When I arrived in the city, it felt like nothing had changed. Some places have a character, a feel, that doesn't change over decades but over centuries: the city was one of those places - though physically it was different, it still felt the same, and smelled the same. The air was still and cold - winter was coming - and the smell of processing oils hung in the air. I breathed in deep - it had been a long time and I was amazed how much I'd missed it. I checked into a hotel in the city centre, and after dumping off all my gear, walked the couple of miles to the docks. The smell grew stronger, the rattle of the ancient trains clattered in the distance and it started to rain - a thin, grey drizzle - and I couldn't help but grin.

The dockside had changed and not changed in the years I'd been away: there were new shops, bars, clubs and dens, but for all their newness they were just the same as the shops, bars, clubs and dens they'd replaced. New names, same atmosphere. It was like a playground and I spent the next couple of weeks barely looking for Julia but renewing my acquaintance with the place. My accent - which had acquired a nasty New York twang - slipped back to normal, my clothes changed to fit back in, I hung around bars and clubs, listening to gossip and picking up the vibes and the new jive. I felt alive. In fact, I'd only just begun to think about looking for Julia when, sitting in a bar near Castlereagh dockside, I saw a group of people, dealing and laughing. One of them was wearing one of Julia's T- shirts.

Wearing one of Julia's T-shirts might not seem so much, but it was a special one. Julia had peculiar tastes in music and clothing and she and I seemed like the only people in the world to still like a particular clapped out, depressing old folk singer, long dead from his own excesses. For her birthday, can't remember which one, I'd got a T-shirt done, a screen print from one of his disc covers on a black background. She'd loved it and it was unique. And here was someone else wearing it.

The group got up and made for the door and I quickly downed my beer, took an upper to keep me alert and followed at a distance. They were not difficult to follow as they meandered through the streets and alleyways, stopping off to talk to people, to glance in shop windows, and I followed relentlessly the one in the T-shirt, as one-by- one the others split off and hurried off as a fine drizzle started and quickly turned into a downpour. I stopped when we came to a building: an old warehouse to the centre of the docks near a long disused rail station, near the oil processing factory. My quarry had gone in and I hesitated before following, but fingering my needler inside my coat for reassurance, I went in.

The inside of the building stank of piss and despair: the first floor landing opened out onto a bare warehouse floor. It was empty and my footsteps echoed on the stone as I stepped in. I stopped for a second, my heart beating, everything was silent... then a muffled sob came from the far end of the floor and I dashed towards it, between the tall sandstone pillars to a cabin at the far end. The noise was not from Julia but from a small dog sitting at what - I presumed - was the head of a ragged figure lying on the floor, Gingerly I pulled the rags back and then stood back quickly. The stiff was dead - had been for days - and the face was frozen into a rigor mortis of fear and surprise; a spent ampoule, coated with yellow slime, lay at their side. My nose crinkled at the smell and I started to walk away. The dog gave a little bark and then sat down again. I sighed and went back to the landing and up the stairs again: they were old and creaked but I stepped up the side so they would make less noise and anyway the noise from one of the rooms up the stairs would have drowned me out: a couple were arguing at the tops of their voices - screeching and cursing at each other; throwing things against the wall; I heard the smash of glass and another curse. From the voices I guessed it wasn't who I was looking for and kept going.

A couple more flights up proved more hopeful: the door from the landing was slightly ajar and I glanced in to see a relatively tidy, spacious apartment. There was no-one in sight but I noticed, a chill running down my spine, the computer equipment littered all over the far end of the room: Julia's computer equipment. The upper I'd taken a little before had started to show its full effect: energy, alertness, aggression, paranoia, jitteryness - I felt like my whole body was tingling, but that's what I'd wanted, I guess.

I walked in slowly and quietly, or so I thought - obviously not quietly enough for a voice came from a room off the main.

"Is that you, sweetheart?" I stopped and my quarry came out from the room, rubbing her hair dry with a greying towel. I pulled my needler from my coat, and wiped my hand dry on the side of my jeans,

"Where's Julia?" I asked. She looked up, startled, "Where's Julia? Tell me now you fuckin' cow..." I strode towards her and held the needler against her chin, pointing it upwards towards her brain. She fainted.

I didn't want to wake up but I didn't have much choice. I regained consciousness to find I was lying on the sofa, but I kept my eyes closed. I could feel the intruder sitting close by, smell the damp wool of his sweater, hear the soft hush of his breath. I just wanted him to go away.

