CHAPTER ONE
Just after dawn, Sunday 15th March 2009. South side of Ipswich, Suffolk, England.
Sitting comfortably behind the driver’s wheel, the cocaine hit his bloodstream, increasing his awareness and sense of purpose. His breathing was steady and with that came a growing sense of calm. All around, the colours of everything took on more intensity. He felt good.
He had left his wife Elaine asleep in bed, taking his clothes downstairs and dressing in the kitchen to avoid waking her. When he stepped outside the front door there had been no one about. Using the remote control, he opened the garage door. The black Audi 6 purred quietly when he turned on the ignition. Manoeuvring it out of the garage, he swung the vehicle left into the tree-lined road. The digital clock, lit up on the car dashboard, indicated that it was 6.35am.
There were horizontal layers of yellow and russet spreading across the horizon, drowning out the grey dawn.
He drove without haste, knowing precisely the directions he needed to take through the town’s south western suburbs. Traffic was sparse, it being Sunday. With his left hand he opened the CD cover lying on the passenger’s seat and inserted the disc into the car’s CD player. The album was Bill Evans’ “You must believe in Spring”. The choice of music had been planned the evening before, the CD placed on the passenger’s seat in anticipation.
With his index finger he gently pressed the ‘play’ button and ‘B Minor Waltz (for Elaine)’ suffused the intimate space of his car. He considered Evans the key influence behind Miles Davis’ classic “Kind of Blue”. His impressionist style let the listener draw their own mental images. He appreciated the razor’s edge that the music cut between hope and despair; between nostalgia and renewal. The razor’s edge was where he felt at his best. It was where he had taken himself to in his own mind.
Evans’ piano notes started to work their magic, corroborating his own calm sense of purpose and destiny. His driving became routine, allowing his mind to switch to auto control.
Experience had taught him that however convoluted life became, letting problems fester solved nothing. It was actions that got things done and problems resolved. Getting out early this morning was his definitive assertion of action. The hit of cocaine was mere intensification of the experience. Doubts that he may have had, he had cast aside some days ago. This morning, action would supremely express his freedom.
Having reached the last roundabout out of town, he eased the car left down a slip road onto the multi-lane arterial road that by-passed the town and headed for the coast. Traffic even here was still only light.
Within a few minutes he was approaching the river estuary. The CD was playing Evans’ ’We will meet again”. Ahead, he could see the smooth rising curve of the suspension bridge with its immensely powerful vertical cables.
Checking his rear-view mirror for vehicles, he moved the Audi over to the nearside lane and reduced speed. As the car passed onto the bridge, his view of the river was impeded by the concrete walls on either side, designed as a security measure to prevent drivers’ attention being distracted. The bridge’s incline was initially steep but lessened towards the middle. He knew the height at the top was 45 metres above the river.
As the car neared the summit, he again checked for following vehicles in the rear-view mirror. The next car was some way back. He braked, bringing the Audi to a halt and turned off the ignition. The music died. Opening the car door, he noticed the chill breeze but did not feel exposed. He walked quickly around the back of the vehicle and headed directly to the side by the concrete wall. Gripping the top of the wall with both hands, he found a foothold and climbed. There was no need to look around as his purpose was defined.
He jumped into the void.
