“Come back, you idiot!”
“Alright Jack, come back.”
Come back, why should I? This is my stag do. I had been dared and a dare is a dare.
“You moron, you’re drunk.”
Of course I am drunk, it’s my stag do! What sort of stag do would it be if the stag didn’t get drunk?
“Look, Jack, Billy is not daring you to get the balloon anymore. Isn’t that right, Billy?”
“Yeah, come back. We know of a club.”
The pier is easy to scale. The steel girders are easy to hold. I couldn’t work out why they had shut the end of the pier off. It didn’t look dangerous.
“Look, we’re getting bored. We’re heading back.”
I knew they wouldn’t go. They were watching me. Watching me get the balloon. The balloon that had got stuck at the end of the pier. Billy knew I couldn’t resist a dare. I have to go down and across a diagonal girder. I can feel the wetness of the metal, I can smell the sea. The inky black water gently crashes across the beach.
“Please Jack, this is madness.”
I move my hand. There is seaweed under my foot. It’s slimy; I wasn’t expecting that. You won’t get up to anything on your stag do will you, said Emma. I don’t think she was imagining this.
The sea is only a few feet below my feet, my footholds are slippery now. I am going slower. Once I get past this section, though, I can climb higher. Higher and drier. I reach for a girder. I support my weight on the girder whilst I move my feet. The girder moves, it is loose, my foot slips, I lunge at the girder and my fingertips grip it, but it flexes again. I topple backwards, my hands desperately flail forwards as I topple down, but I miss the structure.
The sea is cold; it shocks me; I need to keep calm. Calm. I move my limbs; I am being dragged backwards. I need to swim; my arms are thrashing in the water. My coat is slowing me down. I think I should lose it, or is it keeping me warm? I have my wallet in it. I remove my coat.
I could see the others on the pier. They were shouting.
I am swimming but the sea is stronger; I am going further out.
I think they have thrown me a lifesaver, I can’t reach it though. I am struggling to keep warm. Keep swimming, I need to keep swimming.
Two weeks until I get married to Emma, I can picture her face. We are buying a flat together. I’ve let her down. The pier is getting further away. A big wave soaks me. I am under the water; I surface. She has spent months planning the wedding, but the waves are getting larger.
The lights from the pier and the promenade sparkle in the darkness, a wave swamps me again, I go under. I splutter, I cough. I have stopped swimming now.
I feel numb. Even my brain has stopped thinking. I can see something on the left; I don’t know what it is. I do know what it is, it’s a lifeboat. I am swamped by the water again.
The lifeboat might save me. It might save me, but it might be too late.