Little bird

The freedom to fly.

Nina ‪3am‬
I finally reached the top, it was glorious up here, I had forgotten how exhilarating it could be to stand so close to the edge. Parking my Mini a few streets away, it hadn’t taken me long to walk to the cliff edge. Still quite dark and bitterly cold, the air so thin that my breath formed smoke rings every time I exhaled, which instantly, annoyingly, made me think of cigarettes. 

I had given up smoking a few years ago to conform with everyones idea about what was right, a little of what I’d been doing my whole life, until of course I stopped. That’s when everything had started to unravel. The idea of having a cigarette now seemed so comforting and somehow so perfect. Stupid, stupid. I berate myself for forgetting to buy any, but I hadn't planned the drive.

Quite honestly, I could barely remember getting here at all.
Sneaking out this morning had been easy, the house was asleep, the birds were asleep.  Apart from one or two late night revellers who were still, it appeared, trying to find their way home, I saw no one, the streets were dead. 

I didn't bring anything with me, just the letter which I hoped would explain everything, positioning it right in the middle of the dash board, in my now abandoned car. It matched my abandoned life. It would eventually be found. 

It had taken me some time to write the letter to Dad and I wondered at his reaction when reading it. I struggled to write it making several attempts over the last couple of years.  Although comforting to write, I had never imagined someone reading those very same words, up until now. Today wasn't planned, it was just that when I had finally finished the letter late last night, I woke suddenly ‪at 2.30am‬ with a feeling of such clarity, I just knew what had to be done. It was almost as if I were on automatic pilot.

In the letter I wrote of my extreme loneliness, the abandonment I felt when mum had left. After all these years my stomach still falls when I remember the hideous build up, mum saying she was going to leave as she couldn't stand it anymore and that everything would be just the same.  How could that be so? One minute the memories were of mum being there, cooking, giving me a bath, doing my hair and the next minute she was gone. Just like that. I got on with it of course, but that defining moment changed my life forever. I busied my life and pretended my friends lives were mine. I loved going to their houses where their Mums would fuss over them and my friends would in turn whine about them 'always being on their backs'.  I wanted to scream as  secretly, I had longed for someone to tell me  that i couldn't leave the table until after dinner was finished, or tut and fuss over my hair or uniform, anything really, it didn't matter. What mattered was someone being there. 
 Now, as an adult, I know Dad had tried to be there, but his need to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle, left little room for me. It were as though my whole life wasn't worth anything and had been a mistake. Best just to scratch it out. I knew from that moment on, I was essentially on my own.


PC Bailey ‪7am‬
Great way to start my shift I thought, having just received a routine call of yet another 'jumper'. It was going to be a long day.  I’ve been policing this area now for the last six years but the first time I saw a dead body as a result of the  'beautiful cliffs’ had honestly made me rethink my job choice. I still can't get over the amount of destruction caused from a fall from that height. I will talk to Tracey again about a career change. I can't sleep or eat with gory images continually flashing through my mind. Of course Tracey doesn't understand, and I do try to shield her from the more gruesome details, but if truth be told, I'm positive she could cope far better than me. I've reached the conclusion after 10 years of marriage, that she is cold, manipulative and hard. Maybe we should swap jobs. Me, a six footer with a builders body making Petits Fours, while she deals with dead bodies as casually as though she were doing the weekly shop.
If only.
She constantly reminds me, in slightly menacing tones, of the beneficial pension scheme and 'my' family commitments 

Finally reaching the body and inwardly steeling myself before focusing, I blocked everything out as I went through the routine as quickly and professionally as possible, willing myself to think of the body as merely a manaquinn which someone had callously tossed over the side, which conveniently went some way in explaining the unimaginable contortions the bodies were sometime found in.  This was frankly the only way I could get through this ordeal, because that's what it is, a hideous ordeal. 

Going through all the usual procedures to deal with its proper removal, I tried in vain to remain detached, however, I couldn't fail to notice that it was a young woman, not too dissimilar to my own daughters age. She appeared to be sleeping which was both fortunate and heartbreaking in equal measures. This time, miraculously, there was very little blood. No doubt most was internal, but it was a blessing nonetheless. I can't begin to understand the reasons why someone would do this, it left so many unanswered questions that gnawed at my insides making the imaginary hole bigger with each passing body I encountered.

