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“I won’t hurt him,” Norma promised.

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

Mossy was frying steak and onions when the bell rang. Sam stood at the front door, nervous and a little shaky.

“You look like a dead man,” Mossy said, without concern.

The door swung open and Sam followed him inside. “I’m wondering if you have anything to buy,” he said.

Mossy lit a cigarette and resumed cooking. “Be specific.”

“Drugs.”

“I thought you were clean,” Mossy said, turning to stare at him.

Sam’s legs were threatening to give way. He sat down on a hard chair with his head in his hands. “I am. I just haven’t been sleeping. I need to sleep,” he said, in a voice that almost begged.

“I don’t sell,” Mossy said.

“Please,” Sam muttered.

Mossy took his pan off the heat. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking time to scratch his head. “All I’ve ever done is hash,” he said.

“OK,” Sam said.

“I don’t feel good about this.”

“It’s just hash. I want to sleep.”

“I’ll give you enough for two joints and then you’re on your own.”

“Thanks.”

Mossy cut a small piece from his stash, took out some papers and two cigarettes. “I suppose you know how to roll?”

“Yes.”

“Right so,” Mossy said. He handed Sam the contraband.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Mossy said. “We both know you’re fucking yourself up.”

Sam left without another word.

Mary lay on the sofa with Mr Monkels’s head on her lap. She had drifted into sleep during That ’70s Show but woke an hour later with panic rising. Everything within her told her to go next door. She lifted Mr Monkels off her legs. He moaned and moved to take up the entire sofa.

She knocked on Sam’s door but received no answer. She knocked on the window and still nothing. She knew Sam was inside and every fibre of her screamed that something was wrong. She went back into her own home. In the kitchen she opened the french windows. She fetched a chair and dragged it outside. She placed it against the wall and levered herself over and into her neighbour’s garden. The back door was open. She slipped into the empty kitchen. She went to the sitting room but he was not there. Upstairs, his bedroom door was open, but the room was empty. The bathroom door was closed. She tried to open it, but it was locked.

“Sam!” she called.

“Go away.”

“No!”

“Please go away!”

“Come out!” she said.

“I can’t,” he said. She heard him flick a lighter.

“Sam, please don’t give up!”

“I’m not strong like you.”

“I’m not strong like me! Please come out!” She sensed his terror – and that he wanted to tell her something desperately but didn’t know where to start. She sat on the floor, leaning against the door. “Just tell me,” she said, after the longest time.

“I can’t,” he said, as though he’d been expecting the question.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll hate me.”

“I’ve never told anyone this.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to have an abortion,” she said. “That night on the mountain I told Robert I was pregnant and I wanted an abortion. He wanted to keep it. We argued and he died. When I woke up full of baby, I hated it. I wished it would die. Every day in that hospital and through rehab and right up until he was born I wished my son would die.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “And then he did die… Do you hate me?” she asked.

“No. That wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

Sam was silent for a minute or two, but Mary waited and her patience paid off. “It was the night I overdosed,” he said.

She sat perfectly still, afraid that the slightest stir would stall the tale.

“There was this dealer, a guy I knew from school. I’d bumped into him a few weeks before. He was a junkie too. He sold to feed his own habit. He was a loser ! He’d said he’d fix me up if I ever got stuck. My guy had been lying low. I didn’t want to use him. I fucking hated him but I was desperate. I went to his place. He lived in some shithole in the Bronx on the third floor. It took a while to make the stairs. I hadn’t banged up in a while.”

Sam