Magnificent Joe by James Wheatley

and someone had a point to prove. I was so scared I just stood there and let him do it. I never let it happen again, and I’m not going to start now.’
    â€˜It’s different out here. You’re not in prison anymore, and I don’t want to see you go back there. You need to leave all that stuff behind.’
    Jim stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground.
    â€˜Come on, Jim. It’s over now.’
    â€˜Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.’
    â€”
    Later that evening, they’d all had a lot to drink, and they were in a club. Jim leaned against the bar and watched as Geoff danced self-consciously. He was trying to bump ’n’ grind with the girls, most of whom looked horrified and quickly left his vicinity. Eventually, he found a fat bird who didn’t mind his attentions and soon they were frotting in a corner.
    Barry was propped up next to Jim, insensible with drink. He still had a pint gripped in his hand and looked like he was trying to climb into the glass headfirst.
    â€˜It always ends up like this,’ Jim muttered to himself. He thought glumly of the cost of the taxi home, and decided to drink more to take the edge off it. Then he became dimly aware of a tugging at his sleeve.
    Jim looked round and blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him. He was drunker than he had thought.
    â€˜Hello. It’s me.’ It was a girl. She was shouting to be heard over the music.
    â€˜What?’ Jim leaned into her so that they were ear to mouth. She smelled of perfume and vodka.
    â€˜I spilled your drinks. I’m sorry.’
    Jim squinted at her. He recognized her now and tried to smile. She tried to smile back. She was supporting herself with one hand against the bar. ‘It’s all right,’ he yelled. ‘I’m dry now.’
    She motioned towards the dance floor and took him by the hand.
    â€”
    Later, Jim would be unable to remember how they got to her house or even what her name was. He woke up at dawn, huddled in a bus stop, with a vague sense that something unpleasant had happened. There was vomit on his jeans that he knew wasn’t his own. He looked at the timetable; he could get a bus home.
    When the bus arrived, the driver looked at Jim sceptically. ‘Rough night?’
    Jim just paid and went and lay down on the back seat. There was hardly anyone else aboard, and the thrum of the engines lulled him back into a drunken doze.
    When he got home, he went straight for a piss and saw himself in the bathroom mirror. There was a mark under his eye. Not quite a bruise, but something or someone had definitely hit him there. Then he remembered the girl throwing him out of the flat.
    â€˜Fuck,’ he said, and sat down on the toilet seat. Had they had sex? They must have. Mustn’t they? He remembered seeing her naked. He’d said something funny about her nipples and she’d laughed. But then later, she was angry with him, and Jim couldn’t fit the two scenes together. Somehow he’d screwed it up.
    â€˜Fuck,’ he said.
    â€”
    That Monday morning, Barry and Geoff picked up Jim from the corner as usual. He climbed into the van and sat silently, knowing what was coming. It was Geoff who said it.
    â€˜Are you seeing her again?’
    â€˜No.’
    They drove on for a few minutes.
    â€˜Never mind,’ said Barry. ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to live with the stupid cunt for the rest of your life. Take it from me: I know.’
    Jim told him nothing.
    â€”
    That night, Jim was ejected from sleep at about 3 a.m. He stumbled downstairs into the kitchen and smoked at the table, drinking instant coffee. He felt unco-ordinated and numb. His hands shook and it was hard to roll cigarettes. He got tobacco everywhere. He felt like shit, and he couldn’t think of a single good thing.
    â€˜There’s got to be more than this,’ he said out loud.
    â€”
    In the morning, he