Going through her possessions, I found a small purse tucked inside her jacket pocket, too thin for this time of year, she must have been so cold. Her name was Nina Janson. Further investigations yielded her address and subsequent details of her car. Experience has taught me that she had driven herself here as the suicide business tended to be a solitary act. It wasn't long before being proven right and Nina's car was discovered parked nearby.  When I arrived I could clearly see an envelope perched on top of the dashboard with the words 'To Dad' written in small neat letters. Opening the unlocked door and donning a pair of rubber gloves, I gently opening the envelope, this would of course be passed onto the 'dad',  however,  it was my duty, for police records, to confirm that it was in fact a suicide letter. It was abundantly clear this was the case as soon as I began reading, however, I was unable to tear my eyes away and continued to read. Trying not to get involved and pass judgement was an impossibility, I just couldn't help it. It dragged me in with blackened hands, every time. 

When I finished, I gently tucked it back inside the envelope and noticed another slip of paper, smaller than before lying on the passenger seat. I picked it up and read. 


Nina's Dad ‪10am‬
His eyes were bleary, foggy. He hated the mornings, they only reminded him that he had nothing really to get up for, except of course to quench his unquenchable thirst.  Although blessed with a brilliant mind, he had let it go to waste and run through his fingers like the golden amber nectar sliding down the glass when his aim became a little off. The ambitions of youth were long gone along with his invincibility shield, which had slowly disintegrated. His never ending quest for knowledge petered out coincidentally as his thirst for whisky increased. He so enjoyed the dullness he felt whilst drinking as it shielded him from the panic and anxiety he believed he experienced whilst sober.  His mind was left in a state of semi frozen calmness rendering him unable to feel or think about anything, neither experiencing pleasure nor disappointment, just the way he liked it.  All feelings merged into one, like a muddy palette belonging to an artist who was having a particularly bad day.

He would dress slowly preferring to wear clothes purchased from charity shops rather than those bought for him. He revelled in his unconventionality with an arrogance which was totally unjustified. Not thinking about his life much, apart from a few moments each morning when those few minutes of lucidity were sharp, unforgiving and cutting deep into his memory.  

Having married the love of his life while they were still quite young, and in order to escape the confines of their small village life, they both had decided to run away together.  The exhilaration he had felt was the best high imaginable.  He was truly invincible. Life was good for a while, but the unexpected sudden pregnancy brought them both skidding to an abrupt halt. The honeymoon period was over before it had really begun. The freedom they had felt after years of family confinement came swiftly to a sudden standstill. Although Nina, his only child was a joy, his real love was her mother, he was amongst the few who was totally taken in by her charm as she was an expert in manipulation.  When her head had been turned by another she thought more worthy, she had made the decision to move on without Nina in tow. He had been devastated and with a young child to bring up his 'sociable' drinking had instantly jumped to another level.  Each drink now tasted vengeful, bitter and full of regrets. He tried his best with Nina, but it was so hard keeping himself in check let alone looking after a young child.  As much as he tried, he couldn't separate her worth.  She was everything to him with her mother. Without, she became only a consequence.   

Well, that was a long time ago he thought and any further discussion with himself was quickly buried for now as he reached for his morning antidote in the form of a large whisky. The nagging thought that it would resurface tomorrow morning, as usual, was never far away and just beyond his hooded eyes.


Nina’s mother ‪10am‬
Nina's mother had woken ‪at 7am‬ sharp. She prided herself with this discipline as an alarm was never needed. She had been busy the night before making lists in her head of forthcoming events which she was either attending, organising or both.  She felt it her duty as in her mind, she really did feel she was somehow superior to most people, or else they were all quite stupid, she hadn't quite decided which. Anyhow, all she knew was that it was of the utmost importance that everyone saw her in a positive light and looked to her for guidance.  With that in mind, she always ensured those around her were never more able than herself.  She never tired of hearing how fantastic at baking she was, or how beautiful a painter she was and craved constant adulation, only tolerating those around her who could provide this feed on a regular basis. What she failed to recognise is that any glimmer of competition was seen off long before it could take hold.  She only ever befriended those unable to compete in any way.  Being superior in a small pond was the only way to remain queen bee and that's how she spent her days, ensuring that it remained just so.

Her house was traditional and decorated with a guarded flair, it seemed to be always almost just there but never quite.  It lacked honesty and warmth even in the most humid months of summer and appeared staged, not unlike herself.  Just like a lie, it slowly festered.  Pictures of herself in various poses adorned each room and were always centre stage. Her narsacistic character was so profound, she was incapable of acknowledging the possibility that it was more appropriate to have family pictures displayed. This wasn't an option. No reminders of the past were allowed, the past is where it should remain, dead and buried.  Furthermore, she wanted to see reminders of her life in the form of pictures that made her happy and gave her a sense of well being. 

