Bailey had observed that Mel had a routine of sorts. Directly after lunch she usually went for a walk in the yard by herself, after which she would go and get stoned with Kay and Seema.

Bailey had decided that Mel’s post-lunch walk presented the best opportunity to catch her alone for a second approach.

A shadow fell across the table.

‘Any applications to make today?’

She recognised that voice.

She looked up. It was Terry standing there. So he was back at work again. A shudder of revulsion went through her.

She smiled a fake smile.

‘No. Not today,’ she said.

He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her. Did he suspect her or was she just imagining it? She watched him walk off, once again feeling the icy grip of paranoia. She glanced around the canteen. It suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on her. She needed to get out of here.

She looked back to where Mel had been sitting. Her seat was now empty. Bailey stood up, put her tray in the rack and walked out of the canteen.

Mel sat on the ground by herself at the edge of the yard, staring down at the dirt with wide-open eyes. Her lips moved furiously as she conducted some intense debate either with herself or with some party invisible to all but her. Her face flitted wildly from expression to expression – puzzlement, anger, surprise, humour and back to anger – punctuated frequently by a pointed finger, a conciliatory palm, a clenched fist.

On the far side of the yard, Bailey stood and watched her, attempting to gauge the best way to approach her. As she did so, she reflexively massaged the red bruises on her neck that she had sustained from Mel only too recently.

Bailey wondered if Mel had a shank. She looked paranoid enough to carry one and unbalanced enough to be capable of sticking it into anyone who might upset her. And, as Bailey knew, it wasn’t that hard to upset her.

Sod it, she thought. Let’s just get on with it.

She set off across the yard towards Mel, skirting the groups of inmates standing around in the afternoon sun. As she neared Mel, she slowed to the kind of cautious, guarded pace that you might use to approach a large, dangerous-looking dog.

‘Hey,’ she said quietly, as she stopped a few feet away from her, the closest safe distance from which to conduct a conversation.

Mel blinked up at her, frozen in mid-gesticulation. Her bulging eyes showed no recognition as she looked Bailey up and down blankly.

‘It’s me, Bailey, remember?’

Mel eyed her warily.

Hoping to appear less threatening, Bailey squatted down on her haunches so she was facing Mel on the same level.

‘I wanted to have a little chat with you,’ said Bailey gently. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Mel just wants to chill out… chill out, yeah.’