10The hardware store had provided the rope.
Jonathan put the champagne on ice and filled an ice bucket with ice cubes, which he would use to dilute his whisky. He closed the curtains in his sitting room and after switching on his stereo settled down in his chair. As the gentle strains of Mozart and Beethoven filled the room, Jonathan took his first sip of whisky.
Some time later Jonathan woke up. He was very drunk. He quickly remembered what he had planned to do and swore loudly for allowing himself to fall asleep. He slowly lifted himself out of the chair and staggered up the stairs to the ladder up to the attic. He steadied himself first and then climbed the ladder. In the attic was the pile of rope he had bought earlier. He fixed it to a beam above the hatch, and tied the other end into a noose. This he put round his neck and tightened. A quick prayer before he stepped through the hatch into oblivion.
Or rather into a world of pain and bright lights flashing through his brain as he landed heavily on the floor at the top of the stairs, at least twisting his ankle, possibly breaking his foot. Looking upwards Jonathan spotted the problem. The rope was still tied to the beam and it stretched all the way down to where he was lying. He had asked for a ten-foot long rope, but obviously because of ridiculous European Law the guy in the hardware store had to sell a metric length. They had actually discussed that ten metres would be fine, given that the ropes in the store were already that length, and Jonathan would be able to cut it when he got home. He had forgotten.
Limping heavily Jonathan hobbled to the ladder to rectify the problem and try again. Now though, because of the pain in his foot, he was unable to climb the ladder.
The noose was removed and thrown to the floor in disgust. Jonathan slid down the stairs on his backside, nursing his sore foot. He needed more whisky. Then he would get the painkillers from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and polish them off.
Jonathan woke again in the morning with the empty bottle of pills lying by his side. The seven that were left obviously hadn't been enough. No noticeable hangover though, so they had worked that much at least.
As consciousness returned he gradually became aware of the telephone ringing downstairs. He got out of bed and gingerly rested his feet on the ground. The painkillers had done their job there as well, and he was able to walk relatively easily, though rather unsteadily due to the fact that he was still drunk.
In his haste to get to the phone Jonathan didn't notice the noose at the top of the stairs. He tripped over it and plunged headfirst towards the ground floor. The instinct of self-preservation made him flail his arm towards the hand-rail but he missed.
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs his neck was broken. He ended up twisted awkwardly, his sightless eyes glaring at the phone as the answer machine clicked on.
'Jonathan , fooled you, I have more important things to do than talk to the likes of you, so please leave a message.'
BEEP
'Dr Andrews here. I need you to come into my surgery as soon as possible. We received word this morning that the tests at the laboratory were mixed up, and the result I gave you wasn't yours. You are probably in the clear, but we need to organise a second test. Bye for now.'