"I know you're awake, so you might as well open your eyes." He said, and I couldn't deny it, so I opened my eyes slowly. He was sitting on Julia's computer chair, his feet up on a coffee table, cradling the needler in his hands. If we'd met in other circumstances I could have taken quite a liking to him, if looks counted alone: he was in his early twenties with longish dark hair and a pale, elegant face; clear, blue eyes; his black jeans, sweater and jacket covered an athletic body; he had beautiful hands, like Julia's

I was surprised - I'd never had such an effect on anyone before - the woman was scared, a waxen gleam accentuated the whiteness of her skin: though I guess I would be scared too if I was staring down the muzzle of a needler gun - nasty things, choose the right needle and you could do a lot of damage. She was only young: a couple of years older than me at the most, and it was strange but all I couldn't help thinking "there but for the grace of god go I..." I'd known so many other cheap hustlers, nobodies scraping for scraps cast aside from those more privileged and I might have been one of them if it hadn't been for Julia. I shuddered. The woman was asking me who I was: her voice small and faint; she started to plead; I remained impassive, though my heart was racing; could she know where Julia was?

"I'm looking for Julia" my voice was soft and I tried to make it menacing, but the upper made my heart race and it was difficult to show calm. She didn't reply. "You, fucker... tell me where Julia is? Do you want to die? I could kill you now..." I slipped the safety catch off the needler, "but then I might not..." It was pitiful to see the glimmer of hope in her face, "depends on whether she's still alive..." The girl nodded her head vigourously, her mouth opening and closing.

"'Course she's alive. Who do you think I thought it was coming in, eh? I don't know where she is, but she should be here..."

"Lucky you then" I grabbed one of her hands: it was slick with sweat, "cos I'm going to come back" I squeezed a little "and if she ain't here..." a little more "I'm going to make sure you hurt..." I felt one of the fingers break, heard a faint crunch at the knuckles: she winced with pain and, when I let go, pulled her hand back sharply and cradled it. "Do you think you could hustle with no hands, could you manage on the streets with your hands cut to pieces, tiny little pieces...?" She was staring at her hands now, like an animal in a trap. I stood up,

"I need to tell my friend, so he can come here, to see her. Don't tell her I was here - it'll be a surprise..." I stepped out of the door, and then stopped, and turning said,

"And don't think of running, 'cos don't think there's anywhere you can hide."

As I left the apartment I was shaking. I've never been much good at that sort of thing: threatening people and getting out information has always been Sergei's job, but Sergei wasn't there and I'd had to make do. I fretted though, worrying that the woman might tell Julia and the two of them go running. I thought about going back to the apartment and staying until Julia came back but I needed to call Alex and tell him and anyway... perhaps I actually wanted to give Julia the chance to run. I wasn't like Alex, I told myself: if Julia wanted to run then OK, but I just wanted to know she was safe - it was the pain of not- knowing that hurt me.

So I walked away and walked and walked: over the railtracks, through narrow terraced streets where kids played footie and dogs raced around my ankles, until I came to a park - a wide open space of green in this sewer of a city. It was bounded by railings and closed so I went round a little way from the road and hopped over the fence - just like when I was a kid and came to Stanny park to drink cheap strong lager and smoke dope with my mates. But my mates were all long gone and anyway the old memories were painful, so I sat in the encroaching gloom and stared at my mobile. I should've phoned Alex, let him know Julia was alive, but

In the end, what decided me was the thought of Alex, so cold, so hard, breaking down in tears when he came back from Istanbul the other week without her, and so, with a sigh, I punched in the number and told him the news.

Julia didn't come back that night and I sat up, alone, in the dark, nursing my hand, waiting for her. By the time the dawn sun rose and shone through the attic window to the east I was too numbed by exhaustion to be scared anymore. So I stood and watched the city by the first light: it was beautiful - pastel shades making hazy the landmarks I knew so well - the RC cathedral, the deserted telecom tower, the sandstone cathedral on the hill, the tower of the swank hotel on the south eastern seafront - they were all part of home and I was too scared to leave them, too scared to stay. I needed Julia, but she wasn't there, and I didn't want to run without her.

I mooched around the attic for a bit, and still she didn't come back, so I spent the day packing what gear I could and waiting. I was so tense by the evening that when I heard footsteps on the stairs, I knew it had to be the man coming back and started racing excuses through my head. I hardly registered the sound of the key in the door and when Julia came in I flung myself into her arms and broke down in tears.

It took quite a while for Julia to get me to stop crying and tell her what was going on, but she listened quietly as I told her of the previous day's visitor and his threats, nodding occasionally and smiling once. As I told her, I knew she knew the man and demanded that she tell me who he was, why he'd threatened us - she smiled and mumbled, almost as if to herself:

"He's not very good at that kind of thing - I'm amazed Alex let him come here, alone" she looked up at me, her voice a little stronger, "He didn't mean to frighten you, I guess it's just his way of showing fraternal concern..." I didn't know what she meant, so I asked and she laughed as I blushed, "He's my brother."

Alex is on his way: I'm picking him up at the airport in a hire car and then he's coming here - he's never visited the city before, and I am nervous.

Julia won't run. I begged and I pleaded but she won't even leave the apartment. She says it's too late, and anyway, she's tired of running. Me, I'm not tired of living and if it weren't for her I would've got up and left right then, but I guess I wanted to see it through til the end. The knock on the door didn't come that night and Julia and I crashed to bed, exhausted. I didn't sleep but Julia did: I could tell from the even rise and fall of her body as she breathed - I thought I'd got to know it well in the last couple of months - and the faint mumbling sounds she made when she was dreaming.

