Waiting to be rescued by Rosalind Adam
When you’re sitting on a window ledge five storeys up, you’re just
grateful it’s not raining. At least that’s what I’ve decided, which isn’t bad
for me. I’m not normally the calm, philosophical type. Only this morning I was
in a right state when we overslept again.
'Work – who needs it!' I shouted as
we both dived for the bathroom. As usual, Alan got there first.
'That’s so typical of you!' he
snapped, slamming the door behind him. 'You think I should do all the work while
you sit at home with your feet up? I’ve just about had enough of your moaning.
And you spend far too much money on clothes and make-up and stuff...' He
hesitated, obviously seeking more ammunition., 'And... and... you never empty
the bin until it’s overflowing!' he roared.
I was speechless, and it’s not often that happens to me. Mind you, here,
sitting on this ledge, I can think of some amazingly clever replies. But I
can’t dwell on Alan – I’ve a fight of my own going on. My brain wants me to
look down, but my stomach’s telling me to stare straight ahead at the rooftops.
I’d been about to tackle the weekly financial report. What timing! I’d
rather be out on this ledge than doing that. Not that I’m here on purpose. I
may sometimes be a little over-excitable but depressed? Never! I was merely
trying to clean a dirty mark off the window ledge and I don’t quite know what
happened next, but here I am, sitting on a strip of grey concrete with the
window firmly shut behind me.
Of course, as soon as I realised
what had happened, I tried banging on the glass but it instantly became clear
that I needed to cling on with both hands just to stay where I am. Anyway, as
soon as someone comes into my office they’ll be sure to see me – it’s just a
matter of waiting and keeping very calm.
I start whistling tunes from the
musical South Pacific. I’ve read that whistling helps to stop you panicking.
I’ve just got to the song about ‘washing that man right out of my hair’, when
someone starts shouting from below. I pluck up the courage to look down and see
a man in the car park waving up at me. I try to wave back, but think better of
it. Anyway, I’ll soon be drinking a nice cup of tea and having a good laugh
about all this.
Still clinging on tightly, I gaze
out at the view. I can see the main road slicing through the tall buildings
like a river cutting through a valley. In the distance, I see flashing blue
lights. As they move nearer, I realise they’re on a fire engine, closely
followed by a police car.
'What’s going on?' I wonder. Trust
me to miss all the fun. As they pull into the car park and little figures jump
out and look up to where I’m sitting, I realise I am all the fun...
'Patricia – can you hear me?' shouts
a policeman through a loud-hailer.
'Yes,' I shout back. Well, it’s
true. I can hear him. I don’t know why he’s down there shouting up at me, but I
can certainly hear him. Maybe there’s a fire in the office and I’m about to be
rescued on the shoulder of a virile fireman. Then I see the blanket being unfolded
beneath me and I realise...
They think I’m going to jump. I open
my mouth to tell them they’ve got it all wrong, then start to think about what
Alan said this morning. How will he react to all this? He’ll arrive with
flowers, chocolates and a blueprint for a brand-new life. He’ll blame himself
for not listening and we’ll go for a second honeymoon. I close my mouth and
eagerly await his arrival.
Long minutes pass. Alan will be here
soon. I try to ease my body into a more comfortable position and start to plan
my second honeymoon. China would be nice. Of course, I’ll need some new
clothes...
I glance at my watch again. I’ve
been here over an hour now. What can be keeping him? Suddenly I think of a
different scenario. The police have contacted him and he’s dismissed the whole
affair as hysterics or female hormones.
'If the crazy woman thinks she can
emotionally blackmail me, she’s got another think coming. Let her jump.' I can
almost hear him shout. The police try to reason with him but he remains
unmoved.
I start to think of all those times
when I’ve given in to him – anything for a quiet life. I can see it all clearly
now. I’ve had enough of working till I drop, of never having enough money, of
always putting my feelings and needs last. And what’s his complaint? I never
empty the bin! I’ll give him female hormones. I’ll jump. That’ll show him.
I let go with one hand and reach out
to the vast expanse of air before me. I can feel the wind blowing courage in my
face. I’m serene and calm. I close my eyes and allow my other hand to release
its grip on the rough concrete. For a moment nothing happens. It’s as if the
whole of existence has stopped. Then there’s a noise from behind me. I’m being
grabbed firmly by familiar arms. I can smell our soap powder in his shirt and I
can feel his tears running onto my face.
One day I’ll tell him about the dirty
mark on the window ledge but not yet – not just yet.