‘Not much point,’ Stephen muttered. ‘You should probably back up a bit.’

‘Why?’ the man asked.

‘I’m going to jump and I don’t want you to feel responsible. No one else needs to be involved.’

‘That’s really thoughtful of you …’ The man left the sentence hanging. ‘That’s the part where you fill in with your name,’ he finished when there was no response.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Stephen muttered, feeling foolish and rude. ‘Stephen.’

He had no idea why he felt the need to comply with social niceties at such a life-changing time. Years of conditioning, he guessed.

‘Cool. Good to meet you, Stephen. I’m Rune Maclure.’ Sirens echoed across the expanse of water. ‘That’ll be the police. Do you feel up to talking with them, or shall I ask them to stay back, too?’

‘Keep them away,’ Stephen said, taking deep breaths and focusing on the river. The pattern of the water was making him dizzy, or perhaps it was the adrenaline. Either way, he wasn’t sure he could stay upright much longer.

‘Feeling unstable?’ Maclure asked.

He didn’t answer.

‘Relax one leg, get your balance back. Is this your stuff down here?’

‘Yeah,’ Stephen muttered.

Maclure reached down to pick it all up, pocketing the keys and mobile, holding the wallet and reading the organ donor card.

‘Hey man, you want to be a donor? That’s amazing. Too few people take that opportunity. I can’t believe you’re still thinking about other people when you’re feeling so bad. That’s pretty impressive.’

Stephen stared at him. The trick of relaxing one leg had worked. He was stable again.

‘Probably no point. They might not even find my body.’

‘That would be a shame. You look in good shape. Lots of people could benefit from those organs. It’s amazing what they can transplant these days. It’s always the part where it asks if you want to donate your eyes that blows my mind. How weird would that be, waking up after surgery, looking in the mirror to see yourself through someone else’s eyes? Incredible, really.’

Through the growing crowd of bodies appeared four police officers, talking in whispers on their radios and moving people back, away from what Stephen assumed they’d already be referring to as ‘the scene’. He hated that. Causing a scene. Being the scene. All he’d ever wanted was to blend into the crowd.

‘Don’t give it another thought. I can handle them,’ Maclure said, raising his palms in the air in a gesture that said, effortlessly, calm down, I’ve got this. He moved away to speak to the closest of the police officers, greeting her with a handshake.