night, honking their horn at each other and continuing their journey.’
‘Consider your horn duly honked.’
It makes me laugh. ‘And yours too.’
‘I like that, you know?’
‘Horn honking?’
‘No, being anonymous. It makes it seem all mysterious and romantic, like the start of a great story. Well, and horn honking. Honking is a good word. People don’t honk enough these days.’
‘They leave the honking to geese and old-fashioned car horns.’
It makes us both laugh again and I realize I’ve gone from panicking when I picked up the phone to relaxing with his company. He really is easy to talk to, and now I don’t think he’s about to do anything stupid, I’m just enjoying the chat.
‘You can hang up, you know,’ he says. ‘I feel like I’ve wasted your time tonight.’
‘Are you kidding? I’ve really enjoyed it. I didn’t think anyone understood half the things I’ve said to you tonight. You made me feel more normal too, you know.’
I hear him swallow.
‘And I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.’
‘Okay, okay.’ His chuckle gives way to a grunt and a series of groans as I hear him moving. ‘God, I’ve sat here for too long. I think I need oiling. Got any WD40 handy?’
I smile but his attempt at humour is not going to deter me from what’s really important here. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘I don’t know. I’m so cold that I can’t feel anything from the neck down.’
I wish I’d taken him a coat or something. I should’ve just gone as soon as I knew where he was. Anonymity be damned.
‘I’m okay,’ he says before I have a chance to push him any further. ‘Really. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I feel better just for having let it all out. I don’t think I’ve ever cried that much in my life, and I watched Titanic fourteen times when it came out on video. How can one set of sinuses hold so much snot?’ He does an exaggerated sniff as a demonstration.
It makes me smile. ‘When you get home, do me a favour and take care of yourself, okay? Apart from cold and wet, you must be drained. You’ve been through something traumatic tonight.’
‘Ah, I wouldn’t call talking to you traumatic.’
‘Make light of it all you want. Do whatever you need to cope. But you and I both know that trying to brush things under the carpet is how you ended up on that bridge in the first place.’
I think he’s going to say something else sarcastic, but he swallows. ‘I know.’
‘So take care of yourself. When you get in, have a long hot shower or bath. A long cry is draining, so drink a really big glass of water and get something to eat. I don’t care if it’s healthy or something made of chocolate, but make yourself a cup of tea and eat some biscuits, and snuggle up into bed with a book or a movie or something. Please? You deserve some TLC too.’
‘Waterfalls or No Scrubs?’
‘Oh, ha ha,’ I say, even though it does make me want to laugh. There’s never a bad time for a Nineties music reference.
‘Hot shower, warm pyjamas, drink of water, bed, book, tea and biscuits. The Great British cure for everything.’ I can hear that he’s smiling as he repeats my instructions. ‘I wish I knew your name so I could thank you properly, but at the same time, I kind of like not knowing it. So thank you, mysterious stranger, for saving my life. And for the interesting mental images of mannequins wrestling naked in chocolate. Or something. That is what you were doing when I called, right?’
I giggle. ‘Thank you for a night I’ll never forget.’
‘Even the rain’s stopping,’ he says. I can hear him walking now, the wet flop of something against his phone. Maybe his hair? ‘What a wonderful night.’
I smile because, in a weird way, it was.
I’ve never spoken to someone who understands me the way he seems to. It feels kind of magical to speak to someone who you can never speak to again; a connection with a stranger I’ll never meet, on a night I’ll always remember.
‘Thank you for everything,’ he whispers, his voice catching again. It makes me want to hug him even more than I wanted to hug him anyway which was already immeasurable on the wanting-to-hug-someone scale. ‘Goodnight, lovely.’
The phone clicks off and I sit back on my knees, staring at the handset in shock.
Lovely. That’s what Leo from It’s A Wonderful Latte up the road calls me. I mean, I’m sure it’s what he calls every customer but it still makes my heart beat faster every time he says it.
The thought that it could’ve been him flits across my mind but I dismiss it instantly. There must be millions of guys who use endearments like that…
It couldn’t be, could it?
No way.
No way could someone be suffering so much on the inside and hide it so well on the outside. Leo is the happiest person I know. He’s the one bright spot on a dull winter day. He’s the reason I buy a coffee every morning on the way to work. His smile makes every overpriced cup worthwhile. He’s the brightest, happiest, smiliest, most cheerful guy in town.
No way in a million years would he be considering taking his own life.
No way was the guy on the other end of that phone Leo.
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