‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I don’t need you to do anything. But I need some money.’

Of course. What else would it be? ‘No way.’

‘Please,’ he said.

I put my hand in my pocket. ‘I’ve got three quid.’

His left eye twitched. ‘That’ll do.’

I handed it over.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘We’re playing a gig on Saturday. Upstairs at the Lamb and Flag in town. Chrissy’s singing with us. Come along. Entrance is a fiver, but you can come in for nowt.’ He jangled the coins in his hand. ‘You’ve already paid.’

My dad had a sister, Maureen – or Mo, as everyone called her – who had a daughter, our cousin Chrissy. Mo had raised her alone after the father had skipped town when she was pregnant. Chrissy was two years younger than Roland, and – in my view as well as everybody else’s – pretty amazing. She was pretty, with a snub nose and curly red hair, and a wicked, hoarse laugh. She was also a gifted singer – somewhere in our family was a musical gene, which I hadn’t inherited, but which Roland had in quantity and which Chrissy had in abundance.

But more of her later.

On the Saturday of the gig, I decided to go. There was a sandwich board outside the Lamb and Flag. I read the words chalked on it.

Upstairs

Tonight Only

The German Genius!!

At the bottom of the stairs a shaven-headed fat man in a dark suit stopped me.

‘Ticket?’

‘It’s my brother’s band. He invited me.’

‘Oh aye?’ He squinted at me. ‘Did he now? That’ll be a fiver, mate.’

I handed over the money and headed up the stairs. The room was large, with a bar at one end and a platform at the other. I bought a pint and found a table in a dark corner.

Some people near the door started to whistle, then cheer, then clap. I turned around. Roland, Chrissy and the other band members were walking through the crowd, guitars and drumsticks in hand. Roland didn’t have his usual guitar, the one in his hand was beaten-up and cheap. I wondered where the old one had gone; looking back, it’s obvious. He’d turned it into heroin.

‘All right!’ Roland said from the centre of the stage. He looked as bad as when I’d seen him a few days back, the only difference being that now his eyes were bright – black and shining. ‘We are The German Genius!’

The pub-goers gave an ironic cheer.

‘And we have a special guest tonight. On bass guitar and vocals, Chrissy McLellan!’

There were a few non-ironic wolf whistles. Chrissy gave a half-bow.