How much courage does it take to jump off a cliff at high tide on the night of a full moon? How much desperation? Because that's what a friend of mine appears to have done. Local pals have been trying to contact him for a fortnight. The police were informed. His car was found parked on the cliff top. In his house, the essentials of his life, wallet, passport, keys etc., were found neatly lined up. The police said, 'There's a slim chance he's still alive. Have you ever heard of Reggie Perrin?'
But Reggie didn't leave a note. In this case, there was a note, the contents of which have not been revealed.
I suffer from vertigo. No way would I have the guts to do it. Someone would have to drug me first, then push me. He was a very sensitive, very private man. I held him in high esteem. I carried a bit of a torch for him. I had a fantasy that if I'd gone to live in Cornwall... But that dream died when my dear friend Louise died last year. Now there's a double reason why I'm glad I didn't buy a house there. But... how depressed he must have been. How lonely. How brave. I close my eyes and imagine the hard, piercing, white moonlight outlining the cliff's edge. I hear the roar of the high tide pounding the rocks. I take a deep breath. A step. Or perhaps I don't breathe at all. Just leap.
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