Graham Hurley - Cut to Black

On the one hand there was a country flooded with drugs. On the other, nationwide, millions of kids potentially at risk. All Ambrym wanted to do was level the ground in between. No ego trips. No exploitation.

Just the truth.

The girl nodded. She wanted to be convinced, J-J could tell. She was on a media course herself, she understood about documentary work, she'd be more than happy to lend a hand, but still there was something holding her back.

Eadie was pressing her about Daniel. How come he'd got into such trouble with drugs?

"He's a strange man. It's difficult…" She shook her head.

"How do you mean, strange?"

"It's like…" She frowned, hunting for the right phrase. "It's like he's really unstable, you know what I mean? I've been around him now for a couple of years and I've watched him getting worse. It's partly his age, partly the fact he's got so much money. That makes him an outsider at the uni. It shouldn't but it does."

Daniel, she explained, had come to higher education late. His father was a Manchester media lawyer, incredibly successful, incredibly busy.

His parents had divorced when Daniel was ten, and he'd spent his adolescence with an elderly aunt and uncle in Chester. After A levels, in a doomed attempt to break free, he'd gone to Australia where his mother was contemplating the wreckage of her third marriage. The last person she'd wanted to see was her son, and after a couple of years wandering around on a generous allowance from his dad, Daniel had returned to the UK, more introverted than ever. Then came a long period of drift, totally aimless, before he woke up one morning and decided to go to university.

"Here?"

"Bristol. Portsmouth was his third choice."

"What did he want to read?"

"Russian literature. He wanted to be a novelist. He thought the Russian might help."

Sarah had bumped into him one night when she was celebrating a friend's twenty-first. Dan had been sitting by himself in a pub called the Still and West. And he'd been crying.

"Why?" Eadie hadn't touched her coffee.

"I've no idea, not the first. I talked to him a bit, even let him buy me a drink."

"You don't think that was a ploy? Crying?"

"Not at all. Dan doesn't do ploys. He's just not that…" She paused again, looking down at her hands.

"Clever?"

"No, he's clever, definitely, probably too clever. No, he just doesn't do all that manipulative stuff. Maybe that's half the problem."

She'd begun to see more and more of him. Thanks to his rich dad he'd had the flat in Old Portsmouth from the start, and she used to go round for coffee and a chat. He'd made no demands on her, nothing physical, no anguished pleas to stay the night, but at the start of the next academic year she'd found herself with nowhere to live and when he'd offered her the spare bedroom she'd said yes.

"I was grateful. I still am. He saved my life last year. Decent accommodation in this city can be a nightmare."

"And you were close to him?"

"We were friends. Good friends. But that's all."

"And now?"

"We're still good friends."

"You still live there?"

"No." She shook her head. "It became impossible after he got really heavily into the drugs. I couldn't bear it. He's killing himself. He just doesn't care any more. That's hard to take."

"Did you ever score for him?"

The question took her by surprise. So direct.

"Yes," she said at last. "A couple of times I made a phone call, if you call that scoring. It's like pizza really. You phone a number.

Then the stuff just turns up."

"This was recently?"

"No. Back last year before I moved out. Both times he was desperate, just couldn't get anything together. It's pathetic really. I hated it, hated doing it, but it made him better for a bit so I suppose… I dunno…" She shrugged.

"Did you ever try and get him off it?"

"All the time. He knows what I think about drugs."

"What was he using?"

"Heroin. Sometimes cocaine, too, but mainly smack."

"Regularly?"

"Every four hours. I used to count them. He said it was the best friend he'd ever had. Heroin? A friend? Can you believe that?"

"And now? He's still using?"

"Definitely. I go and see him from time to time and it's obvious. I've still got a key to the flat. Dan made me keep it."

"You're absolutely sure he's still using?"

"Yeah. Like I just said, he has to it's the only way he can keep functioning." She paused. "He's got money. He knows how to use a phone. What else do you need?"

Eadie pulled an editing pad towards her and scribbled a note. Sarah looked suddenly alarmed.

"You're not going to…?" She nodded at the pad.

"No, of course not. Memory like a sieve." Eadie looked up. "What about his father?"

"Dan never sees him. His dad pays a standing order every month but that's it."

"Have you ever thought of getting in touch yourself?"

"I did once. He drove down from Manchester, took me out for a meal, told me how worried he was. That was after I'd moved out."

"Did he go and see Daniel?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I checked with Dan later. His dad hadn't even rung."

Eadie finally reached for her coffee. J-J stood behind her, wondering where this story might go next, beginning to understand the kind of cage Daniel Kelly had made for himself.

Sarah was still staring at the notepad. "I'd never have mentioned Dan in the first place," she muttered, 'except he's so articulate. He'd be perfect for what you need. Perfect."

"Is that why you got in touch with us?"

"Partly, yes. But it's more than that. Something has to happen in Dan's life. Something has to give him a shake. He'd be good on your video. He'd be excellent. Maybe that's what he needs."

"Bit of self-respect?"

"Exactly."

The thought prompted a slow nod from Eadie. She put the pad to one side.

"I get the impression that some of this decision's down to you."

"What decision?"

"Whether or not Daniel agrees to be interviewed. Would that be right?"

"Yes, I suppose it would. He has to be the one to say it. It has to come from him in the end. But yes, he's definitely asked my advice."

"So what do you think?"

"Me?" Sarah's eyes strayed to the light stands propped in the corner, to the neat little Sony digital nestling in the open camera box. "I think J-J should go back to the flat again. After I've made a call."

J-J returned to Old Portsmouth within the hour. He didn't have to bother with the entry phone because Daniel was up in the window of his flat, watching the street below. J-J felt the lock give under his fingers and pushed in through the big front door. Daniel was waiting for him upstairs, pale and fretful. His palm was moist when he shook J-J's outstretched hand.

"Sarah phoned," he said at once. "And the answer's yes." J-J reached out to pat him on the shoulder, a congratulatory gesture that made Daniel retreat at once into the safety of the flat. J-J watched his hands, the way they crabbed up and down his bare arms. The insides of both elbows were livid with bruises.

Daniel had something else to say, something important. He fixed J-J with his big yellow eyes. He spoke very slowly, exaggerated lip movements, spelling it out.

"I need a favour."

J-J cocked an eyebrow. What?

"I have to make a phone call but the number won't answer." He stumbled through a clumsy mime. "You understand me?"

Another nod from J-J, more guarded this time.

"I've got an address. I'll call a cab. All you have to do is knock on the door and ask for Terry. Give Terry my name. Tell him Daniel from Old Portsmouth. That's all you have to say. Terry. Daniel from Old Portsmouth. Then we can do the interview. OK?"

J-J glanced down and found himself looking at a fifty-pound note.