It was enemy territory, and he was at war. Except that his enemy was now trying to be his friend and Georgio found that harder to cope with. He stared at the photos of Donna on his cell wall. Her shiny hair . . . Closing his eyes, he imagined he could smell her perfume, the particular scent of her as they made love. He saw himself parting her legs gently, waiting until he saw the redness between them. He felt himself stirring. Wanted more than anything to be inside her, pumping away all his frustration and needs. How many mornings had she placed her arm across him and caressed him, and how many mornings had he kissed her and leapt from the bed, ready for the day and all it had to bring? He had wasted so much of her, had always known she was there, had taken her for granted. Good old Donna, his little wife, his hostess. He knew many men gave her a second glance and he had enjoyed that knowledge then, aware that she was wholly his. Now the thought tortured him, even though he knew she loved him.

Donna had been a good lover, a juicy lover. A woman who enjoyed being taken. But his tastes had begun to run to younger women who took the initiative, who took him while he lay back and watched. He told himself he made love to Donna and he fucked them. But the fucking was more exciting than anything he had ever experienced with Donna.

Timmy came into the cell smelling sharply of carbolic soap and Wash & Go.

‘All right, Georgio? That’s some bonk on you’ve got there. Thinking about home, are we?’

Georgio stood up, unembarrassed by Timmy’s observations. ‘It’s a piss proud actually. What’s the occasion? Should I wish you Happy Birthday?’

Timmy laughed amiably. ‘Broomfield gets it this morning. Cheek though, ain’t it, putting him in here with us? Ricky was like a fucking lunatic by all accounts. The boys are gonna have him first, in the showers. That’s what got me down there. Big Ricky’s gonna run his arse ragged! If you want a shower this morning, you’d better get down there quick smart, before the cabaret starts. No prizes for guessing which screws will be taking a front row seat, eh?’

Georgio picked up his shower gel and walked towards the shower, taking a clean towel from the pile at the bathroom doors. Standing under the freezing cold water he soaped himself all over quickly, then as he was rinsing off he saw Broomfield. The boy was standing uncertainly in the shower entrance.

‘What you looking at?’ Georgio’s voice was harsh.

The boy shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Georgio turned off the shower and pulled a towel around his waist. Going towards the boy, he stood in front of him. ‘Had your look?’