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calm you down,’ said Jimmy.
    They started into the stuff straight away and there was no going back. Roy attempted to put one gram aside for Munday but Jimmy said, why worry, they could get more later. Roy didn’t ask him where from.
    Roy was glad to see Upton go. He’d be glad, too, to see the end of the chaos that Jimmy had brought with him.
    ‘What are your plans?’ he asked. ‘I mean, what are you going to be doing in the next few days?’
    Jimmy shook his head. He knew what Roy was on about, but ignored him, as Roy sat there thinking that if he was capable of love he had to love all of Jimmy now, at this moment.

    It was imperative, though, that he clear his mind for Munday. The drug got him moving. He fetched a jersey and clean socks for Jimmy, thrust Jimmy’s old clothes into a plastic bag, and, holding them at arm’s length, pushed them deep into the rubbish. He showered, got changed, opened the windows and prepared coffee. 
    *
     
    It was only when Munday, who was ten years younger than him and Jimmy and far taller, came through the door, that Roy realised how spaced he and Jimmy were. Fortunately Clara had said she’d be out that evening. Munday, who had just got off the plane, wanted to relax and talk.
    Roy forced his concentration as Munday explained his latest good news. His business, for which Roy had made many music videos, was in the process of being sold to a conglomerate. Munday would be able to make more films and with bigger budgets. He would be managing director and rich.
    ‘Excellent,’ said Roy.
    ‘In some ways,’ Munday said.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Let’s have another drink.’
    ‘Yes, we must celebrate.’ Roy got up. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
    At the door he heard Jimmy say, ‘You might be interested to hear that I myself have attempted a bit of writing in my time …’
    It was that ‘I myself ’ that got him out.
    Roy went to buy champagne. He was hurrying around the block. Powerful forces were keeping him from his house. His body ached and fluttered with anxiety; he had Aids at least, and, without a doubt, cancer. A heart attack was imminent. On the verge of panic, he feared he might run yelling into the road but was, at that moment, unable to take another step. He couldn’t, though, stay where he was, for fear he might lie down and weep. In a pub he ordered a half but took only two sips. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but he didn’t want to go home.
    Munday and Jimmy were sitting head to head. Jimmy was telling him a ‘scenario’ for a film about a famous ageing film director and a drifting young couple who visit him, to pay homage. After they’ve eaten with him, praised his percipience and vision, admired his awards and heard his Brando stories, they enquire if there is anything they can do for him. The director says he wants to witness the passion of their love-making, hear their conversation, see their bodies, hear their cries and look at them sleeping. The girl and her earnest young man co-operate until … They become his secretaries; they take him prisoner; maybe they murder him. Jimmy couldn’t remember the rest. It was written down somewhere.
    ‘It’s a decent premise,’ said Munday.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Jimmy. 
    *
     
    Munday turned to Roy, who had rejoined them. ‘Where’s this guy been hiding?’
    He was durable and unsubtle, Munday; and, in spite of his efforts, kindness and concern for others were obvious.
    ‘In the pub,’ said Roy.
    ‘Artist on the edge,’ said Jimmy.
    ‘Right,’ said Munday. ‘Too much comfort takes away the hunger. I’ll do this …’ he said.
    He would advance Jimmy the money to prepare a draft.
    ‘How much?’ asked Jimmy.
    ‘Sufficient.’
    Jimmy raised his glass. ‘Sufficient. Brilliant – don’t you think, Roy?’
    Roy said he had to talk to Munday in the kitchen.
    ‘OK,’ said Munday. Roy closed the door behind them. Munday said, ‘Terrific guy.’
    ‘He used to be remarkable,’