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moved out ten days ago. You know how it is, relationship not going anywhere.’
    ‘I’ve had a marriage like that for twenty years. Never thought of moving out though.’
    Sarah gave him a weak smile. She had never met Brian’s wife, who spent most of her time in their Derbyshire ‘weekend’ cottage, but suspected that the marriage was a good one. They had no kids, so why would they stay together otherwise? Sarah had an unfashionably idealistic notion of marriage. Some people stuck together out of fear of being alone, but she would never settle for less than love, for less than she’d once had with Nick.

5

MARCH 1997
    I n prison you spend all your time waiting for the future to begin. Leaving prison wasn’t like when I fall in love or when I have kids or after Labour wins the next election . This future was going to happen. On a set day, you would be released. Until then, you could legitimately put your life on hold.
    Nick had done four years, seven months and eighteen days of an eight year stretch. Five years ago, he’d been pasty-faced and flabby, a packet-a-day smoker, with several joints on top of that. Now he was well built, down to ten slender rollies a day and hadn’t touched draw since a random drugs test cost him three months’ remission.
    His brother was waiting for him at the gates in a yellow taxi with Cane Cars on the side. Nick got into the passenger seat.
    ‘You look well fit, my friend.’
    Nick smiled sheepishly and reached out his arm. The brothers were six years apart, far enough for the two of them not to have been close growing up, near enough for the gap not to matter now. When he went inside, Nick thought he had many friendships far stronger than that with his younger brother. But Joe was the one who kept visiting, who offered him a place to stay on the out. Most of his friends had slipped out of touch by the second year.
    The two men hugged awkwardly over the handbrake.
    ‘Caroline’s cooking something special for you,’ Joe said, enthusiastically. Joe’s wife wouldn’t want him in the house, Nick knew, and who could blame her? But it was only for a few weeks, until he got a place of his own, one his probation officer would have to approve.
    ‘How’s the teaching going?’ Nick asked.
    ‘She’ll be glad to get out for a while,’ Joe said.
    ‘Get out?’ Nick asked. ‘You mean the Easter holidays?’
    Joe didn’t reply. They turned off the ring road.
    ‘This is where we live now,’ Joe said. They entered a hillside estate of 1920s semis with big back gardens. Nick knew his brother had moved while he was inside, but hadn’t realized his new home was so close to the prison where he had begun his sentence.
    ‘Nice place,’ Nick said, as Joe parked the car.
    ‘Still needs painting on the outside,’ his brother told him. ‘You should see what we’ve done inside, though. Come on.’
    The house looked like the early eighties had never ended: stripped pine, original Adams tiles on the floor, framed prints, big patchwork cushions, a cheese plant, a rubber plant and pastel colours on the walls.
    ‘It’s great,’ he told Joe.
    ‘That’s mostly down to Caroline. She’ll be home in half an hour. Want a beer? We’ve got champagne in, but I thought we’d wait until . . .’
    ‘I haven’t had a drink in five years. Best take it easy to begin with.’
    ‘Your liver’ll be in better shape than mine.’ Joe put the kettle on before getting out his gear to roll a spliff.
    Nick stood at the window. Massive Magritte clouds rolled across the sky. A young mother was wheeling a pram on the opposite side of the street. Cars passed. Ordinary life going on. Sweet.
    ‘Here. Let’s have one of these before she gets in.’
    Joe passed the joint so that Nick could start it, then poured the tea. Nick hadn’t had a smoke in so long, he almost refused. He liked having a clear head. But he didn’t want to offend Joe. And what was Nick keeping his head clear for ? The joint flared into