My knees were shaking. ‘Put the light out, and we’ll get on with it. How many copies?’

‘Bugger the copies, I want to see the other pictures! The dirty ones!’

We returned to the red gloom. Minutes later, another image swam to the surface – Wright in his posing slip, leaning on the cardboard column, a half-smile at the corners of his mouth, arms hanging by his side, crotch pushed forward.

‘Oh yeah. Very tasty indeed.’

His genitals were clearly visible through the fabric. ‘I think we might have to touch that one up a bit for public consumption.’

‘Don’t you touch anything! I’m fucking lovely.’

‘You’re a fucking tosser.’

‘I am! I feel like tossing myself off right here and now!’

This was getting far too close to the script of one of my imagined scenarios. ‘If you can control yourself for a few more minutes, then you can go to the bog.’

I loaded another image, from the shadow-boxing routine: balletic, modern, Martha Grahamish. Arms raised to shoulder height, knees slightly bent, the quadriceps huge.

‘Right then,’ he said, when the print was floating in the fixer. ‘Cock shot.’

‘You must be joking.’

‘Come on! We’ve got to have that one!’

‘What for?’

‘Don’t you want to see it? I bloody do!’

‘I ought to cut if off the end of the film and destroy it.’

‘You bloody dare! That’s me in my prime, that is.’

‘For God’s sake, Wright, have you got any idea of how much trouble …’

‘Loosen up, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, but his voice was lowered, mindful of the guard outside the door. ‘You can’t live your life worrying about what’s going to happen if you get caught. Christ, we’d be wrapping ourselves in cotton wool if we did that.’

‘And what’s the alternative? Do whatever you want, and damn the consequences?’

He lit a fag. ‘Yeah. Maybe. That’s exactly what you should do.’ He sat on the edge of the table, smoking, looking at me. I couldn’t meet his eyes, even in the darkness.

‘Okay, I’ll do your bloody picture, but if you promise me, Wright, promise me that nobody else will see it.’

‘Ain’tcha gonna do one for yourself?’

‘I …’

‘Go on. In memory of a beautiful friendship.’

‘But if someone finds it …’

He pulled back his fist, ready with a right jab.

‘All right! All right! I’ll do it. I must be fucking crazy.’

‘We’re all crazy. Now come on. I want to see my willy.’

04

This morning I lock myself out of the flat and I’m standing freezing my tits off on the landing cursing Stuart for taking so long to do whatever it is he’s doing, and my own stupidity for lending him the keys. I was supposed to be going straight out to work and then he was going to come back, let himself in, have a shower and meet me in town tonight and hand over the keys, but I put out a bag of rubbish and the door blew shut. Normally I would have the keys in my hand whenever I leave the flat but not of course on this occasion, so I’m standing there in my shorts, no shirt, no shoes, no phone and more importantly no keys, and I’m due at my desk in half an hour. I look out from the balcony in the vain hope that I’ll see Stuart coming to the rescue but he hasn’t said what time he’ll be back, or even where he’s gone, so I’m in trouble.