I must have fallen asleep eventually cos next I knew I was awake and Julia had gripped my arm, tight till her knuckles were white. I turned over to face her and immediately knew something was wrong: her body, her pale face, was covered in sweat and her breathing was shallow and fast; every so often she would clench her teeth in a rictus of pain.

"Help me..." she panted and closed her eyes to cry out. The word she shouted was quite obvious, "Alex...". I scrambled from bed and quickly pulled on jeans and T-shirt and pulled my hair back off my face.

"What the fuck's happening, Ju?" I was screaming, panicked and desparate, "D'you need a fix?" I started to scrabble about in Julia's things for her hypos and gear, found them and moved over to the bed to inject her. Julia's hand slammed out and knocked the hypo from my hand: the ampoule span through the air and smashed in a tinkle of glass and the ooze of clear liquid again the wall.

"No, no, no, no, no..." Julia screamed.

"What the fuck is going on?" I twirled round in fright to see two men standing in the doorway to our bedroom. One was the man from the previous day: he, a frown on his face, rushed in and slid to his knees by Julia's bedside; the other, the one who had spoken, was tall with short blond hair, a tanned, scarred face and eyes, grey and cold as steel. He terrified me without even needing to speak.

"What the fuck is going on?" He repeated, his voice harder now, "Why? Why did you let her, you silly fuck? Why're you letting her kill herself?" His face contorted in rage and he grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what he was going on about.

"I don't, I don't..." I couldn't get the words out, but from somewhere they came. I was angry, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about... now let go of me" and I grabbed hold of his arms with my good hand and tried to loosen his grip. He let go and moved over to Julia: his eyes were wet with tears - rage, sorrow, or self-pity, I don't know - and held her like he'd held me.

"You silly, selfish bitch... why?" He turned to me,

"She's dying... she's fucking killing herself..." I interrupted,

"Look, I know about the drugs, you know - I don't know what they are, but there must be some detox programme or something? I'm not stupid, we've been together for ages now... I know Julia, she wants to live." Even saying it, I wasn't sure but I said it anyway.

"You don't know fuck."

The man named Alex was right, I didn't know fuck, as he angrily explained to me: Julia was dying, had at most a couple of years to live if she was careful - the drugs were to control it, not the cause. But Julia wasn't careful and had conceived a child and was having it here, now in our bedroom, way, way too early. Giving birth, Alex told me grimly, would probably kill Julia. I broke down in tears.

I should have guessed, should have known - the sloppy jumpers, the weight gain were the signs, but I'd just presumed them all part and parcel of the drug addiction I'd assumed she was caught by. I still couldn't believe it but knew I had to help Julia, but as I walked towards her, Alex turned round to me and shoved me voilently against the wall. I stumbled, fell and felt the jagged pain of glass grinding into the palm of my hand - the broken glass ampoule - I gasped.

"Why'd you do this to yourself?" He sobbed - I stood at the doorway, unwilling to break in on his private grief - "Why d'you kill yourself, you fuckin' bitch, we could've had more time, now we've none." Julia was obviously drugged heavily with painkillers, but was still coherent,

"I'm sorry, but when I knew I was having this baby, I couldn't bear to lose it, couldn't bear to kill it just to give me a couple more years at best. You'd've had me get rid of it and that's why I had to go... and I've got to go now..." she smiled, faintly, "I can't run anymore"

"Do you think I'm going to forgive you? Eh? Just forget about you? How can I? I know I shan't rest `til I'm in the grave next to yours - wait, `nd we'll go to hell together..." he paused and Julia looked over towards the door and seeing me, smiled weakly. Alex turned and was silenced. He glared at me and stormed from the room.

"I think, surprisingly, that I agree with him..." I started, moving over to her.

"I never made any promises..."

"I loved you. You used me." I let my rage out and took her by the shoulders.

"And you used me. We were both so needy, Ellie, I needed someone to care for me; you needed someone to care for, to redeem you after Annie. You might think you loved me, but you just have to let go." She blew a soft kiss, "Learn to live again..."

And the tears came from both of us so that I hardly noticed when she slipped out of consciousness. She never came round and was declared dead just before dawn.

They buried Julia beneath a Magnolia tree in a small churchyard in the North of the city. I'm not sure how they managed it but it must have cost a bomb - noone gets to be buried anymore. There weren't many people there: Alex stood upright in black, saying nothing, allowing himself no more tears; Stephen stood opposite, his blue eyes damp, his head hung low; I stood a little off, the tears pouring down my cheeks. But it helped, and in letting go of Julia, seeing her off, I was also able to exorcise my other ghost that had haunted me for almost a year. It was not my fault and I have let go - Annie, Julia - I can carry on living.

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