‘Oh, no. Just out and about.’ I laughed, because people often misheard me, especially in bars for some reason, and because I didn’t want to be talking to anyone, and certainly not the fucking cops, so fuck off, the fucking lot of you.
‘Can you tell me your date of birth, Chris?’
‘What?’
‘What’s your date of birth, Chris?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘The eleventh of October, nineteen-sevent–’
‘Your birthday was yesterday? Happy birthday.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And you’re feeling OK, Chris, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
A woman was approaching with her dog, saw me sitting, smiled. My phone pinged, I looked at the screen, Josh: You got my message, brother?
The policewoman cleared her throat again. ‘Did you mention something earlier this evening about harming yourself, Chris?’
‘Oh, yeah, right … I think it’s been taken out of context.’ A car horn, someone running across the road, waving an apology.
‘Was there an argument?’
‘Yeah. With my wife.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Sarah Flood.’ Hadn’t Sarah called them? Was it Biddy? The sound of a keyboard, Sarah’s name being clacked into a database.
‘Have you been having any mental health issues? Any thoughts about self-harming?’
Staging a bike accident on a wet mountain road, letting go of the brakes on a tight corner, oops, so that Oliver and Sophie dodged the stigma. ‘I’ve not been diagnosed with anything. But I haven’t actually been to a doctor, so …’
‘And the train tracks … That’s something you said to your wife in the heat of the moment?’
‘That’s right, yeah.’
‘And you’re going to go home now?’
‘I’ll probably head in that direction quite soon.’
The lights turned green, cars started moving.
‘Can we come pick you up, Chris?’
What the …? ‘No thanks, I’m actually enjoying the walk. I’m just listening to some music.’
‘Do you think you could phone Sarah to let her know you’re OK?’
Was that an order? Why should I? She could go fuck – ‘Yeah, sure.’
‘OK. And do you have the number of places you can call if you want to discuss any of this?’
‘Like depression hotlines? I don’t have them saved on my phone, but I can google them if I need to.’
‘Would you like me to put you through to someone now?’
‘No thanks.’
‘OK. Is there anything else I can help you with, Chris?’
‘No thanks. I appreciate you calling.’
Music back on – ‘Quicksand’, a sappy track, fuck that. I went to the start of the album, ‘Changes’, got up off the wall, walked into the park, looking over my shoulder for the police. The park was dark, virtually empty. I stopped at the war memorial, stood in the shadows, texted Sarah: The police asked me to tell you I’m not dead, so here I am, texting you, not dead, COS I’M OUT WALKING AND LISTENING TO MUSIC.