Stephen watched him go, wondering why Maclure seemed so relaxed. If someone had been seconds from suicide in front of him, he’d have been frantic. His shoulders weren’t hunched, his voice was so low it was almost inaudible. There was no sense of crisis or hurry about him. He sure as hell wasn’t bipolar, Stephen thought. He’d never been that relaxed or self-assured, not for one single second of his whole bloody existence.

‘They’re going to give us some space if you could just do me a huge favour and put your legs back this side of the fence. Not climb down, you have every right to do whatever you want. Stay up there by all means, but I was curious about what I should do with your belongings. Could you spare me one more minute?’

Stephen rubbed his eyes. One more minute? He’d come to the bridge to stop the pain, not prolong it.

‘There must be someone who’d want to know what’s happened to you. Did you leave a note so they can understand how you were feeling? If you did, that’s great. You can give me your address and I’ll make sure it gets to them. If not, give me a name and a number. I’ll tell them you were at peace with your decision, rational, not scared. It’ll make it easier for whoever you’re leaving behind.’

‘Why would you think I’m not scared?’ Stephen blurted, the ludicrousness of that suggestion hitting him harder than he liked.

Suicide wasn’t easy. It wasn’t something you just did as a whim. Of course he was scared.

‘I’m sorry, you just seem so … man, I hate to think of you up there feeling that way. Listen, I can’t stop the police for more than another minute and I really want to know what’s going on with you. Just take one step back over until we’ve finished talking. For me, if not for you? You seem like a great guy. Who else would have left a donor card when they’re planning on killing themselves?’

Stephen considered the options. It was really just jump or take a step back to talk. And perhaps Rosa would want to hear some last words. Their break-up was so recent and raw that she was sure to blame herself. If he did nothing else, he could leave some reassurance that he’d have come to this whether or not the relationship had broken down. The thought of her spending a lifetime blaming herself was intolerable. He might be severely messed up in the head department, but he wasn’t cruel.

Maclure was standing looking nonchalant, hands in his pockets once more, looking no more excited about life than if he were stood at a bus stop.