‘And remember they were stopped because they found out that a lifer was trumping the drama teacher?’

Even Mr Borga laughed now. ‘Yeah, I remember that, Benjamin.’

‘Well, all the props were locked in the stage room, weren’t they? This beautiful pink Dralon three-piece was just sitting there, doing nothing, and I thought to meself: I can’t have that! Not when it would fit in my cell, like.’

Mr Borga roared with laughter. ‘I don’t fucking believe you lot! I’ve been in this nick for twenty years and you can still amaze me! That’s why Eric invited us in for tea and fucking artworks, ain’t it?’

Benjamin nodded his head vigorously.

‘You should have seen us, Mr Borga, trying to get this lot onto the Wing without you hearing or seeing us. It was a right laugh! We had to get it past Eric’s peter and all! Carrying the settee on tiptoes, we were.’

Mr Borga’s laugh was nearly hysterical now.

‘Can I keep it then?’

Pulling out a great white handkerchief, Borga wiped his eyes and said loudly, ‘Course you can, Dawes. Anyone who can pull a stunt like that, right under my nose, deserves to keep whatever he got. Jesus H. Christ, this one will go down in the folklore. A fucking three-piece suite! This even beats the seven sacks of potatoes, this does!’

All over the unit, joints were being rolled, beers were being cracked open, and laughter was the order of the day.

The wardens knew that Benjamin and his three-piece were here to stay, and all were glad of the laughter it had provoked. On a Wing like this, you could be laughing one day, and stabbed the next. But it also reminded them of how devious the men could be. No one asked who had actually opened the door to the stage room.

Harry was in a spin, and Bunty watched him with no small measure of satisfaction.

‘Are you sure about this?’

She nodded. ‘As sure as I’ll ever be. She knows about the hotels all right. But Davey isn’t too trashed about it, so why should we be? In a way, her working in Georgio’s businesses can only be a good thing. Everyone can keep an eye on her then.’

‘What about Carol Jackson?’

Bunty laughed now, a thin malicious sound. ‘She knows less than she thinks, and that’s a good thing. Got a touch of the puritan inside that foul-mouthed head of hers. Jesus, you should have seen the antics there today. She’d just crowned him with a bloody plant pot!’

Harry didn’t bother to answer. Bunty in a bad mood was worse than any screaming harridan, but he wisely kept that opinion to himself.

She studied her husband’s weak face and sighed. ‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’