‘What are you in for?’ Poppy asked eventually.

Bailey recounted her cover story about being an accountant and embezzling money, reciting much the same as what she’d told Sharon. She felt the cover story rolling off her tongue easily enough. It felt good to say it out loud. Each time she spoke it, it made it feel a little more real, made it a little easier to say.

‘That’s interesting,’ murmured Poppy.

To Bailey’s surprise, she actually sounded sincere. ‘Most people find accountancy very boring.’

‘Being good at maths is a useful skill to have.’

‘How did you end up in here?’

Poppy lifted the needle. The gun still buzzed. There were a few moments of silence.

‘It’s coming along nicely,’ she said, dabbing at Bailey’s lower back with a tissue.

Bailey realised she was referring to the tattoo. She guessed Poppy didn’t want to talk about her crime, whatever that had been, so she didn’t probe.

‘The tattoo is more than just an ornament for us,’ said Poppy.

‘I guessed as much.’

‘It’s a way for us to recognise each other, to recognise another member, from another prison, if we’ve never met them before. We see the tattoo and instantly know we can trust them. We know they’re one of us.’

‘What’s stopping just anyone from getting one that looks the same?’

‘If someone was stupid enough to get one of our gang tattoos without actually being a member of our gang, and we found out… well, we’d catch them, hold them down, and slice it out of their skin.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘And then Toni would probably make them eat it. Just to make a point. Because that’s the kind of person she is.’

Bailey shuddered at the thought of it.

She lay there in silence, subordinate to the buzzing tattoo gun drilling into her flesh. After a while, the numbing effect of the endorphins started to wear off, so she was relieved when Poppy finally stopped.

Poppy disconnected the battery from the tattoo gun and the buzzing stopped. She placed the gun on the chair.

She dabbed at her work with a tissue and dropped it onto the chair. Bailey saw that the tissue was soaked crimson with her blood.

Poppy got off the bunk and stood up.

‘You can get up now.’

‘Is that it?’ said Bailey. She estimated they had been there for around half an hour.

Poppy shook her head. ‘It’s going to take several sessions. I don’t want to overwork the skin. It’ll end up scarred otherwise. Anyhow, after forty minutes or so, the pain tends to get quite uncomfortable. This is just the beginning. No need to rush it. After all, you want something good, don’t you? It’s going to last you your whole life.’

Bailey put her clothes back on and left Poppy’s cell, her lower back tender and sore. As she walked along the landing, she wondered just how much it would cost to get the tattoo lasered off once she was out of this place.