Two days passed. The two slowest days of his life. Minutes felt like weeks; hours like months. He tried to occupy himself. He smoked, he played computer games, he even tried to masturbate, but he felt no desire, had no feeling down there, as if all the nerve endings had shrivelled and died. He exercised endlessly. He drank coffee. He tried to eat but he wasn’t hungry. He felt too sick; there was no saliva in his mouth. He paced up and down.

He checked his emails. There was a message from Paul. He was still in Ibiza, but he had dumped the American and moved on to a local girl. She was beautiful, he said. He might stay in Ibiza for a while longer. He said he hoped everything was OK with him and Kirsty, that he was looking forward to seeing the baby when he got back and that he gladly offered his services as a godfather. He ended the message by saying, If you see Chris and Lucy, say hi to them from me.

Jamie turned the computer off without replying to the message. He unplugged it from the wall.

‘You are so wrong about them, Paul,’ he said to himself. ‘How could you be so wrong?’ It actually scared him – that his best friend didn’t believe what he said about Lucy and Chris. Nobody ever believed him – not Paul, not the police. In fact, the only person who had believed him was Mike: who he had just betrayed.

It was such a mess.

But it would all be sorted out soon.

He picked up the money – 500 £20 notes, bundled together with elastic bands. Somehow he had expected £10,000 to look a lot more substantial. He held the money in his hands and thought about what he could do with it. He could go on a long holiday; maybe go to see Paul in Ibiza, live out there for while. He could live on the money for a few months, pay the bills. He could put it towards moving.

But no, this money was meant for one thing only.

He drove to the East End, parked in a side street off Mile End Road and walked down the road towards the stadium. The sky was slate grey and drizzling rain soaked his face and hair and clothes. He had the money in a carrier bag in his inside coat pocket. His hands were so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers. He shoved them into his pockets, but it didn’t help much.