LITMIR.BIZ

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sure.’ He sounded shell-shocked. ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘Where did they take you last night?’

      ‘A few questions at the station, then St John of Gods for a psychological assessment. I passed with flying colours,’ he joked. ‘Anyway I called you because I wanted to thank you, in person.’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘So, thank you.’

      ‘Okay. Well, you’re welcome,’ I replied, awkwardly, not knowing whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. All the signs indicated I should leave him alone.

      He nodded then and turned to cross the road to Lower Liffey Street. He wasn’t looking where he was going and a car honked angrily as it narrowly missed running him over. He barely registered the sound and kept on walking.

      ‘Adam!’

      He turned around. ‘Accident. Promise.’

      I knew then that I would have to follow him. The hospital may have believed him, but there was no way I would leave him alone after what he’d been through. I pressed the pedestrian button for the lights to change but they were too slow; afraid I’d lose him, I waited for a gap in the traffic and ran across the road. Another car honked. I ran to get close to him and then slowed down, deciding I could make sure he was safe from afar. He turned right onto Middle Abbey Street and when he was around the corner and out of sight, I sprinted to catch up. When I rounded the corner, he was gone, as if he’d vanished into thin air. At that hour there were no businesses open for him to have disappeared into. I searched the deserted, dark street ahead and cursed myself for losing him, wishing I’d at least gotten his phone number.

      ‘Boo,’ he said suddenly, deadpan, as he stepped out of the shadows.

      I jumped. ‘Jesus, Adam. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

      He smiled at me, amused. ‘Stop pulling your Cagney and Lacey tricks on me.’

      I felt my face redden in the dark. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t want to be in your face.’

      ‘I told you, I’m fine.’

      ‘I don’t think that you are.’

      He looked away, blinking repeatedly as his eyes started filling again. I could see them sparkling under the lamplight.

      ‘I need to know that you’re going to be okay. I can’t just leave you. Are you going to get some help?’ I asked.

      ‘And how will all this amazing talking that people want to do with me fix anything? It won’t change what’s happening.’

      ‘What is happening?’

      He backed away.

      ‘Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But are you at least relieved? That you didn’t jump?’

      ‘Sure. It was a big mistake. I regret going to the bridge.’

      I smiled. ‘You see? That’s good – steps forward already.’

      ‘I should have gone up there,’ he said, lifting his gaze to Liberty Hall, the sixteen-storey building which was the tallest in Dublin’s city centre.

      ‘When’s your birthday?’ I said, remembering our deal.

      He actually laughed.

      ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, running to catch up with him as he strode along O’Connell Street. My feet and hands were numb, so I was hoping we hadn’t far to go. He seemed to be walking aimlessly, without a destination in mind, which made me wonder whether death by frostbite was to be his next suicide method.

      ‘I’m staying in the Gresham Hotel.’ He looked up at the Spire. ‘Or I could have skydived and landed on that. It might have speared me right through the stomach. Or better yet, my heart.’

      ‘Okay, I’m starting to understand your humour. And it’s a bit sick.’

      ‘Thankfully the hospital didn’t think so.’

      ‘How did you get out of there?’

      ‘Charmed them with my boyish joy and wonder,’ he said, still straight-faced.

      ‘You lied to them,’ I accused. Adam shrugged. ‘Where do you live?’

      He hesitated. ‘These days? Tipperary.’

      ‘And did you come to Dublin especially to …?’

      ‘Jump from the Ha’penny Bridge?’ He looked at me, amused again. ‘You Dubs are so arrogant. There are perfectly good bridges in the rest of the country, you know. No, I was here to see someone.’ We reached the Gresham Hotel and Adam turned to me. ‘Well, thank you. Again. For saving my life. Should I, I don’t know, give you an awkward kiss or a hug or … I know—’ He held up his hand in the air and I rolled my eyes before giving him a high-five.

      And then I really didn’t know what to say next. Good luck? Enjoy your life?

      He had no idea either, so the sarcastic comments continued to flow.

      ‘I should give you a gold star,’ he said. ‘Or a badge.’

      ‘I’d really prefer not to leave you right now.’

      ‘My birthday is in two weeks. Not that much can change in two weeks, but I appreciate you lying for me.’

      ‘It’s do-able,’ I said, more confidently than I felt. Two weeks? I’d been hoping that it was an entire year away, but if that’s what I had to work with, so be it. ‘I’ll use up my annual leave, then I can see you every day. It’s definitely possible,’ I said optimistically.

      He gave me that same amused smile. ‘I’d really rather be alone now.’

      ‘So you can kill yourself?’

      ‘Can you keep your voice down,’ he hissed as a couple walked by and glanced suspiciously at us. ‘Again, thank you,’ he said, with less gusto. Then, leaving me on the pavement, he disappeared through the revolving doors. I watched him cross the lobby, then I followed him in. He was going to have a hard time shaking me off. He stepped into the elevator and, waiting until the last possible moment before the doors closed, I rushed forward and joined him. He looked at me blankly. Then he pressed the button.

      We got out on the top floor and I followed him to the penthouse suite named the Grace Kelly Suite. As we entered the living room I could smell flowers. The door to the bedroom was open and I could see a bed sprinkled with rose petals, and a bottle of champagne sitting in a silver bucket at the end of the bed with two flutes criss-crossed. Adam glanced in at the bed, then away again as if the very sight of it offended him. He walked straight to the bureau and picked up a piece of paper.

      I followed him. ‘Is that your suicide note?’

      He winced. ‘Do you have to use that word?’

      ‘What would you rather I say?’

      ‘“Goodbye, Adam, it was nice meeting you”?’ He shrugged off his coat and threw it on the floor, then pulled off his hat and tossed it in the air. It narrowly avoided landing in the real fire which was smouldering in the marble fireplace. He collapsed on the couch, exhausted.

      I was taken aback: I hadn’t expected to see a head of thick blond hair under the woollen hat.

      ‘What?’ he asked, and I realised I was staring at his beauty.

      Sitting down on the couch opposite him, I took off my coat and gloves and hoped the fire would thaw me out quickly. ‘Can I read it?’

      ‘No.’ He moved it closer to his chest and folded it.

      ‘Why don’t you rip it up?’

      ‘Because.’ He placed it in his pocket. ‘It’s a memento. Of my trip to Dublin.’

      ‘You’re not very funny.’

      ‘Another

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