On a rooftoop on New Year's Eve four people meet and queue up to jump to their deaths. Obviously, queuing for suicide is socially awkward, so they end up not jumping, and then they end up becoming an unlikely group of not-friends-at-all-really.
It's not the best and most gripping tale of depression I've read, although Maureen's story comes closer than the others. It's just too funny and light-hearted. Then, Hornby would be the first to admit his failure in the Serious Literature department, so it doesn't matter (dunna mattuh as my son says). I liked it. I like Hornby. But his name is hell to type, it keeps coming out as Horby or Hienby.