‘Sort of.’

‘I don’t want any needles in the house.’

‘I’m not that bad,’ he said. He sounded slightly offended. I didn’t ask any further than that. I thought it was just a visit. We made arrangements for the weekend, then I put the phone down.

I was living with Sandra at the time. I’d had a great time in Australia and South-East Asia. Bicycling is the only way to travel. I used to go down regularly to the New Forest when mountain bikes first came on the market and I knew at once I’d seen the future of cycling. South-East Asia was only the first step. I’m going to do India next.

I’d often thought of Tar when I was over there. He’d have loved every second of it. I used to think of the last time I’d seen him and what he’d said to me, ‘I don’t have to run away to Asia to have a good time, Richard.’

I was sitting on this fallen statue in Thailand at the edge of a ruined temple in the jungle. I’d slept on the beach, had a swim and cycled through the jungle for fifteen miles. There were huge butterflies everywhere, big as birds. I thought, I know where I’d rather be…

Then when I got back I went to live in Birmingham for a bit. I had friends in Birmingham, but it’s a city I’d never lived in before. That’s where I met Sandra. She was living in the same house as my friends and we started to have an affaire du coeur. Unfortunately I’m not very good at that sort of thing. Then she got a place in college at Reading. Reading! I must have been mad! I went and interviewed at a bike shop there and they offered me the job.

That’s life. I came back thinking I’d earn enough money to get off to India fairly quickly. Instead I ended up with Sandra in a flat in Woodley. The worst of it was, Sandra liked it.

I keep falling in love but it always makes me unhappy, I’ve no idea why. When I told Sandra about Tar she was very disapproving. I tried to tell her what a lovely person he was, what a hard time he’d had as a child, all that. It wasn’t as though she’s unsympathetic, actually, but only professionally. Her course was for working with handicapped kids. She was doing work experience with some very badly handicapped kids and it had a very high burn-out rate. By the weekend the last thing she wanted was work at home.

‘Junkies are bad news,’ she announced. I suppose after dealing with people with those sorts of problems, addiction looked a bit self-induced.

I told her what he’d said.

‘What’s “sort of” supposed to mean?’ she wanted to know.

I had a good idea.

The heroin covered that up soon enough but I kept getting little glimpses. He’d look shyly at me out of the corner of his eye, or a slow smile would spread over his face and I’d think the old Tar was still in there somewhere.

The evening started off not too bad. He told me about the bust. I thought it was very noble of him to go in when the place was crawling with pigs and take the rap. And he talked about the detox centre. I think he got a lot from it but Sandra wasn’t impressed.

‘Obviously you didn’t get enough from it,’ she said. It wasn’t very comfortable. She went up to bed early on but I stayed up with Tar rapping. He had a lot to say about junk and getting off it. It all sounded very sensible to me. I thought he was okay.

I went up to bed about an hour later and Sandra was furious.

‘I want him out of the house first thing in the morning,’ she said. I couldn’t believe it.

‘Why?’

‘He’s just bombed out of his head, that’s all.’

‘No, he told me he’s been clean for a month…’

‘He says! Didn’t you see his eyes?’

‘He wasn’t… was he?’ And even as I said that I knew it was true. He’d been getting more and more dopey and his pupils had been getting smaller and smaller. I’d been smoking so I hadn’t really noticed, but looking back he was bombed out of sight. If it wasn’t heroin it was something very similar.

‘His pupils were like pinheads,’ said Sandra in disgust.

‘I’ll have a word with him,’ I promised at last. ‘But don’t boot him out. He’s a friend of mine. Please.’ She snorted and rolled over in the duvet. But she didn’t make me chuck him out.

‘Not feeling well?’ I said.

‘A bit ‘fluey,’ said Tar. The number of times I’ve heard him and his friends talk about being ‘a bit ‘fluey’.

‘Oh, yes?’ I said.

‘Really.’ He looked me in the face. ‘I really have got a bit of ‘flu, really,’ he insisted seriously. He swallowed a mouthful of Paracetamol.

I didn’t say anything. He was so convincing but Sandra had burst the bubble. I thought, Well, if he doesn’t want to admit it, that’s his business. Actually that’s not true. What I was really thinking was, oh dear, more trouble. Because if Sandra found out he was coming down… oh dear.

