Mark stares inside the dimly lit flat. The carpet is grimy – mud, he hopes – and the smell is rancid. Sweat, weed, sick and booze; all mixed together like some hideous anti-perfume. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. ‘Can we just talk here?’

‘Don’t be a prick.’ The man lumbers back into the flat, leaving the door open. Mark sighs – reminds himself that Jon came and went safely from this place for years – and follows him into the front room. A couple of kids are hunched over gaming controllers, Call of Duty crashing out of the TV, and an older guy is slumped in an armchair, eyes wide, like he’s been zapped frozen by some Disney villain. ‘Yeah?’ Rudy says, ignoring the guy and easing himself down onto the chair’s arm.

‘Well,’ Mark starts, feeling more sober now than he’d like. ‘I’ve got some bad news.’

‘I heard about Jon dying the other night,’ Rudy says, ‘if that’s what you mean.’ He says it so casually, without a hint of grief or guilt. The guy must know it was his gear that Jon was shooting up, and he still doesn’t give a toss.

‘Heroin overdose, they reckon,’ Mark lies, suddenly desperate to cause a reaction. Yes, Jon was just some old homeless bloke with a smack habit, but he was also kind. Generous, despite having nothing; loyal to Rudy for a good five years. Mark shouldn’t be the only one mourning him. But his plan backfires because it’s shame he wants to see, not laughter.

‘Fucking dickhead.’ Rudy chuckles. ‘You’d think he’d have worked out how to do it right by now.’ Then he straightens out his face. ‘Anyway, what do you actually want?’

What Mark actually wants is to scream at the guy, tell him he’s a disrespectful piece of shit who deserves a fucking kicking. But Rudy looks like he could bench-press Mark without breaking a sweat, so he keeps his mouth shut.

‘You after some brown too?’ Rudy asks, mistaking Mark’s silence for embarrassment. He walks over to an IKEA chest of drawers in the corner of the room, the wood veneer peeling at the edges, and curls his fingers around the top drawer.

‘No,’ Mark says quickly. Why do people keep assuming he’s a smackhead?

‘Oh.’ Rudy screws up his face. ‘You after Jon’s job, then. Is that it?’

‘No, I …’

Rudy pushes air through his nose like a horse. ‘Well what the fuck do you want? Because all I’m seeing is a scrawny ginger pole wasting my time.’