Charles Nelson, facing a manslaughter charge, was now on remand in prison and was looking at probably four to six years’ imprisonment, and he wasn’t even sure that his girlfriend, whose honour he’d been trying to defend, was still there for him. Her visits were becoming less and less frequent.

The two of them smoked and talked every night in the semi-darkness. With frequent interruptions while his friend just sobbed. They also talked about Stuie. Mickey told Nelson of his plans to open a fish and chip shop, with his brother working in the back room, mostly preparing the fish and slicing the potatoes. It turned out, to Mickey’s surprise, that Charles Nelson had recently inherited a property on Brighton seafront, close to the Palace Pier, with three shops on the ground floor. One of them was vacant – if Mickey wanted it after his release, he was sure they could agree a deal.

Finally, today, the days of lockdown came to an end. Just as he’d returned to his cell having eaten breakfast and was about to head off to his current job in the prison laundry, one of the more pleasant screws appeared in the doorway. ‘The Governor wants to see you,’ he said. ‘She’s free now.’

Mickey’s hopes rose. Throughout his time here he’d been careful to behave, to be, as much as he was able, a model prisoner. So he could get home to Stuie as soon as possible. Maybe the Governor had good news for him? That perhaps, as he had requested, he was going to be allowed to have a special visit from Stuie accompanied by an appropriate adult.

Ten minutes later, accompanied by the screw and trying to look as dignified as his ill-fitting, prison-issue tracksuit and crap plimsolls would allow, he entered the Governor’s small, surprisingly cluttered office.

The Governor, Susan Ansell, held out her hand and shook Mickey’s, then pointed at two chairs in front of her desk.

‘Please have a seat, Mr Starr. Mickey, yes – or is it Michael?’

‘Mickey.’

He sat and the screw left the room, closing the door.

Ansell’s demeanour changed and she suddenly looked very serious. ‘Mickey, thank you for coming to see me.’

Like I had any option, he thought. And hey, this was a better gig than doing laundry. He shrugged.

‘Your brother, Stuie – I understand you have been his carer for some years?’

‘It was a promise I made to our mum when she was dying.’ Alarm bells were ringing.

She nodded. ‘Mickey, I’m sorry but there is no easy way to tell you this. I’m afraid your brother is dead.’

‘Dead?’ He stared at the woman, the word not fully sinking in. ‘Dead?’

Ansell looked back at him with genuine sympathy in her face.

‘What – what do you mean? He’s only thirty-eight. He . . .’ His voice tailed off. He felt gutted. ‘What – what’s – what’s happened?’