(Gatsby's mansion. A long corridor dotted with portraits. In the foreground, a dynamic, shining bronze sculpture of a man with an indistinct face. Gatsby in his exquisite pink suit is looking over it intensely)

Gatsby: It's quite impressive, isn't it? The sheen? And the statue, it just looms, doesn't it? Well it should, for what I paid for it. It's meant to be me, can you tell? At one of my gatherings, I met this rather interesting artist; he stopped for a moment and told me how I'd inspired him in some way or other. I asked him how, but he said he had to get home before he lost touch with his vision. I'd say he'd already lost touch, because that doesn't look much like me at all.

He said it's supposed to represent wealth. He called it Plutus, I believe. I've never really understood the artistic perspective, but I hope this looks more like Plutus than it does me. Some of the gold's coming off and look, just limestone underneath. That artist must be laughing at me behind my back.

Mind you, art's a must in this society; shows gravitas. I think it's a little pretentious, but you need to build status or they'll kick you out of their little circle. This one's different though;

(He gestures to a painting behind him) it's based on this picture I took when I first met Daisy. I've had this up-and-coming artist make it into an oil painting. I'm paying him in exposure. I've told him to add colour and to remove this disorderly chap from the background. I'm showing it to Daisy tomorrow.

I'm still waiting for her call. She said she'd call. She did say, didn't she?

(He moves into his bedroom, a similarly luxurious abode)

Maybe I should go for a swim. I've got a whole pool that I've never once used. Butler! I'm going for a swim. Shout for me if the phone rings, will you? Now all I need is a bathing suit.

(He begins to root through his various wardrobes, searching for a bathing suit, but despite an abundance of clothes, he can't find one.)

Hmm. Perhaps…

(He delves deep into one of his wardrobes, pushing back several shirts to find a cardboard box covered in faded writing of which only a 'z' can be made out. He opens it to reveal pictures of an elderly couple, a yachtsman, a high school certificate, some knitted gloves and right at the bottom, an old bathing suit that has seen better days. He takes out the bathing suit and hides the box again behind his many layers of expensive clothing)

(Fade to black)

(Fade back in to reveal Gatsby in his bathing suit, walking carrying an inflatable mattress through the orchard that separates his mansion from the pool. It is night-time.)

(He throws the mattress into the pool and turns around to reveal Wilson behind him)

Gatsby: It was Wilson, but in that moment he reminded me of Tom Buchanan. He was standing there with a two-barrelled gun levelled at me. The decoration on the handle was exquisite and I couldn't help thinking that it was far out of Wilson's means to purchase it. Naturally I assumed this was to do with the death of his wife. For all my ideals, I didn't think I could lie to him just to protect Daisy.

"I'm sorry" I said, but before I could explain further, he fired. There was a green blast from the gun chamber, and a bullet came roaring out. But at the same time, the gun seemed to explode in Wilson's hand, blasting him backwards, killing him. Another victim of the carelessness of the rich. But what's one man worth?

And then the shot hits me and the impact blows me back; pulls me back. I'm in the car with Daisy –she's everywhere and Myrtle's flying away. She doesn't even slow down. Then there's the grief, that sets in and I'm in The War again. Mud covering my uniform; scars in plain sight across my face. My comrade, Jack falls on me and I'm covered in his blood. His helmet's in shards all over me. His brain's been blown out and all because his helmet's a dud. But what's one man worth?

My back hit the mattress and the water erupts around me like that night on Dan's yacht. I see him fall off the side as a wave crashes against the stern. And it occurs to me that I have his yacht, with his wallet and his clothes downstairs. I could just leave and it would be mine, but then I'd be alone and I couldn't face that. So I jump in after him. Because what's one man worth?

And then the sea dies down and I've washed up on a beach. I see Daisy, young and pure, before she ever met Tom and her eyes are a glistening green and just this once they were within my reach. She knows me now, but she's here anyway. I go to touch her face and kiss her…

And in a blast of white, she's gone. It's all gone.

You can't take anything with you.

What's a man worth here?