It's still early and we weren't fashionably late. The gala is barely populated, and the desperate few who have already arrived wait about looking for something to cling to onto, to assuage the shame of being there before anyone else. As we walk in, I'm relieved to see a safe pair of hands, someone I can latch onto who has better than the rest (here) cool credentials. He appears to me as a handsome Japanese man, but at the same time as Simon Day, and I infer that he, too, is one member of a trio—"Neptunes," an off-kilter mainstream Japanese comedy act (once off-kilter, now thoroughly mainstream).
He's wearing a pink kimono set-up, very like New Year's dress, but pink rather than conservative black and grey. Though I know him, and he (appears to) knows me, I sense we are passing acquaintances, who only knew each other by name. Perhaps this is the first time we've actually met. Simon is waxing lyrical about some daifuku (Japanese sweets) that he's wolfing down in the waiting area. He says they are the best because they are old-school daifuku, traditional, not like the over-sweetened shit people love nowadays. The daifuku are also pink. He's very proud of the daifuku, and continues that they are the real thing, and he got them from Sainsbury's.
Simon is with his wife, who is not very attractive. There is another comedian with his wife, who is much more attractive, though colder, and I suspect some unspoken bond between the other wife and Simon. It's only a suspicion.
Though no drink has been obvious, Simon is getting drunk. The show is still a way from starting and we make our way about the place, looking for Simon's comedic partners. We're outside, away from the gala building, but not far, and I see what looks like a concrete tower block and a regular, if dingy, looking street. Simon heads off toward it, seeming to think that his friends, or someone he knows is there. I stay put, but am aware of Simon's progress by overhearing his loud words, and catching the occasional glimpse of him between parked cars, etc.
Simon hasn't found his partners, but has found someone he knows—and is very happy about it. He's happier because at last he's come across someone he actually knows rather than just passing acquaintances (me) or other showbiz cronies that have to be pandered to. He is very drunk so this relief/happiness is barely concealed—I hear him bellowing how great it is to see you, and God all those fucking people, etc. He's getting ever more animated and excited and that's when it happens.
Simon fell off the tower block.
The person he was with screams/shouts and at this instant I know something is seriously wrong (I didn't see the fall). Simon hits the ground. The person in the tower block jumps down after him; but their jump is controlled, they land on their feet. I rush toward the crash site.
Simon is still far away, but there are two people over him. He's staring past them into space—the sense is, he's on his way out. The closer I get, the more his two friends retreat. I'm quite shocked by this; it's like they want to palm him off on someone and wash their hands.
I get over Simon, there is a blanket over him, he's losing consciousness. The back of his head is smashed. I don't see the wound, but the back of his head is soggy, and blood is pooling under it. The others have fled. I'm not going to leave him.
I hold Simon's hand and put the thought of his wife and friends firmly in my head—almost as though just thinking of them would be the same as shouting for them, or calling the emergency services.
It seems to have worked. Simon's wife approaches from the darkness of the street with a few people in tow. She is less than distraught, takes an analytic look from distance and leaves Simon. I stay there, holding his hand, trying to keep him conscious, though he is no longer. Next the other wife skips in, she is distraught. Yes, Simon must have been having an affair with her—my suspicions were correct, the truth of them is revealed. But she too, only comes within a few steps of the smashed up Simon. She runs away. I can't believe no-one is stepping in to help me keep Simon going; just to comfort him in his last moments. But no, nothing.
I sense Simon has gone. His body is heavy and limp; his eyes closed; his chest lifeless. I roll him over slightly, a result of trying to rouse him. I see the wound: the back of his head is completely gone; a mess of pink tissue and yellow brain pokes out the wide open crevice in the back of his skull. Bits of head scattered about like chunks of watermelon dot the vicinity.
I wake.
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