Sandra and I hadn’t been getting on well for weeks. Ever since we moved to Reading, actually. We split up a few months later. Not a very good atmosphere for poor Tar to come off heroin in.

I was hoping when we got out in the fresh air by the water he’d feel better, but we went back home. Sandra still had loads to do. I was getting annoyed about it. From what I could gather she’d been on the phone to her mum all morning, she didn’t seem to have done anything at all while we’d been out. I suggested Tar and I go on our own, but no, she wouldn’t have that either. So we had to hang about while she got the ironing board out. I could see it was going to take ages, so I went to load the washing machine in the kitchen to try and speed things up.

I was thinking about having a word with her and telling her that I thought he was coming down and that we ought to be helping him, when suddenly there was Tar behind me pulling his coat on.

‘Where are you off to?’ I asked.

‘I’m going back.’

‘What for?’

Tar shrugged. His eyes drifted across the floor. ‘I need to go back,’ he said. ‘Can you lend me the bus fare? I’ve left myself with no money.’

‘Oh…’ I felt I was letting him down. ‘Is it Sandra?’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with her, I don’t blame her at all, I just have to get back…’

‘Why?’

Tar looked away from me, at the fridge, at the wall opposite. ‘I’m coming down, I’m doing cold turkey, but I can’t go through with it. I want to go back and get some heroin,’ he said. And he looked at me and shrugged.

I said, ‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘I just thought I’d give it a go and it’d happen, but I’m not making it. I have to go back.’

‘But you said you’d been clean for a month.’

‘I didn’t want to tell you I was coming down. Look.’ He spread his hands open. ‘Can’t you lend me the money? I’ll only hitch home if you don’t.’

‘What were you on last night?’

‘That was downers. I took some barbs along to help me through the first night, but they’re gone now. I can’t do it, Richard, I’m sorry, I can’t do it. Not this time.’

I started trying to talk him out of it, telling him to think of Gemma, telling him how well he was doing, which we both knew was a pack of lies. He hadn’t even made it through one day and, in fact, I was appalled at how bad he was. I was still going on at him when Sandra came in.

She stood and looked at us, Tar in his coat.

‘What’s going on?’ she said.

‘Tar wants to go back. He’s been trying to come off it on this visit.’

Sandra just snorted. She turned her back and went to the washing machine and began to go through the clothes I’d loaded.

‘I’d better go,’ said Tar, and he made for the door.

‘Wait…’

I could have killed her. He was coming to see me because he thought I might be able to help him, he was my friend. He was still just a kid! If she decided she didn’t want to help, I might as well give him the money now, except I’d have an argument on my hands about that as well.

He got to the door when Sandra came back in. ‘How long have you been off it?’ said Sandra.

Tar turned at the door to look at her. ‘Just one day,’ he said.

‘What about last night?’ she said.

‘That was barbiturates,’ I said quickly. ‘He took some to help him get over the first night but they’re gone now.’

Sandra snorted softly.

Tar said, ‘You’re right, I’m just a junkie. I’m just a junkie and I just want to get back and get on with…’

And as he said this his face began to crumple up. He began to cry. As he started to cry he turned and ran out of the room.

I was shocked. He’d looked so cool. I stared at Sandra. She looked at me and suddenly, she ran out after him. He was at the door fumbling with the lock and Sandra threw herself on him and she grabbed his shoulder and spun him round, tall bloke though he was, and fixed him with a hug. She just wrapped her arms round him so hard he couldn’t move and hugged him and hugged him. I stood and watched his face over her shoulder. It was terrible. He cried and cried, he couldn’t stop. Αll the strength fell out of him. When she let him go he sank to his knees and then lay down on his side, his face in his hands, and he cried and he cried and he cried.

‘I’m just a junkie, I’m just a junkie, I’m just a junkie,’ he said, over and over and over. Sandra lay down next to him and put her arms around him. I got down too and lay half on top of him.

‘I’m just a junkie, I’m just a junkie,’ he said. He tried to get up but we held him down. I put my arms around him. I was crying too. Tar lay there underneath us both and wept.

Then we discussed what to do – me and Sandra, that is. Tar just sat there and watched us. Whether we should get to a doctor and try to get him on a methadone script, whether we should give him some money and pack him away on holiday somewhere. I have to hand it to Sandra – she’d have given over her life savings to save him once she came round to his side.

