Dead Scared

Cambridge, fifteen years earlier

‘NO ONE HAS to do this,’ said the young man who’d stolen the key and opened the door at the top of the church tower. He was tall and lean and at twenty-one his body was as close to perfect as the male form usually gets. His hair, grown longer since he’d left his strict boarding school behind, flew out around his head like a pagan crown. ‘I know we’ve talked, but until we got here, none of us knew how we’d feel. If anyone changes his mind, that’s OK.’

The first of his two companions to step on to the roof was wearing the navy, red and yellow scarf of one of the more famous Cambridge colleges. He shook his head. ‘I won’t change mine,’ he said. ‘You’ve no idea how much clearer it’s all been since we decided. Like a massive weight just gone.’ He turned to look back at the stairs. ‘I can’t go back down there,’ he said, and there was the gleam of tears in his eyes. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Got to, one way or another,’ said the third boy. Then he glanced anxiously at each of the other two. ‘Sorry,’ he said. His pupils were enormous in his pale face and seemed to have lost their ability to focus. His hands were shaking. He was smaller and thinner than his two companions, a boy bred for indoors.

The long-haired boy rested a hand on the smaller one’s shoulder. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘We deal with it how we can.’

‘So how do we do this?’ asked the third boy, speaking faster than seemed natural. ‘Hold hands and count to three?’

‘Let’s just go look,’ suggested the boy with long hair. ‘I want everyone to be sure.’

‘I’m sure,’ said the one wearing the Trinity scarf. ‘Thanks for being with me, guys. Whether you come with me all the way or you don’t, I couldn’t have made it this far without you. You’ve been good friends.’

He held out his arms and, in turn, the other two stepped into them. The hugs were brief, blokesy, little more than mutual back-patting.

Together they walked across the roof to the parapet. A yard or two away, the third boy held back. The first two either didn’t notice or pretended not to. They reached the stone edging and sat down on it. Not taking their eyes from each other, they swung their legs over the edge until two pairs of shoes were dangling.

‘Good luck, mate,’ said the first.

‘Love you, man,’ his companion replied.

A strangled scream from behind. The third boy was running at them, his mouth open, fists pumping. He reached them, sprang up on to the parapet and leaped.

Silence for three, maybe four seconds. Then a crunch. Silence again.

Both boys on the parapet had leaned forward to watch the moment of impact. Moving as one, they straightened up and turned to each other.

‘You know, Iestyn, even if he hadn’t, a bloody good push would have done it,’ said the long-haired boy.

The one wearing the Trinity scarf, Iestyn, shook his head. ‘No good,’ he said. ‘Trust me, takes all the fun out of it.’

Still moving as one, they smiled, raised their right hands and slapped a noisy high five.