‘On The Edge’

‘We don’t have time for this!’ I looked him in the eye, trying hard to keep mine dry. We stood on the edge of the cliff, the sea crashing far below, then looked back at each other. ‘Don’t look,’ I said. ‘Just do it.’

For a second, he looked exactly as he had when I first met him back in September 1967. Our first day at primary school. He was all teeth and shyness. I was blonde curls and non-stop chatter. We were always in the same class and became best friends. Then I passed my 11+, and he didn’t. I went to the Girls’ Grammar, he went to the local Comp, and we never saw each other again. Our lives took different directions. We had outgrown our friendship. Or so I had thought!

The moment I walked into the hall, I knew it was him. Seven years had passed, but no one forgot those teeth. They seemed to fit his face better now. He had excellent teeth, actually, and incredible blue eyes. His dark-blonde hair was long, longer than mine. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I had heard rumours: he was a bit of a lad with the girls, and he was mad about his motorbike racing. Grass track, speedway, trials, he competed and followed all of them. My dad and his six brothers all raced grass track too. Sundays had often meant trekking to meetings from Kent, to as far as Cornwall. It puzzled me that we had never crossed paths. Then again, my family were sidecar racers. Pete was solo. Separate paddocks, separate crowds.

But then, as I grew older, I hardly went to meetings anymore, I had other interests.

At the local motorbike club’s annual Dinner and Dance, we finally came face to face again. I was at the bar with my boyfriend, Matt, three years steady, when Pete brushed past me. ‘Sorry,’ he said, flashing that luminous grin. His blue eyes were like pools you wanted to dive into, which was precisely why I looked away. ‘No problem,’ I said.

‘Is that you, Sue?’ he said.

‘Yup,’ I said, trying to sound as if I didn’t care and not quite pulling it off.

Matt turned around holding out my gin and orange, no ice. ‘Who’s this then?’ he asked, looking Pete up and down.

‘Pete and I went to the same primary school,’ I said, already looking for an escape. Pete was not about to give me one. ‘Fancy this next dance, for old times’ sake?’ he asked me, but had already placed his hand firmly on my arm, before turning to Matt. ‘Don’t mind, do you, mate?’

‘Not at all,’ Matt said, thinking we were just old school friends. No harm in that, was there?

The dance lasted four minutes. The longest four minutes of my life. He trod on my toes twice, then let his hands drift lower than my waist. I moved them back up. The kiss lasted five seconds and somehow felt even longer. I tried to pull away, but those nashers of his would not release my lips. Matt walked into the dance room at exactly the wrong moment.

For years after that kiss, I wondered whether Pete had ruined something good or merely shown me how easily I could ruin it myself. It took a long time for me to forgive him.

Matt had been decent, and we had been close, which made what happened feel even worse. He was heartbroken; I felt as guilty as hell. I tried to reach out to him, but his family closed ranks. Protecting him from me! So, of course, we broke up.                        

Pete, meanwhile, lived up to every warning I had heard about him. Now and then he took me to some pub out of town, but he never introduced me to his friends, let alone his parents. I began to wonder whether he was ashamed of me or simply keeping his options open. I was ready to call time on whatever it was we had, if you could call it a relationship at all, when he suddenly popped the question. You could have knocked me down with a feather. I had said yes without thinking it through. I fancied him like mad, but he was so laid back, you never knew where you stood. I wondered if I had been hasty, letting my heart rule my head. I still did not meet his parents until five months later, at Christmas.

‘What did our Peter get you for Christmas, Susan?’ his mother asked. In answer, I held out my left hand and showed her the tiny engagement ring. Pete had not wanted to spend a lot. My friends had not been impressed.

You mean Pete got you an engagement ring as a Christmas present?’ He really is a cheapskate.’ Ellie had said.

Sarah agreed. ‘Alan proposed to me on Valentine’s Day, but he got me flowers and chocolates, a new handbag and a ring!’ Sarah had always thought that Pete was punching above, and so did Ellie.

I had not minded; my fingers were small and thin. But Pete’s mum had nearly passed out with the news. His father was jubilant. Too jubilant! Out came the champagne, as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of him. His mother did not share the sentiment. Questions rained down on me like bullets from a gun.

‘How long had we been going out together?’

 ‘When were we going to get married?’

‘What did my parents think about it?’

 ‘How much did I earn?’ 

‘Where were we going to live?’

I couldn’t wait for Pete to take me home. When I got home my mum asked me how meeting Pete’s parents had gone. I went straight up to my room, not wanting to talk about it. That was a red flag to start with!

Twenty-two years later, Pete could still make romance feel like a dare. I had learned to love him with one eye open and both feet ready to move.

We were both forty, on our trip of a lifetime to celebrate our big birthdays. Our teenage daughters were back home with my parents, probably being thoroughly spoilt. I had always wanted to visit New Zealand, partly because it seemed to have fewer creatures that wanted to eat or kill you. But also, because I was at secondary school with a girl called Julie that had returned there to live on The North Island. Her letters sounded exciting and the photos she enclosed, stunning. That had sold it to me. We had been warned about a recent spate of armed robberies and told it was safer to stay with tour groups. Pete, naturally, hired a jeep so we could explore on our own. That was when it all went horribly wrong.

We stopped at the last fuel station before the wilderness beckoned. While I looked through local postcards, Pete fueled up and grabbed some provisions. Two guys came in. I glanced up as the bell on the door jangled. They stopped and looked us over for far too long. They made me feel uneasy. I convinced Pete that we needed to get moving. We were heading off into an area of outstanding natural beauty. Pete had bought a map.

 While he fussed with his camera, I thought I saw someone watching us. When I turned to tell him, whoever it was, had gone. If they had ever been there at all. Then as Pete bent to tie his shoelace, a gunshot cracked through the air. We froze. At the edge of the forest stood two men, both holding shotguns. I had no idea why we didn’t run straight away. Not dressed like hunters, they looked a lot like the two guys back at the fuel station. One raised his gun to his shoulder. ‘RUN!’ I screamed. So, we did. We ran without looking back, without thinking, without knowing where we were going. We just ran.

That was how we ended up on the edge of the cliff, staring down at the sea below, its surface broken by huge black rocks. It did not look safe. It did not look possible. Pete hesitated, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking: ‘We wouldn’t survive the drop!’

‘Pete, we don’t have time for this. We have to jump!’ He looked at me, and for one moment, I saw the schoolboy again. White teeth flashing, those blue eyes asking me to stay a little longer. But they were coming. They were going to rob us, kill us maybe? There just wasn’t time to stop and think about it.

‘I love you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I always have. I always will.’ ‘I love you too, babe,’ I said. ‘Always have. Always will.’

Our legs shook like jelly and felt as heavy as lead, but we took each other’s hands. Then we jumped. And all I could think was: ‘I can’t bloody swim!’