‘A bit of fun. Well, I was certainly that.’

‘At first, you were. I was like all the other wankers up there, chasing pussy, being the big man, king of the ring, all that jazz. And I didn’t want to be queer. I still don’t if you want the truth. But you were always there, at the back of my mind, and I couldn’t help it. Every time we … You know, we nearly … I fucking hated you for making me that way, and I hated myself for acting like a cunt, and I kept pushing you away and you kept coming back for more.’

‘Bollocks. It’s you that kept coming back.’

‘Because that was it, Mikey. I realised, didn’t I? That this wasn’t going to go away. That I was stuck with you.’

‘And it’s taken a murder charge to make all this clear to you, has it?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that I have to get out of here so that we can start our lives again. Start properly this time. No more fucking around. No more chasing rainbows.’

‘No more Maxine Trents.’

‘Yeah …’ He looked wistful. ‘She was the last. And fucking good she was too.’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

The bell rang, and the guards started moving around, separating the kissing couples, ushering out the crying mums and dazed looking kids.

‘Mickey, you’ve got to help me.’

‘How can I? The lawyers are doing all they can.’

‘Someone knows who did it. Someone framed me.’

‘What can I …’

‘Come on, you two, none of that.’

‘Fuck you, screw.’

‘Mervyn, for God’s sake …’

‘Please, Mickey, you’ve got to do something.’

‘Get up, Wright. You’re on governor’s report.’

‘I’ll fucking …’ He stopped himself, stood up. ‘Don’t let me down, Michael. Remember what I said. All that I said. Understand? All that I said.’

I stood outside the prison gates with the rest of the visitors, the wind whistling up Brixton Hill and blowing grit into our eyes.

He loved me, he said, he’d always loved me, he wanted to get out and start again. I would do anything for that, for the promise of that. And he knew it.

10

I’m losing weight. Since Andy disappeared, I’ve not been taking steroids, and my muscles are just evaporating, dissolving back into my bloodstream, being shat and pissed out of my body Shirts and jackets that used to strain at the buttons and seams now hang quite normally. I am starting to look like everybody else. I’m still going to the gym, but only out of habit. I no longer feel the thrill of challenge as I step out on to the floor. I’m going through the motions with the weights, watching the others sweating and straining, grunting and grinning, spotting for each other, lifting up their vests to show their abs, talking about supplements and carbloading, whispering about steroids and hormones. I used to be the best of the lot of them, the cock of the walk, and now I’m melting, melting into the background. I don’t get the envious looks in the changing rooms. I don’t plan my route from the locker to the shower to get the maximum reaction. Now I just wash and dress and go home to an empty flat and watch DVDs till I’m tired enough to go to bed. Sometimes I drink myself to sleep. Sometimes, if I feel panicky, I take half a Valium. I’m eking them out, because supplies are running low, and I don’t want to see the sort of people who could sell them to me.