There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to die. He fell. Maybe it was no more than thirty feet but it felt like a hundred and more to come. The world and his life flashing before his eyes. He saw Hepburn staring down, eyes wide and mouth open.

Then he hit another of the loops: hard. He heard and felt a loud crack in his leg, pain exploding through him, and something in his chest or ribs went too. He grasped desperately with his right hand and somehow it stuck. Pain surged through his shoulder and he felt something wrench where it shouldn’t as the entire weight of his body was thrown onto a couple of muscles.

Weirdly, it was only then that he was actually frightened, scared that his grip would loosen. The force of the sudden halt caused his body to shudder and swing, nearly wrenching the hand away. He threw up his other arm and held on for his life.

His left leg was broken, he was sure of that. Probably broken ribs too, judging by the fire that was erupting there. He hung on, suspended by a thread of sinew and tissue, and stared wildly at the neon city from the spindly tower that held him up. It was out of focus, just a riot of colours and lights. As he tried to take it all in, he was aware of his breathing - a heavy staccato, coming in reluctant bursts. In his shock and pain all he could do was stare.

From somewhere above him, Euan’s voice broke into his consciousness although he had no idea what he was shouting down. All Winter could concentrate on was not letting go. On not dying. Glasgow swayed before him like a Saturday night drunk and he could feel his consciousness slipping like his foot had done.

He wrapped himself round the beam as best he could and shook his head to keep himself awake. He could not, could not, let go in any sense.

After what might have been one minute or thirty, he heard the nearby metallic clatter of Euan’s feet on the frame. His words filtered through for the first time. ‘Jesus Christ. Hold on, Tony. Are you okay? Fucking hell. Are you okay?’

In seconds, he felt arms on his. They were at once holding him on and pulling him in. Pain surged through his ribs as they were dragged along towards safety. A loud groan burst out of him, the effort of the cry painful in itself. Euan hauled him, reeling him in inch by inch until Winter was able to get one hand then the other onto the makeshift ladder. He clung to it, doing his best to shut out Euan’s questions and apologies. He just wanted to get as much breath back as he could then get off that bloody tower.

‘Take your time, mate. I’ll get you down. Don’t worry. I’ll get you down. Christ, I’m sorry, Tony.’

‘I’ll get myself back down. Don’t you worry. Just stay out my way.’

The climb back down was slow and agonizing. All his weight had to be taken on his arms and one leg, hopping and dropping from one hold to the next, pain ripping through him at every movement. At the foot of the tower he slid onto his haunches, the ground soaking wet beneath him, trying to let his breathing settle and his anger subside. He was soaked in sweat and rain. And he was shaking like a leaf.

Euan stood over him, his face crumpled. ‘I thought . . . Jesus, I thought . . .Thank God you’re—’

‘Euan?’

‘Yes?’

‘Get me to a hospital then fuck off and leave me alone.’

Chapter 27

The image on Winter’s laptop was of the Glasgow Tower. An OtherWorld poster had climbed it a few months earlier and his photographs were there for all to see. It brought everything flooding back. The fall, the pain, the guilt, the blame.

His leg had indeed been broken and so had three ribs. They healed in time but his friendship with Euan Hepburn never did.

Blaming Euan for the fall was easier than taking responsibility for his own recklessness in climbing the tower that night. No one had actually made him do it, that was the truth, but it wasn’t the truth as he saw it at the time.

He’d been mad at him. Furious. Winter had been in no doubt that he was going to die and the fall had scared the shit out of him. No way he’d have gone up there but for the goading. No way he’d have climbed in the pouring rain but for Euan. He’d convinced himself it was all his fault. Every bit of pain when he eventually tried to walk, every bit of discomfort when he breathed, that was all because of Euan.

What really got him though was the realization of what almost happened. He could live with the broken leg and the ribs, the severe bruising to his wrist and face, the bang to his knee. But when it was quiet and no one was around, the thought of how close he’d been to dying sneaked into his head and scared him again.

Euan had been distraught but that had just made Winter angrier. He shut him out, refusing to see him in hospital, not taking his calls. He sent one text to say that he wouldn’t be urbexing again because he, Euan, had killed his interest. Euan had been eaten up with guilt and wanted Winter to take that away from him but he wouldn’t let him off lightly. In fact, he didn’t let him off at all.

Maybe he would have done eventually and maybe he wouldn’t but he never got the chance. Euan moved to London to get away from it all. It just made Winter angrier at him, feeling Euan had taken away his right to forgive him or be mad at him. He made up his mind not to get in touch and the pair never spoke again.

It took him a long time, maybe even years, to realize that he’d been angry at himself rather than Euan. That he’d been the one at fault and he should have been strong enough to just say no, not tonight. He was angry at his own fear and his own failings. By the time he recognized that, it was too late.

Sitting now at his laptop, the OtherWorld page open in front of him, he knew that the nasty truth wasn’t that he stopped urbexing because he and Euan had fallen out. He fell out with Euan so that he wouldn’t have to urbex again. He’d lost his nerve. Certainly for heights but probably also for any of it. He’d been more scared than he could admit. The thought of being up somewhere like the tower again made his stomach turn. That was natural enough but to bin a friendship because of it and let Euan take the hit was something he’d always be ashamed of.

He’d thought that falling out with Euan was the price he’d paid for stopping exploring. It wasn’t. The price was his friend’s life. If he’d been with him, the chances were that his death in the Molendinar would never have happened.

All these years it had been locked away and now he had no choice but to open it. He owed it to Euan Hepburn.

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled hard, looked at the website in front of him and typed.

Hi PencilPusher. It’s been a long time. I’ve been out of the scene but back and raring to go. Where’s good these days? My name’s Tony, by the way.

Chapter 28

Thursday afternoon

Laidlaw’s was a shabby-fronted pub on a battered side street in the Calton in the city’s East End. Its lack of a makeover or even a fresh lick of paint in the previous twenty years was by choice rather than shortage of funds. The faded blue décor, the rust and the scruffy sign were designed to be as much deterrent to new customers as they were comfort to the existing ones. It didn’t say welcome, it shouted leave us alone.