Usually on the wing everything was subdued somehow and people were always on their guard. You had to be – it was the way of this kind of world. Men banged up together could get into fights literally over nothing at all, small offences were allowed to fester until they became huge insults, and only violent retribution could assuage the injured party’s ego. Men became different when they were isolated from family and friends; their children were growing up without them, and it was hard at times to deal with those kind of emotions.

Occasionally a man would come on to the wing who was an enemy on the outside for whatever reason, but the rule of thumb was you patched up your differences in nick. It was you against the screws, and it worked most of the time. But there was always the man who could not forget past mistakes, and then the wing became a subtle battleground. Tempers flared, and no one was safe. The main thing was learning to look after yourself. You had to watch your back constantly, watch what you said, and exercise a little diplomacy. He had seen the big mouths arrive, all bravado, with stories of how hard they were, only to become gofers within a week.

Gofers were the mugs who ended up doing the shit work – cleaning people’s cells, making the tea. It was ‘Go for this’, or ‘Go for that’. Vincent had found himself a niche there; it was well known he had been captured and had kept very quiet – not landing anyone in it but doing the time for them all. That had earned him a great deal of respect, especially as he had been so young. He had worked up from there, proving himself in small ways, and gaining a reputation for being a hard little fucker as well as a good companion. It was not an easy life, and it was hard for them all, but he had managed to overcome it. He had kept his head down, served his time and, now he had repaid his so-called debt to society, he was finally going home.

As he stepped out of the prison, he felt a rush of panic because, right up until this second, he had believed that it would go wrong somehow, and he would be stuck in there for good. As he acclimatised himself to the natural light, he saw a large black Bentley and, standing by it waving at him, dressed in a short black dress, was his Gabby.

He ran to her and picked her up in his arms. Her body fit into his perfectly as if they had been made for each other and, kissing her deeply, he felt at last like he was out. He was really on the other side of the wall.

‘Oh, Gabby, you fucking gorgeous girl, this is like a fucking dream!’