Chapter Nineteen #5
Even as I’m uttering the words, I’m realizing how they sound, how they might be misinterpreted. And I’m wishing beyond anything I could take them back. A tremor of shock passes across Sadie’s face. She looks as though I’ve slapped her.
She can’t think I meant…
Oh God.
“Sadie, I wasn’t…I didn’t…” My words are all jumbled up in my mouth. I don’t even quite know what I want to say. Sadie looks hollow-eyed. She’s gazing out at the river as though she’s not even aware of me anymore.
“You’re right,” she says at last. All the spirit has gone out of her voice. “You’re right. I’m dead.”
“No you’re not!” I say in distress. “I mean…OK, maybe you are. But—”
“I’m dead. It’s over. You don’t want me. He doesn’t want me. What’s the point?”
She starts walking away toward Waterloo Bridge and disappears from view.
Racked with guilt, I hurry after her and up the steps.
She’s already halfway along the bridge, and I run to catch up.
She’s standing still, staring out toward St. Paul’s Cathedral, a willowy figure in the grayness, and gives no sign of realizing I’m there.
“Sadie, it’s not over!” My voice is almost lost in the wind. “Nothing’s over! I wasn’t thinking, I was just angry at you, I was talking rubbish—”
“No. You’re right.” She speaks fast, without turning her head. “I’m as self-deceiving as you. I thought I could have some last fun in this world. I thought I could have a friendship. Make a difference.”
“You have made a difference!” I say in dismay. “Please don’t talk like this. Look, come home, we’ll put on some music, have a good time—”
“Don’t patronize me!” She turns her head and I can see her trembling. “I know what you really think. You don’t care about me, no one cares about me, some meaningless old person—”
“Sadie, stop it, that’s not true—”
“I heard you at the funeral!” Sadie suddenly erupts passionately, and I feel a cold horror. She heard us?
“I heard you at the funeral,” she repeats, regaining her dignity. “I heard all the family talking together. Nobody wanted to be there. Nobody mourned me. I was just a ‘million-year-old nobody.’ ”
I feel queasy with shame as I remember what everyone said. We were so callous and horrible. All of us.
Sadie’s chin is taut and she’s gazing fixedly over my shoulder. “Your cousin put it exactly right. I didn’t achieve anything in my life, I left no mark, I wasn’t anything special. I don’t know why I bothered living, really!” She gives a brittle laugh.
“Sadie…please don’t.” I swallow.
“I didn’t have love,” she continues, inexorably, “or a career. I didn’t leave behind children or achievements or anything to speak of.
The only man I ever loved…forgot about me.
” There’s a sudden shake in her voice. “I lived for one hundred and five years, but I didn’t leave a trace.
Not one. I didn’t mean anything to anybody. And I still don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Of course you do,” I say desperately. “Sadie, please—”
“I’ve been a fool, clinging on. I’m in your way.” With dismay, I see that her eyes are glimmering with tears.
“No!” I grasp at her arm, even though I know it’s useless. I’m almost crying myself. “Sadie, I care about you. And I’m going to make it up to you. We’ll dance the Charleston again, and we’ll have some fun, and I’m going to get your necklace for you if it kills me—”
“I don’t care about the necklace anymore.” Her voice wobbles. “Why should I? It was all nothing. My life was all for nothing.”
To my horror, she disappears over the side of Waterloo Bridge.
“Sadie!” I yell. “Sadie, come back. Sa-die!” I’m peering desperately down at the murky, swirling water, tears streaming down my cheeks. “It wasn’t for nothing! Sadie, please, can you hear me?”
“Oh my God!” A girl beside me in a checked coat gasps. “Someone’s jumped in the river! Help!”
“No, they haven’t!” I lift my head, but she’s not listening; she’s beckoning her friends. Before I can gather my wits, people are crowding around the parapet and gazing down at the water.
“Someone’s jumped!” I can hear people saying. “Call the police!”
“No, they haven’t!” I say, but I’m drowned out. A boy in a denim jacket is already filming the water with his mobile phone. A man to my right is peeling off his jacket as though preparing to dive in, while his girlfriend watches admiringly.
“No!” I grab at his jacket. “Stop!”
“Someone’s got to do the right thing,” says the man, in a hero-like voice, glancing at his girlfriend.
For God’s sake.
“No one’s jumped!” I shout, waving my arms. “There’s been a mistake! Everything’s fine! No one’s jumped; repeat, no one’s jumped!”
The man stops, halfway through taking off his shoes. The boy with the mobile phone swivels and starts filming me instead.
“Then who were you talking to?” The girl in the checked coat gives me an accusing look, as though suspecting me of lying. “You were shouting at the water and crying! You gave us all a fright! Who were you talking to?”
“I was talking to a ghost,” I say shortly. I turn away before she can reply, and push my way through the crowd, ignoring the exclamations and grumbling comments.
She’ll come back, I tell myself. When she’s calmed down and forgiven me. She’ll come back.