He's holding a bar in a bicep curl. His biceps are big. So are his pecs, deltoids, triceps and lats. The legs are great. Everything is in proportion. He has a tattoo on his forearm; it's a bit smudgy on the black-and-white print, but it looks like it could be a bird of some sort. On closer scrutiny, it could be a peacock.
      ...
      I strip to my underwear, and duplicate the pose in the mirror. It's like a distorted reflection in a fairground mirror.
      There's a rusty mark on the top border of the print, and a hole in the middle, where a drawing pin must have gone. I find a new pin and carefully tack the picture to the headboard of my bed, so he's watching over me.
      I wish I'd met Mervyn. But I only ever saw his dead body being carried away in an ambulance.