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yeah!’
    ‘Me, I’m only good at one thing, and that’s what got me in here, and the court says I’ll never be allowed to do it again. Any pig sees me working on a car that I don’t own – I’m back here. Some little old lady breaks down and I help her change her fucking tyre – I’m back here. Except it won’t be here, it’ll be adult prison, which will make this place look like fucking paradise. So every day I spend here is just one less day of fucking boredom before I get out into a world of fucking boredom.’
    ‘Proper Mr Sunshine, in’t we?’
    Sean said that because he wasn’t sure what else to say. That first day they’d met, he’d thought Gaz was fine. Subdued, but fine. Everyone looked a bit down when they were standing next to Copper, drowned out by the big lad’s optimism.
    But even without Copper’s presence to cloud the issue, Sean had started to notice the darkness there.
    Back on the estate, Gaz had always been one of the quieter ones. He had let his expertise with cars do the talking. When he did speak up, he was always worth listening to – it was just that he didn’t need to shout and act up and throw his weight around to get noticed.
    But as the days and weeks had gone on, Sean started to realize that maybe Gaz wasn’t cut out for this place at all.
    He took a deep breath, knowing that the words forming on his tongue could be the end of a friendship. They were just not the kind of thing Guyz said to each other. But . . .
    ‘Gaz . . . mate . . .’ That used up the breath. He took another as Gaz looked at him quizzically. ‘You know, you could talk to someone about it, right?’
    The look Gaz gave him made him want to curl up and die, or cry, or both. And that was so fucking unfair ! Sean wouldn’t have said a word if he hadn’t wanted to help. And yes, he knew he was sounding like the prisonpsychologist, and that meant he might as well just write TRAITOR in large letters on his forehead. But what else could he do?
    ‘Talk,’ Gaz said.
    ‘Well – yeah. Talk.’
    Gaz didn’t blink. ‘About what?’
    ‘About . . . you know . . . Oh, forget it. Forget I spoke. Forget everything.’ He attacked his breakfast angrily and a shadow reached over his tray. Sean took a tighter grip on his fork and raised it. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, without even looking up.
    ‘I wasn’t doing nothin’,’ Copper said cheerfully. He sat down opposite Sean, next to Gaz, squeezing his bulk into the plastic seat. He reached again for Sean’s fried bread.
    Sean raised the fork again. ‘I’ll stab your bastard meat hooks if they get any closer to my tray, I promise.’
    ‘Hey, Sean. Seany. Half that lot’s wasted on a skinny shit like you. I need the fuel.’
    ‘And I need you to keep off.’
    Copper grinned. ‘You know, you’ve changed.’ He turned his attention to the pile of food on his own tray.
    ‘ You haven’t,’ Sean replied.
    ‘Hey, once you achieve perfection, I say leave well alone, yeah?’
    Sean smiled, couldn’t help it, as Copper flexed a bicepand kissed it. ‘You really are fucked in the head – you know that, right?’
    Sean talked to Copper like that because it was the only way to keep him normal. It was what he understood. And having a friend the size of Copper was no bad thing – it made other people steer clear. It worked on the street, it worked in here.
    ‘Class A headfuck, me,’ Copper agreed proudly. ‘Right, Gazza?’
    Gaz sighed, pushed his tray back, got up. ‘Fuck off, Copper,’ he murmured. He took the tray, still laden with food, over to the disposal slots.
    Copper actually looked a little surprised, maybe even hurt. Then he shrugged and burped, long and loud. The stench of it rolled over Sean like a cloud of vom.
    ‘God, you’re hideous,’ he said. Deep down, he meant it too. Was it worth pointing out that Gaz seemed unhappy? Would Copper even believe it? Probably not.
    ‘You wait till this all comes out the other end.’
    ‘I’ll pass.