You Sent Me a Letter

by Lucy Dawson

  I don’t actually have the strength to argue. I turn my head to the side dully, and several pairs of feet about five yards away swim into focus. My gaze travels up the legs, and I see the dog man talking to two police officers. They are standing by a police car that has the blue light flashing, and an ambulance.

  ‘She was kneeling down on the ground, praying—’

  No I wasn’t, I’d fallen over.

  ‘—then she stood up and started walking towards the edge,’ says the man eagerly, holding a rope lead tightly, on the end of which his dog is still leaping around excitedly. Why is he wearing full camouflage combats and top? He looks like a soldier reporting in to his next-in-command.

  ‘—I got closer, and she was crying. Really distressed.’

  That’s not right either. I wasn’t crying. The wind was making my eyes water.

  No one says anything, they just carry on checking me. I did just say all of that out loud, didn’t I?

  ‘I knew something was wrong and I called to her again to stop,’ the dog man says. ‘I could see she was going to do it, so I, like, ran as fast as I could, and pulled her to the ground. We’ve been trained to do that in the TA. She did bang her head a bit, but then she just sort of went to sleep. It was weird. Once I knew she wasn’t faking it, I let go of her arms and called you. I checked her too, just in case she was carrying one of those EpiPens or wearing an “I’m a diabetic” bracelet, but she didn’t have anything, just the note.’

  My eyes widen. Note? What note? What the hell is he talking about?

  ‘I need to get home,’ I plead, reaching out to put my hand on Marie’s arm, to get her attention. ‘My children…’

  ‘Where are they, Sally?’ she asks. ‘Are they with someone, or on their own?’

  ‘Their father and my mother-in-law are with them.’

  ‘And where do you live, Sally?’

  I tell her, and she replies soothingly, ‘That’s great. We’ll sort everything out. It’s all going to be OK… She seems physically fine.’ She looks away, talking to her male colleague.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ I whisper in distress, starting to cry. ‘My son is only a baby. He’ll be needing me.’

  ‘—I knew it wasn’t right because of the way she was acting, and people come here to jump all the time.’ The dog man is still talking. ‘I’ve got a mate who knows the coroner, and he says body parts wash up loads. Limbs and that,’ he adds fervently.

  Jump? What’s he talking about?

  ‘I wasn’t going to jump!’ I say to Marie, frightened. ‘I nearly fell, but I wasn’t doing it deliberately!’

  ‘It’s all right, Sally. You don’t have to talk now.’

  ‘But I wasn’t! Get off me!’ I push her hands away, and try to struggle up. Instantly, one of the policemen is alongside us.

  ‘No one is going to hurt you. We’re here to help.’ He speaks kindly. ‘We’re making sure your children are all right. Sally, I’m detaining you under section 136 of the Mental Health Act.’

  ‘What?’ I say, terrified. ‘I haven’t done anything!’

  ‘The ambulance is going to bring you down to the police station for now. I’ll come with you – it’s not far from here – and we’ll get everything sorted out, OK? Don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine.’

  ‘—Anyway, here’s the suicide note. I found it in an inside pocket of her coat – tucked well away. I think it’s to her husband. See?’ The dog man points to something on a small scrap of paper the other policeman is now reading. ‘She’s definitely married, because she’s wearing a ring.’ He looks very pleased with himself, and proud. ‘Matthew, his name is.’

  My mouth falls open. ‘My husband’s name is Matthew,’ I say to the other officer, urgently. ‘But I didn’t write a suicide note, I swear! I went to bed last night at home in Kent, I was waiting for my husband to get home, and then I woke up in the back of a taxi, here.’

  ‘You don’t remember anything that happened in between?’ Marie asks, casually. ‘Literally not a thing?’

  ‘No,’ I say, terrified, as I realize it aloud. ‘I had a really bad day yesterday, and I argued with someone just before I went to bed, but I did get into bed. I’m certain of that, because I wasn’t feeling too good. I’d had a couple of drinks, and because I’m not drinking much at the moment it made me feel really queasy… I must have just fallen asleep – so how am I now here?’ I look around me in disbelief again.

  ‘You don’t remember how you got here, but you’re certain you didn’t come here to jump?’

  ‘Of course I am! At least, I think I am…’ I trail off, bewildered. ‘Did I really have a note in my pocket? Can I see it?’

  A small scrap of paper is held out in front of me. The policeman’s hand is covering most of it, but I can see the first line.

  Dear Matthew,

  I don’t want to do this any more.

  My heart stops – it’s my handwriting. I look around me in confusion. I went to bed last night in my house three hundred miles away, and now I’m on a clifftop in Cornwall, holding a suicide note that I’ve written.

  What the hell has happened? How have I lost the last ten hours of my life?