The PTSD didn’t kick in straight away. I mean, I didn’t walk out of that flat in Mile End barking like a dog. I got cleaned up and gave my statement. I went home and just curled up, then cried on Sophie’s shoulder for a couple of days. But I couldn’t sleep and then I started having panic attacks. I swear, these days, it’s like every Tom, Dick or Harry has them, needs a nice cup of tea and a biscuit now and again, but I knew pretty bloody quickly that no amount of breathing into a paper bag was going to sort me out.

Chills or nausea or thinking I was going to shit myself.

Pins and needles, everywhere.

Sweating like a rapist and feeling like I was going to choke.

My doctor put me on Prozac fast enough (popping my SSRI cherry), and my boss and his boss were both great about it. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Al. Take some time – paid sick-leave, yay! – and let’s see if you’re ready to come back to work in a few weeks.

A few weeks became a few more, but I don’t think they really understood how bad things had become until I was actually needed again, when the arsehole who’d carved up Johnno was about to go on trial.

See, I didn’t mind taking the tablets, but it wasn’t particularly enjoyable, and pretty quickly I discovered that a bottle of red wine and a few spliffs every night could do the job equally well. So, on top of some prodigious pill-popping, I started bulk-buying at Oddbins and filling daily prescriptions with Billy. Twice-daily, sometimes. And I felt absolutely great, to be honest; no point pretending I didn’t. The panic and the piss-myself terror were all but gone, and I was calm for a while, at least. Until I found out what getting out of your head really means.

So, the trial . . .

I was the prosecution’s star witness, of course, but that soon changed when a couple of the DCs working the case came round to go through my forthcoming appearance in court. All very straightforward, and not even official because they weren’t allowed to ‘coach’ any witnesses and were just there to talk about a couple of the questions the defence might throw at me. Sod’s law – I was midway through a bit of a bender when they turned up, so it only took a few minutes with them before ‘forthcoming’ became ‘not-a-cat-in-hell’s-chance’. Never mind take the stand, I was hardly in a fit state to stand, so it was quickly decided I would not be giving evidence at all.

I was gutted, because I’d wanted to be there for Johnno.

I knew both those DCs, but the way they stared while I ranted at them, it was like they didn’t know me at all.