‘At my mum’s. Looking for something permanent. Thought you might want to give me my old room back, but looks like it’s taken. Anyway, let’s celebrate.’ He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket. ‘Borrowed a few quid from the old woman,’ he said. ‘And got this.’

He emptied the bag on to the coffee table. There was a small vial of liquid and a needle.

‘Oh,’ Carl said. ‘You’re a bad man, Davy Simpson. I’ve not been near that stuff for a few years. And I don’t want to go back.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Davy said. ‘You always want to. You might tell yourself you don’t, but that’s bollocks.’

James looked at Carl. He was staring at the bag with yearning in his eyes.

He swallowed and rolled up his sleeve. ‘Come on then,’ Carl said, his voice low. ‘Let’s celebrate.’

4

It was – what? Like getting drunk but ten times better? A hundred times? A thousand?

Definitely, but it was more than simply better. It was different. It made you feel perfect, flawless, like nothing could touch you. And it was so quick. There’d been the prick of the needle and then he had felt it rushing through every cell in his body and pointing them all in the same direction.

All the thoughts and questions and worries that had been running around his head dissolved. Should he have said yes to Penny? Was his job how he wanted to spend his life? Was the hole inside him, the Maggie-shaped hole, ever going to be filled in?

All gone. None of it mattered. All the anxiety and sadness and conflict – gone. Vanished, in an instant. Replaced by bliss, and the knowledge that he was safe and nothing could hurt him. He’d been happy, for the first time in years.

He’d woken and his first thought had been of the heroin and he’d smiled. For a while, he lay in bed, watching the sun stream in through the gap in the curtains. It was a lovely summer day. He could go for a walk. Head up to the countryside. Maybe hike up Kinder Scout and look down on Manchester below. He imagined lying on the rocks, feeling their warmth against his back, the sound of a brook lulling him to sleep, a gentle breeze keeping him cool. Or maybe sit and read the paper in his garden with a cup of tea.

Maybe call Penny and say, Sorry about yesterday, do you still want a drink?

No. Why bother? That was too complicated. Too difficult. Too risky. Something might go wrong.

He knew what he wanted. He wanted that feeling again.

He’d be back in work Monday, but why not spend one weekend happy? It wasn’t like he’d get addicted. You couldn’t get addicted doing it twice.