Three weeks after his arrest, I was allowed to visit Mervyn on remand in Brixton Prison. He looked remarkably well, and had obviously found his way to whatever exercise facilities exist in such places. He was thin in the face, a little dark around the eyes, but apart from that the only big difference in his appearance was the absence of Brylcreem. His hair was soft and clean and hung down over his forehead, where it irritated him. He kept pushing it out of his eyes.

We sat across a square wood table, deeply scarred with long black cigarette burns.

‘Thank God,’ he said, putting his hands over mine. The guards looked and sneered. ‘Yeah, go on, have a good look,’ said Wright, then muttered ‘fucking wankers’. It was not his first time in prison, and he knew exactly how far he could push it.

‘What’s happening out there, Michael? Have they found out who did it yet?’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Christ, I wish they’d hurry up. I’m starting to get ants in my pants.’ He whispered. ‘And I’m so fucking horny. Can’t you just put your hand under the table …’

‘Templeton kicked us out of the flat, you know.’

‘Shit. Where’s my stuff?’

‘Don’t worry. It’s safe. And yes, thank you, I’m fine, I’ve taken a room at the Y.’

‘That must be fun,’ he said.

‘Oh yeah. Orgies every night. Bit like prison.’

‘Michael, I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get a better lawyer. It’s fucking shit, them trying to pin this on me. I didn’t fucking kill Gerald.’

‘Didn’t you?’

He pushed his chair away from the table, and picked at his dirty nails. ‘I see. It’s come to that, has it?’

‘What?’

‘Even you think I did it.’

‘Well did you?’

‘If you have to ask that …’

‘I’m afraid I do.’

‘You don’t trust me, then.’

I lit cigarettes, handed one to him. He smoked deeply, exhaled long. ‘No. Fair enough. You’ve got no reason to. I’ve been shit to you, Mikey, I admit it. What can I say? I’m a cunt. I always have been, and I probably always will be.’

‘Yeah, but you’re my cunt.’

He laughed nervously. ‘Don’t let this lot hear you say that. There’s enough of them who’d like me to be their cunt for the duration.’ He leaned forward, lowered his voice. ‘But for what it’s worth, I want to say two things. First, no, I didn’t kill Gerald. I’d have liked to, and I’m not sorry he’s dead, but someone else got to him first. End of story. Second, I love you …’

‘Wright …’

‘Don’t interrupt, because you won’t hear this often, at least not when I’m sober. I wanted you from the first minute I saw you looking at me at that stupid fucking Infection parade at Reville.’

‘I didn’t …’

‘You did. Your eyes, Mickey. They always give you away. I thought, “There’s one that might be a bit of fun …”’