Twenty Seven Is More Than a Number

“Let’s go for a walk”. My mum and dad looked at me as if I’d gone crazy. They knew that I didn’t like walking anywhere and they didn’t care for it much either.

After a brief silence Dad said. “Okay. I just need a piss first” He finished his beer, put the empty bottle on the coffee table next to the empty KFC boxes, took a final drag on his cigarette and waddled off to the toilet.

Why had I suggested that? I did hate walking but I was still angry with them. Dad mostly, and I thought “That’ll show ‘em”. Dad came back and said “Where are we gonna go, I still don’t know much about ‘round here?”. Mum said, “I had a walk along the cliffs the other day while Sarah was at school. It was quite nice” So Dad said. “The Cliffs it is then. Get your togs on it might be a bit chilly out there now.”

After parking the car, we set off along a track at the top of the famous White Cliffs of Dover. If we ever walked anywhere, I would slouch behind but to today I strode off ahead trying to show them my anger. Trying to punish Dad. He shouted above the wind. “Hey Sarah. Slow down it’s lovely up here let’s take it easy. No rush.”

Clearly my plan wasn’t working. Even though he was over weight and in poor condition for his age. And usually spent Sunday afternoon in front of Netflix or sport, he seemed to be having a nice time. Mum just tagged along like usual.

 I loved my parents but at that moment I hated them and wanted them to know how much. But my complaints about moving to Dover had had no impact. Dad had said that the new job driving lorries across the Channel to Europe would pay much better than his delivery job in London so all in all it was worth it. I loved London. I liked my school and I missed my friends. I didn’t fit in at my new school in Dover, I hadn’t made any friends and I was miserable. So, my parents had to be punished.

I wondered off the path across the grass to get a closer look over the edge. I heard Dad shouting. “Be careful. Don’t get too close to the edge.” As I reach the edge the strong wind blew my hair back from my face. I looked down past the chalky whiteness at the angry waves, that seemed to mirror my own anger, crash, foaming, into the bottom of the cliffs. Then I noticed that just below me was a small shallow crevice with a nearly flat ledge at the bottom. “This’ll show him” I thought. I carefully jumped down into the crevice letting out a loud short scream as I did. I waited until I heard a faint breathless wheezing and then my Dad’s podgy, sweaty face peered over the edge. He saw me immediately and I saw the fear in his eyes ease a little. “Thank God. I thought you’d fallen to your death. You scared the life out of me” I heard Mum’s distant voice. “What’s happened for God’s sake? Is Sarah okay?”

Dad looked back as the wind took his voice.” It’s alright. She’s okay. She’s on a shelf, just below me”. He leaned over the edge into the wind a little more and held out his meaty right hand. The one I felt so safe holding as we crossed busy roads. “Here. Grab this” he said just as the wind dropped. He toppled forward losing his balance. With nothing to grab he kept on falling forward towards me and I saw the surprise on his face quickly turn to terror as he lost all contact with the top of the cliff. In slow motion he summersaulted forward, bashed the back of his head on the back of the ledge I was on and carried on silently to his death in the boiling rolling sea below.

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Sarah looked out, through teary eyes at the circle of people in front of her. She hadn’t meant to cry. She never cried. But now tears were streaming down her cheeks. “And that’s how I killed my Dad. How I punished him for wanting a better life for all of us. But I can’t be punished. I can’t go to the police and confess my crime. I can’t go to prison and I can’t do anything to changed what happened on that Sunday November afternoon twelve years ago”.

There was silence until a man wearing a woollen beanie spoke. “Thank you for sharing your story” That’s a tragic story and we all share your pain. You’ve taken a huge step forward coming here today for the first time and speaking. Some people take months before they can share their stories.” Sarah looked at the odd assortment of people that circled her and she could see the sympathy, or was it pity, in their eyes. But she had finally gotten her story out and they had listened without showing judgement. She dried her eyes. The man in the beanie spoke again. “That’s about raps it up for this week. Thank you all for coming and I hope to see you all here next Tuesday at 6 o’clock”. 

People started to stand up some chatted while others shuffled towards the exit. As Sarah stood the man in the beanie came over to her. “Hi, I’m Jeff and I run this AA group.” He was thin and dressed in jeans and a jumper. He had a thin long face with the tell-tale vertical wrinkles that betrayed his long addiction to alcohol and maybe other substances too. But his eyes shone brightly and there was real caring in his tone. “Hi. I’m Sarah”. 

“You’ve gone six days without a drink. That’s a fantastic effort. I’d like to say it gets easier but it’s a lifelong challenge. However, now you have support.” He gave her a card. “Here’s my number. I’m only here to help and you can call me any time to talk about anything you like. You’re not alone anymore.” Sarah didn’t want to talk anymore she wanted to leave and get on with it. She thanked him and left the room.

In the corridor she collected her shopping trolly containing its filthy sleeping bag, some blankets, cardboard sheets and an odd assortment of knick knacks. She maneuvered it out of the front door of the community centre, down the ramp and set off, pushing it along the street. When she was around the corner, she retrieved an unopened half bottle of vodka from her trolly and took a large swig. She hadn’t lied to the others about not drinking for six days. Being sober had helped her formulate her plan for atonement and punishment. But now with the first part complete she just needed a little drink to give her the courage she needed. She had lived homeless on the streets of London since she was fifteen. And every day she wasn’t bothered about whether she lived another day or not. After the accident, her mother just went through the motions of living but she seemed dead inside. She didn’t say much to Sarah about what had happed, and the police had said it was just a tragic accident, but when she had been drinking, which was often, she could tell by the way she looked at her that she was no longer loved. So, three years after she had killed her father Sarah had just up and left. Not knowing if anyone was looking for her or even caring. She missed her father every day. She knew he would care.

An hour later Sarah arrived at Blackfriars Bridge on The Thames. She walked slowly but surely now. The bridge was busy with traffic and people coming and going. Living their busy lives in the cold November evening. They had their own loved ones and no one paid any attention to yet another homeless tramp making her way to who knows where to get a free charity meal and somewhere to sleep. About half way across Sarah stopped and pick up the vodka from her trolly. She looked at it for a second or two and then threw it over the parapet. She thought she heard a distant splash. She used the trolly, trying not to let it roll away, to help her clumsily up onto the top of Blackfriars Bridge wall. She didn’t look back. She didn’t hesitate. Her mind was made up. She would suffer the same fate as the one she had inflicted on her father and her atonement and punishment would be complete. 

Straddling the wall, just as she leaned out ready drop into the icy black river she heard someone shout “Sarah! Don’t! Stop, stop. For God’s sake don’t” Was that her dad calling to her? Had he forgiven her? Tears flooded from her eyes and she slumped forward. “Oh Dad. I miss you so much. Why did you have to die?”

Again, only louder and more desperate. “Sarah. Don’t do it. Please. Please there are better ways than this. You don’t need to do this”. Sarah turned and looked back. It was Jeff. Not her Dad calling to her. He must have followed her. She looked away. Leaned out and silently dropped into the river. 

Sarah was the twenty seventh person to fall from the bridge that year.