Strangers on a Bridge. Louise Mangos

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      The waitress recognised me and awarded me a curt nod. She glanced past me and beamed at Manfred, her eyes flicking over him in appreciation, and gave him a jovial ‘Grüezi!’

      We took a table close to the window with a view towards the lake. I ordered a tea and Manfred an espresso.

      ‘She doesn’t seem so friendly with you,’ Manfred whispered as the waitress walked away.

      ‘No, I’m not her favourite person. She’s the manageress here, and the mother of twins in Leon’s class at school. They’ve been together all the way through primary school and she still holds a grudge for the things I did wrong when we first moved here. I walked the boys to school for months at first. I didn’t realise it’s taboo here. Part of the kids’ education is learning independence. You’d never let kids so young make their own way to school in England. It’s just not safe. Anyway, she reported me to the school director, and there were words. It’s amazing how someone can keep hold of a bad feeling for so long, especially one arising from something so insignificant. I think it’s more to do with the fact that I’m a foreigner. Anyway, it’s the only decent café in the village with a good view, so I tolerate her grumpiness.’

      The waitress returned with our order on a tray, and placed the cups on the table. Manfred said something to her in Swiss German. At first charmed by his attention, I caught the words ‘Engel’ and ‘Menschenliebe’ and her smile faltered as she glanced at me. I cringed inside to think Manfred was explaining my good turn the previous Sunday. I was sure this woman’s imagination wouldn’t stretch to thinking of me as an ‘angel’ capable of ‘human kindness’. I concentrated on the cup in front of me, pressing as much flavour as possible out of the weak Swiss teabag.

      ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ I said as she walked away. ‘You’re probably only making things worse for me.’

      ‘People need to know about your goodness, Alice.’

      I glanced at him, and he smiled. I wasn’t sure whether he was joking, but I felt strangely flattered.

      ‘What kind of business are you doing in the village?’ I changed the subject, genuinely curious about his sudden return to confidence after wanting to take his life only days ago.

      ‘I have a document I needed to sign. The lawyer needed to witness it. I… he lives in a house up the hill. It’s done. I have everything I need. Everything is perfect.’

      ‘That’s good. I’m glad you’re so positive.’

      ‘You’ve made me realise how stupid my action was. I have rediscovered a purpose in life. That’s why I wanted to thank you today.’

      Manfred had already finished his espresso, but my tea was still too hot to drink. He gazed out of the window over my shoulder.

      ‘I didn’t want to hurt anyone,’ he said, and I recalled my statement on the bridge about leaving a mess. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt them. My w… wise sister. My boy.’

      I frowned.

      ‘They would have missed you.’

      ‘You don’t understand. You don’t know why I was there. Last Sunday.’

      Having been so curious for the past few days, I wasn’t sure now whether I wanted to know.

      ‘There was a knife,’ Manfred continued, and I swallowed. ‘For cutting bread. Sharp. Victorinox, good quality. Swiss.’ He paused, and I didn’t know what to say.

      ‘I never intended to hurt them. Would never have hurt them. But my son, that morning he was driving me crazy.’

      I chewed my lip, but forced myself to maintain eye contact.

      ‘So you see, there was already a mess in my life. I was leaving one behind, and the bridge was to solve that mess. But now I’ve met you, and you have made me see clearly. That’s why I’m thanking you.’

      My heart thumped. Manfred’s arm lay next to his cup on the table, and I had the feeling he was going to reach for my hand. To keep both mine occupied, and wishing my tea would cool faster, I took a croissant from the wire breakfast basket on the table and tore off one end. The waitress would shortly clear the tables and prepare them for the lunch crowd. The bread helped ease the burning on my tongue but prevented conversation as buttery flakes filled my mouth. I sprinkled the crumbs from my fingers onto a serviette in front of me, filling the silence with meaningless distracting activity. Manfred watched my every move.

      ‘Manfred, can I ask you where you got my mobile number?’ I asked when I could finally speak again.

      His face scrunched into an expression Leon might have used if I’d asked him the same question, as though I was supposed to know the answer. I raised my eyebrows. The pause had given him a couple of extra seconds to answer.

      ‘At the hospital. I asked if I could have it. In case… you know, to thank you.’

      I imagined him persuading the nurse to give him the number. That disarming smile. Those green eyes. Still, they shouldn’t have given it to him. It didn’t seem professional. Very un-Swiss.

      ‘Have you tried calling on our landline at home?’

      ‘No, is that preferable?’

      ‘It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay. Who did you end up talking to at the hospital?’

      He smiled and tipped his head, as though he hadn’t understood the question.

      ‘I hope they had a psychologist on duty,’ I continued. ‘Will you be having some therapy sessions? It’s really important you continue to talk to somebody about what happened.’

      ‘They have a good group of professionals at the cantonal hospital, yes. It’s a smart new facility. Good to see the taxpayers’ money going into something useful.’

      ‘It’s not just about the fact that you tried to take your life, Manfred. There is much more healing to be done. You have to start with yourself before you deal with your… family.’

      ‘It’s all about talking it out, isn’t it, Alice? This is also good therapy. Talking to you.’

      I smiled at him, and glanced at my watch.

      ‘Oh, I’m afraid I have to go. The boys will be home from school soon and I need to prepare their lunch. I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better. It’s important to keep talking to the professionals. I’m not a very good practitioner.’

      He looked at me with a quizzical smile. I reached into my bag for my purse, but he put his hand on my arm.

      ‘Honestly, Alice, I’m okay. This is on me.’

      He spoke as though I was being an overprotective mother, and I hoped he didn’t think I was a prude. It was as though I was suffering more from his suicide attempt than him. I put on my fleece to cover my flustered state. He left a ten-franc note and a few coins to cover the bill and a tip.

      ‘I came by bus,’ he said as I unlocked the car outside the café. ‘So I’ll say goodbye here. Or I should say Uf Widerluege.’

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