‘Now, come on, Sharon. There’s no need for this.’

Jack looked at his sergeant and received a nod of recognition for his efforts. He left the cell, leaving Vernon alone with Sharon, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Some primal fear of confinement, reminiscent of his army days, surged through him.

‘There’s no bloody need for the cuffs!’

‘Sure there is.’

‘You wanted to have a word? Let’s have the bloody word. Get these off.’ He shook his manacled hand. ‘Take them off and we’ll talk.’

Sharon did not unfold her arms. ‘We’ll talk in a bit.’

‘What do you mean? Come on. Sharon!’

‘I’ve got some work to do, then I’ll be back.’

‘You mongrel,’ Vernon said as she shut the door. ‘Come back! At least undo the cuffs.’

He sat there alone. Sat and stared at nothing at all. He couldn’t even put his head in his hands. He rattled the chain, squeezed his wrist with his other hand. Truly a prisoner now. His thoughts turned to the pelican again and its outstretched wing, caked in gunk. Its prison was within it, plastic choking the life from its lungs. Imagine swallowing that whole.

The pelican. The image of it. Babes at its breast, open wounds flowing. Their greedy beaks overflowing with the life of their mother. And now, maybe too late, he’d finally given something of himself for his son. Being locked away in here felt noble. And stupid. The pelican’s plan sounded like it would work. He barely had a plan. Probably he’d only made things worse.

He sat for what felt an age. His knees ached, but it was too awkward to get his hand there for a rub. He started to call out. Nothing specific, a primal yell, bouncing off everything. He wondered if Jack was still about. He yelled again. Sitting on the bench made his arse cold. He managed to massage it, the old flesh moulding to his fingertips. He was at this task when he heard, footsteps approaching, the door open.

‘It’s about bloody time, Sharon. I need to piss.’

Instead Vernon saw William Kelly’s face. The man wore none of his usual smile, or ease.

‘Bill,’ Vernon said.

‘Hello, Vernon.’

‘What’re you doing here?’

William did not sit. He stood near the door––was he scared that his old friend had turned feral in imprisonment, would claw his eyes out on approach? ‘Margie called me. Told me what you told your wife. I couldn’t find you at your place, so I asked your neighbours. They said you were bundled into the back of a cop car.’

‘Everyone’s a bloody gossip. You can sit down, mate. I don’t bite.’

William Kelly shook his head. Then sighed. He shuffled over and sat beside him. Indicating the cuffs he said, ‘These hurt?’

‘A bit. Did you see Pen?’

Kelly nodded.

‘She alright?’

‘To a point.’

‘Does she know I’m in here?’

He nodded again. ‘She’s still with Margie, at her place.’