In spite of considering herself the 'ideal' woman, Nina's mum was still alone. She had come to the conclusion that men of her own age were just too old for her. She didn't seem to have anything in common with them, but then, if truth be told, she was very hard to please. She thought she deserved better and concentrated on men some 20 years her junior. Such was her vanity that she couldn't quite except the notion that most men that age, wouldn't want someone of hers.  Nonetheless, this was her aim and had been so for the past 10 years. Time alone and her belief that this is what she truly deserved, would not sway her to think any differently. 

Unlike Nina's dad, she didn't think about the past and certainly had no regrets. She had always skimmed over the details in regards to Nina, and on those rare occasions when she had inadvertently been coerced and pushed into a corner to explain further, had always ensured that she was portrayed as the victim, telling anyone willing to listen to her explanation that she had absolutely no choice but to leave Nina with her father. Of course, deep down, she knew this wasn't the case, but it was buried so deep, the truth seemed but a mere fabrication. To have a young child around with a new relationship is certainly a thorn between two roses and would have been so dibilatating that she had found the decision to leave Nina, a relatively easy and necessary one to make . To those listening, any discomfort they initially felt with her reasoning as to why she left her young child was all but dispersed with her retelling of the story.  She was so compelling whilst in front of you, however, it was noticed by many after they had left and returned to their own families, the feeling as though they had somehow been blindsided and hoodwinked and couldn't quite figure out how.


PC Bailey ‪11am‬
I hated this part of the job almost as much as seeing the bodies. After collating all the information, I had the unenviable job of informing the closest relatives and had taken the decision to visit the father first.
It had seemed an age, but in fact had only lasted about 30 minutes. At first it was clear Nina’s father  couldn't quite comprehend what was being said to him. It didn't take me too long to recognise the tell tales signs of an alcoholic. He was what I like to refer to as a 'sober alcoholic', those who drink to block out pain rather than to enjoy a night of revelry.  Sober alcoholics can fool some as they generally are not falling around as an obvious drunk would be, they are reserved and guarded. The true extent of their alcoholism materialises through their thoughts and words rather than their actions. But he didn’t fool me.
I  passed him the letter and patiently waited in silence whilst he opened the envelope and started to read.  It was at least three pages long and during this time, nothing actually moved in the room. I thought I could hear a faint ticking somewhere, but realised it was the sound of my own heartbeat pulsing through the silence. Watching him closely, I detected the merest flicker of his eyes moving across the page, everything else was still.  I tried to talk to him however, he remained unresponsive, probably through shock. No amount of gentle persuasion could make him talk, such was his grief. I left him unmoving, with his eyes closed. The letter was slightly crumpled beneath his left hand and if it were not for the tears freely flowing down his cheeks, he appeared to be sleeping. 


Nina’s mother ‪11.30am‬
Nina's mum was just about to leave the house when there was a knock on the door. She debated whether to answer or not as she didn't want to be late for her appointment, however, it may be a delivery so she thought it best to answer. She was momentarily puzzed to see a policeman at her door and instantly felt guilty and tried to think of anything she had done wrong.  He was rather somber looking and when he asked if it were possible to speak inside, she felt a flutter of panic. 


PC Bailey ‪11.30am‬
How could this woman have beèn married to that man I thought. They were certainly no match. Not that I  was an expert or anything, but the Fathers house had a wild abandonment about it, piles of books randomly placed on the floor, ornaments that were obviously picked for sentimental value rather than any astetic beauty, and a general look of tiredness and hopelessness which adorned every space. Whereas this was pristine,  nothing out of place, so much so, that it appeared sterile. Looking around the room I momentarily thought I must be in the wrong house. Something didn't feel quite right. It was then that I spotted a picture of Nina, well at least that is what I thought. On closer expection I realised that it was a picture of the mother as a young woman. There was no mistaking the similarity, it was definitely the right house.  I explained as gently as I could the reason for me being there and passed her the note. She looked at me with a look on her face of complete confusion. I had seen this look before, those in denial preferring to believe there had been a momentous mistake. Seeing she was anxious and impatient to finish, I reiterated more firmly my reasons for being there. She warily opened the note and the realisation could be seen in her eyes as she began to comprehend the full meaning of what she was reading. She started to shake her head from side to side while mouthing the words 'no' over and over. She then looked at me angrily, threw the note onto the floor as though it had burnt her fingers to the bone and ran out of the room.

Letting out a deep breath, I  made a metal note to text tracey straight after this. It was going to be a long afternoon, damn it, I was definitely going to talk to her about changing my job, I’m just not cut out for this. 

With my mind firmly made up, I picked up the note.  It read;

To mum. I'm free.