Page 103 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Yes. I need to breathe. It’s nearer than my house. Can’t talk any more. Feel very sick.’

‘Right, mate. Please don’t throw up in my cab.’ He sped down the empty streets, a brief ride to the bridge.

Damien clambered out of the taxi and fell onto the pavement. Grasping the open door, he pulled himself to his feet.

‘Thank you, driver.’ He fumbled in his pocket, took a five-pound note from his wallet and thrust it into the cab driver’s hand. ‘Buy yourself a drink, my man.’

‘It’s nearly midnight, mate. I’m going home to the wife.’

‘You’re a lucky chap, having a good woman waiting for you.’

The cabbie looked worried. ‘Think I might have a coffee at the all-nighter round the corner. Shall I get you one?’

‘No, thanks. You go home.’ Damien gave him a hint of a smile. ‘Give your wife a cuddle from me.’

The stillness of the river at night did not calm his dark thoughts.

He staggered past a grimy old man asleep in a cardboard box. At the entrance of the bridge, he focused on the ornate riverside lamp post a few feet ahead. He grasped the railings and pulled himself along. Reaching the metal post, he clamped his legs around the circumference and levered himself up the pole. Finally, at the top, he grasped the neck of the lamp and looked down at the glittering water.

‘I am a king without a throne,’ he shouted at the moon.

He held his breath and then, with a silent prayer, plunged into the river. The icy water flooded his eyes and mouth, and the powerful current dragged him along, miraculously propelling him to the edge of the bank.

He grabbed the safety chain and held on while the watergushed beneath his feet. His hands were frozen stiff and he was losing his grip. ‘Oh God, please help me,’ he pleaded.

‘Hold on to my hand, mate,’ a man’s voice said.

‘Who are you?’ Damien said. ‘Am I dreaming?’

‘No.’ A firm hand grasped his wrist. ‘Now come on, mate, give me a bit of help.’

Damien grabbed the eyebolt with his other hand and found a foothold on the wall.

The man managed to lift him out of the water and Damien collapsed on the verge, his body covered in mud. His eyes half closed, he looked up at the man. ‘Are you an angel?’ he said.

‘I’m the cabbie, mate. Thought you looked as if you were going to do yourself a damage, so I stuck around.’

‘Don’t have any money.’

‘No worries, mate. I’m taking you to hospital.’

Chapter 33

Damien was flying to the moon on sedatives. He had the undivided attention of three other men in the Dolphin Ward at St Pancras Hospital, who were fascinated by his sonorous outbursts in Latin. The two glamorous women by his bedside added the eye candy.

‘Genua placet peullis.’ He lifted his hands and gently patted Sophie’s and Claudia’s heads.

‘Can you please translate?’ Sophie asked.

‘Maidens, please kneel,’ he said. ‘You are strangers in a strange land.’

The women exchanged nods and knelt at either side of his bed.

‘Feed me the grapes, please. When in Rome…’

Sophie plucked one from the bowl on the bedside table andpopped it in his mouth.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said to Claudia.

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