She lifted him out and hugged him. A phrase her dad used to say when she was very young came to her.

‘Good as gold,’ she said. ‘You were good as gold.’

3

Maggie clicked a square red Duplo into place.

‘There,’ she said. ‘A Duplo birthday cake. Let’s sing you a song.’

She sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Max watched her, grinning, and she forced herself to smile back, but it was nearly impossible. She was too on edge, waiting for the scrape that would announce the man’s arrival.

Tears came to her eyes and she reached for her son. He laughed and jumped away, but she beckoned, both hands outstretched.

‘I need a cuddle, Max.’

She was sitting cross-legged and she got to her knees to reach for him. There was a sudden, sharp pain in her calf.

‘Ow!’ she said. ‘What is that?’

She felt under her leg and pulled out a yellow Duplo. It was upside down and the edge had dug into her flesh.

‘Mummy? Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. These things are really hard, Max.’ She ran her finger along the plastic. ‘It’s a good job it’s not sharper.’

And then she looked at him.

‘Max,’ she said. ‘Max, my beautiful, beautiful boy. I think I may have an idea.’

Saturday, 23 June 2018

James

1

James woke up slowly. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. It was stained with water damage. His eyes traced the patterns and he imagined the water dripping through into the room.

He licked his lips. Fuck, he was thirsty.

He sat up on his mattress – he’d had a bed but at some point it had gone, probably sold – and got to his feet. There was a bolt of pain in his ankle.

‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘What the fuck was that?’

He looked down at his feet. His right ankle was swollen, a dark bruise running up the inside of his foot. He tried some weight on it and the pain came again. When had that happened? It must have been last night. He must have fallen and twisted it. He wouldn’t have felt it. Heroin had that effect. It blotted everything out.

Everything.

It made you feel as though you were hovering outside of the world watching what was going on. Nothing was happening to you. You were merely an observer. A happy, blissed-out observer.

But not now. Now his ankle throbbed with pain.

He was still wearing the jeans – grey, loose around his thighs, the crotch stained with God knew what – and hooded top he had worn the night before. He was barefoot, though; maybe he’d stripped off his socks after he’d buggered up his ankle.