She stares at the console, knowing there are calls stacking up, knowing there are desperate people waiting. She knows it’s a risk to flick her status to available, but she knows it’s the right thing to do. One more call can’t hurt, although conversations at this time of night are rarely short.

There’s a young guy on the other end and he says hello and then he’s silent. Dominica can hear seagulls in the background. He’s calling from outside. That’s never a good sign.

She listens and then she hears the caller sob. She’s used to people ringing up in tears and she gives the caller space before she speaks.

‘Can you tell me a bit about what’s making you sad?’ she asks.

‘Everything.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘I’d like to, though …’

‘Everything … everything is fucked.’

‘It’s OK. We all get overwhelmed sometimes. Where are you? You sound like you’re outside?’ she asks.

‘I’m on the pier.’

She picks up her pen and pad to make some notes. Mostly the calls are anonymous, and they’re encouraged not to enquire about names or locations. Locations don’t really matter, since the calls all go through a national number, so she gets callers from all over the country. She’s had callers from abroad too. Despair knows no physical boundaries. It’s everywhere.

Dominica looks at her watch. She knows that most piers close in the evenings – those that are still open.

‘I like piers. There’s one in Brighton,’ she says.

‘That’s where I am,’ the guy says.

Dominica’s pen stops moving on the page. ‘You mean, you’re on the Palace Pier?’

There’s a long silence. Dominica can hear the sea more clearly now. ‘It’s … I can see the water … just it’s so dark …’

Her heart rate jumps. Is he looking down into the water? Because if he is, he must be either leaning over the railings, or be on the wrong side of them altogether.

‘Is anyone with you?’ she asks, forcing her tone to stay calm.

‘No.’

He lets out a little sob and Dominica grips the phone. She mustn’t lose him. She must keep him talking.

‘Will you tell my mum … tell her, I’m sorry,’ he says.

Dominica feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She stands, holding the phone with both hands. She’s heard this kind of desperation before. She has to keep calm. She looks desperately across at Bill, but he’s in the other booth, his back turned to her.

‘Can you tell me about your mum?’

‘She’s …’

He stops talking and she can hear the sea suddenly loud, the seagulls crying.

‘How would you feel about speaking to her yourself?’

‘It’s too late.’

Dominica can hear the desperation in his voice. ‘This was never meant to happen. I was supposed to …’

‘Supposed to …?’

‘She wanted so much for me, but I fucked it all up. I fucked it up and there was no way back. And …’