She pondered on the important matter that they were discussing, listening to Kay as she held forth on it.

‘That’s when the red warning lights go off,’ Kay was saying. ‘That’s when the alarm bells start ringing. When the price is actually printed on the packet.’

‘I agree with you to a certain extent,’ said Seema. ‘When you see that, you know the quality isn’t going to be great.’

‘I mean, a pack of custard creams for thirty-five pence? The manufacturers actually feel the need to state that on the packet, to make sure that they’re not sold for any more than that. It’s like an explicit admission that these are biscuits of an inferior quality.’

‘Yeah, but custard creams have never been a high-end biscuit. They’ve always been a working-class biscuit.’

‘I’m just using them as an example. The same can apply to bourbons, Jammie Dodgers, fruit shortcakes…’ She counted them off on her fingers.

They were revisiting one of their favourite topics of conversation – biscuits. It was a complex and diverse subject that all three of them were able to discuss for hours on end.

‘I think one thing it’s important to remember,’ said Seema, ‘is that it’s possible to mitigate the poor quality of any biscuit merely by dunking it in a cup of tea.’

Kay shook her head. She wasn’t convinced.

‘But even on that level inferior biscuits possess suboptimal dunkability potential. Surely you must have noticed that?’ She turned to Mel. ‘Mel? Have you noticed that?’

But Mel was just sitting there staring at the opposite wall, her eyes wide open, trapped in some kind of trance, and had clearly not been paying attention to what they had been talking about.

Kay snapped her fingers in front of Mel’s face. ‘Mel? Earth to Mel. Come in, Mel.’

Eventually, Mel blinked and looked at them. She swallowed. Her eyes rolled fearfully.

‘He’s a duppy,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘He’s in here and he’s gonna get us. Mi fraida duppy!’

Kay raised her eyes to heaven. ‘You and your bleeding duppies. They’re nothing but old wives’ tales. They’re all you ever seem to be going on about since your cellmate got topped.’

It appeared that Mel was still fixated on their previous conversation – about the most recent murder.

‘It did happen in the segregation block,’ said Seema. ‘That place is like a fortress. Big thick walls and permanently locked doors. Yet Natalie was murdered inside her cell. Tell me how that happened. I mean, if you’re not safe in segregation, then where are you safe?’

‘Locked doors and walls don’t mean nothing to a duppy,’ said Mel. ‘He can walk through walls. If a duppy wants to get you, he’ll come and get you wherever you are.’

‘What a load of bollocks!’ scoffed Kay. ‘Natalie was a snitch. That’s why she was in segregation. That’s why she was killed. End of story.’

‘But scalped?’ said Seema. ‘She was killed just like the others. That’s what I heard. All carved up. Like properly fucked up. There’s something weird about that. Something evil.’