Falling by Anthony McGowan Page 3
3
He opened his eyes. The phone was too old to have flashy polyphonic tones. It didn't play tunes. It just made a monotonous beeping. The room was dim, but he could see the first pre-dawn light seeping through his torn curtains. The phone was next to him on the duvet.
There was a message.
Help me.
Nicko laughed, the laughter turning into a thick cough.
It was a wind up.
Iggy's fingerprints were all over this. He was probably with the others now, sniggering about it. He was just about to text back, eff off, something like that, when he stopped. How could Iggy have the number? He'd only held the phone for a few seconds, just long enough to dangle it out of the window. Anyway, it was five in the morning. Iggy would be asleep.
Nicko stared at the little grey screen. He felt the sickness, the tingling. It was the girl. He knew it was the girl.
He'd never sent a text before. He felt like he was wearing boxing gloves as he stabbed and fumbled at the keys.
w-h-e-r-e-a-r-e-y-o-u
It looked wrong. He went back and started again.
w h e r e r u
That was better. That was how they did it. He hit send. His mouth was dry. He held the phone in front of his eyes, willing it to respond.
Finally, the beeps.
here
Nicko didn't understand. What did she mean? Was she playing with him? Did she want him to come to her? Again he stabbed at the keys.
please where r u
A longer wait this time. Finally:
falling
And somehow Nicko knew where she was.
He pulled on his trainers and ran out of the house. His bike was chained to a lamppost. Like everything in his life it was cheap and crap, but it was faster than walking, and the buses wouldn't start for another hour.
Even here in town the mist hung heavy, and the yellow glow from the streetlights illuminated nothing. The fog muffled the sound from the streets, and all Nicko could hear was the clanking of his rear mudguard and the faint rattle from the loose chain.
Soon his legs began to ache from the uphill slog, and his breath came in harsh gasps, pluming white into the grey of the mist.
Outside the town, the road to the café wound through thick woods. It felt to Nicko almost as if he were travelling back through time. Not just years, but eons. He was back before people lived in the valley, back when the land was home to mute beasts, ruled over by the old gods.
And then the first car drove past him, tooting its horn into the fog, and Nicko snapped back to the 21st century.
The café didn't open till nine, and it was still before seven when he reached it. There was no one there. Strange, thought Nicko, how much more lonely a place is when you can still see the last signs of the people who were once there. An abandoned city is more desolate than a lifeless desert.
He sat on the same wooden bench as the day before and looked at the phone.
Nothing.
No, that wasn't right. There was no message, but he could feel ... feel something.
He walked to the end of the concrete terrace and gazed out over the gorge. He could just make out the black iron of the bridge. It looked like a seamonster emerging from the depths, only its sinuous back showing above the water.
He swung the useless telescope around on its mount, not knowing where to go or what to do, feeling foolish about this stupid idea. And then the dull beeping of the phone, except that to him it sounded like a fanfare of angelic trumpets.
come 2 me
His heart beat now not with the exertion of the hill climb, but with joy and excitement and frustration. What did she mean? How could he come to her?
He texted, his fingers nimbler now, leant speed by his excitement.
which way?
Not long to wait this time.
the gorge path
The gorge path was the narrow track that wound along the cliff top. Now that they'd closed off the bridge to walkers, it was the most popular place from which to jump.
He went through the gate at the end of the terrace. He'd walked along here many times. It was kind of scary on a clear day, because of the drop. There was a wire fence between the path and the chasm, but it was as flimsy as cobweb and in places there were gaps where the wire had been pushed down, sometimes by the suicides, sometimes by lovers seeking the solitude and thrill of the edge. The kids used to throw stones down into the river, and it was so far you couldn't even hear the splash.
But with the mist filling the gorge like thistledown, the path felt strangely safe, almost welcoming.
And she was there, somewhere, waiting for him.
i'm coming
After a few paces the fog grew so thick he could barely see his feet. He had sweated from the hard cycle and the sweat had chilled on his back, but now he felt hot again. And there, across the valley, he saw the first pale glow from the sun, straining to reach him through the mist.
And then, ahead, he saw something. Something dark against the mist. He cried out.
‘Hey, wait, it's me!'
He ran, but the figure disappeared into the mist. Had he imagined her?
He paused, panting, and sent another text.
i'm here call me
He wanted to hear her voice. Hear her say his name.
But she didn't call. Another text. He looked.
i'm falling
Again? What did she mean? Was she falling ... in love? No, stupid. Where?
He looked hard into the mist, and then ran on once more, sure he could see something there. The path was wet with dew and with the damp hand of the fog. His trainers and the bottoms of his jeans were soaked.
And then, yes, that must be her. To the side of the path, emerging from the fog. Her dark hair, her glance, both down into his heart and up into his soul. He ran to her.
He ran.
He ran until he fell.
‘I'm falling,' he thought. ‘We're falling.'
