The End of the Pier

He woke with the now usual flicker of confusion then the weight of remembrance came crashing in upon him. He was cold, that was always the first coherent thought he had. The cold had seeped its way in, underneath the grubby suit jacket and had begun dissolving his flesh. He sat up and gripped the frayed blue pinstripe lapels to his throat to try and fight back some of the chill.

His beard scraped and snagged on the jacket collar causing him to wince. As he angled his head to free himself the stale, sour odor of his own body poked him in the nose. Though the fact he still noticed his own B.O. he took as a positive sign somehow.

He becomes more aware of his surroundings; it is dark, fully night. The gentle glow of the sea-front is behind him and the steady susurrations of the tide on the shingle beach swish in his ears against the tinnitus.

The full moon is reflected back many times on the rippling surface of the sea like a twinkling star field. He would have found that romantic once but now each reflection is like a sliver of ice piercing him with its cold barb. He needs to find somewhere warmer for the rest of the night.

To his right the dark filigree of the pier's ironwork stretches down the beach. The front gates are closed and the neon filled tubes and gaudy signs of enticement to the end of the pier pleasures are pale ghosts, their essence washed out by the moon.

Clambering over the gates and slipping through the gap between them and the painted proscenium arch is much easier than he expected. He drops down onto the solid boards of the pier, the dull sounds of his landing swallowed up by void beneath. He immediately feels the benefit of a more sheltered position.

He walks further towards to end of the pier looking for another bench to sleep on. He thinks of the happy times he had at the sea-side and imagines Jake is with him now, skipping and skittering ahead, the pier bustling with people, the air full of excited chatter and the metallic pings and chimes of the amusements . He can almost smell the sickly sweet tang of toffee apples and candyfloss mixing with the warm inviting aromas of chips and hot dogs. The memory of it makes him notice his own hunger.

Turning the corner of the pavilion he encounters the shiny chrome and glass of Jake’s favourite attraction. The Crane Grab. He would press his excited, smiling face against the glass, his tongue peeking out in concentration as the mechanical claw swayed back and forth keeping a tenuous grip on whatever trinket it had just seized up from the tangled mass of teddies, dolls, soldiers and other toys piled beneath. Jake was always happy with whatever he won from the Crane Grab but by far his favourites were the plastic dinosaurs. Triceratops, Diplodocus and Tyrannosaurus . Jake delighted in proudly pointing them out, barking out the names the way only a six year old could.

The man presses his face against the front of the Crane Grab in a sad analogue of his son. The glass is cold on his cheek but the shock of the memory is far more chilling. He closes his eyes in anguish and slams his fist against the pane. Tears spring from under his lids as he pounds on the glass again and again.

*

The young man crunches his way a couple of paces left then right across the shingle. Over his right shoulder, now perfectly framed in the shot, are the steaming, blackened bones of the pier and pavilion. Lifting the microphone in front of him, he begins his piece to camera.

‘Investigators believe that the fire was started by the smoldering of a spent firework gone astray during the midnight display to mark the end of the season here at Biddleton, but as firefighters continued the process of damping down the remains of the pier this morning they made a gruesome discovery. The body of a man, believed to be homeless.

‘It is thought he had gone in to the pier to seek shelter from the cold and was overcome by smoke from the fire that broke out in the early hours of this morning.

‘He had no identification and few possessions of note save for a small plastic dinosaur clenched in his hand.’