The trouble was, Tar wouldn’t have any of it. The tears had stopped, but he was as stubborn as a mule. He was going back to get some heroin. That was all. He wouldn’t agree to anything else. When she asked him if he wanted to go on holiday to Spain or somewhere, on us, he just said if we gave him any money he’d go straight back to Bristol and spend it on heroin, so it would be better for us not to.

All he wanted us to do was lend him the bus fare. In the end we decided to put off any big decisions and just go for that walk. At least he might feel better by the river. We could go to a pub and get a few drinks down him. But time was getting on and we decided we’d better have some lunch first.

We went to get it ready. I was in a right mess. I was appalled at what had happened. But one thing – he was himself again. He’d come back, all open and helpless, and I suppose that’s what won Sandra round in the end. But it was so sad, because it was being himself that he found so difficult to cope with.

We chopped vegetables and talked about what to do.

Sandra, bless her, wanted him to stay as long as he needed to. I remember standing there beaming to myself with pleasure and thinking, It’s the first time I’ve done this for weeks.

But when we went through with the food he was gone.

We ran round the house but his bag was gone from his room. I ran out on to the road but I couldn’t see him. I went one way, Sandra went another, but he was nowhere. So we ran back into the house, grabbed our keys and made for the car.

‘He can’t be at the bus station, he hasn’t got any money,’ I said.

Sandra said, ‘We’d better check my purse and your wallet.’ I just looked at her, but she was right, he was desperate enough. We ran back in and Sandra spent ten minutes looking for her purse, but she found it in the end. The money was all there.

‘He must be hitching.’

We jumped into her old Renault and headed off towards the motorway junction.

We got to the roundabout – no one there. We stopped and got out of the car to see if he’d spotted us and hidden on the slip road, but he was definitely not there.

Then I realised: ‘The other roundabout…’

There are two in Reading.

‘But that’s miles away.’

‘Yes, but that’s where he got dropped off when he came, that’s where I picked him up. He might not even know about this one.’

So off we went again. We got on to the motorway and drove up to the next turn-off. We drove around that roundabout, but he wasn’t there either. We got off the roundabout and drove back in towards town.

He was walking down the road towards the junction. He didn’t try and hide. We pulled up, jumped out and ran towards him. Tar put down his bag and waited for us.

‘Got you!’ I grinned. He smiled back wanly. I think he was pleased to see us.

Well, we argued and argued all over again. Tar wasn’t interested. All he was willing to talk about was whether we were going to lend him the bus fare or whether he was going to hitch. It went on for ten minutes or more, but gradually it began to sink in on me – there was nothing we could say or do. He’d already given up in his mind.

‘But you can do it, other people do it,’ Sandra kept saying.

‘It’s no worse than a dose of ‘flu,’ I reminded him.

‘And I can’t even cope with that,’ said Tar.

I sort of understood. That was how worthless he felt. It was poison and you knew it was poison. Maybe it was just like the ‘flu, maybe it was even easy to stop, but he couldn’t do even that.

‘I’m going back to Bristol to get some heroin. You can’t stop me. All you can do to help me is lend me the money to get back on the bus.’

‘We’re not lending you anything,’ said Sandra.

Tar must have seen in my face what I was thinking. ‘Tell her,’ he said.

And I just shrugged. The thing was, if he hitched back it would be so miserable. It was a lousy day, cold, damp, he wasn’t dressed for it. But he’d freeze and get sodden for the sake of heroin, and what would that achieve? He’d just feel even more worthless and useless than if he caught the bus, because then at least he wouldn’t have to suffer for it.

I tried to explain to Sandra, but she was more or less convinced anyway. He was so sure of himself, if you see what I mean.

‘I can’t give up for you,’ Sandra said, ‘or I would.’ I rummaged in my pockets for the money. He was looking miles better all of a sudden, and I could have kicked him for it.

Then we drove him to the bus station.

We went with him to the station to wave him off. Sandra said, ‘Come back soon, any time you want to try again.’

‘Any time at all,’ I said firmly.

‘Any time at all,’ she agreed.

Tar nodded his thanks and moved towards the bus. We stopped him to give him a goodbye hug and he waited while we did that. Then he climbed on board and the bus drove him off.