He’s on his back on the hard single bed with its scratchy blanket, staring at the ceiling. Of all the poxy things that have happened in his life, this is the worst. He’s been put in solitary for his own safety. The prison guard, Mr Hawkins, took pity on him when he found him bloodied, bruised and naked in the shower block. He shifts uncomfortably at the thought of what had transpired. His backside is so sore he doubts he’ll ever be able to sit properly again. Hawkins wasn’t soft but he had a streak of humanity in him. He’d helped him up and taken him to the medical centre, where they’d stitched him up.

Hawkins is the only screw he has time for. He doesn’t treat him like the other officers do, with cruel taunts and harsh words. Even the other prisoners treat him like he’s a real criminal – funny, really, because of all the sorts in here who claim they’re innocent, he genuinely is. They’ve taken against him, in spite of his efforts to keep his head down and stay silent. His cellmate in particular has it in for him and has made his life a living hell.

While he was at the medical centre, Hawkins had sat with him. The old guy reminds him a bit of Sid. They’d chatted a bit. Hawkins told him he was going to retire soon and would be glad to be out of the place. He was going to live in the country as far away from people as possible, and that some of the things he’d seen in prison had sickened him. In return, he’d unburdened himself and told Hawkins about Sid, Johnny, and Kayley, and how they’d stitched him up good and proper.

Hawkins had stared at him hard and said, ‘Don’t tell that to anyone in here. You know your trouble, lad? You try too hard. You show weakness. The other blokes in here, they can smell fear. They home in on weakness like sharks sniff out blood. If you tell tales like this, you’ll get more than a beating up. These guys are hard, and I mean hard. You need to toughen up and keep your head down if you want to survive the next few months. You’re a bright lad. I’ve noticed that about you, so you know what I’m saying. Don’t try and make friends. Take my advice.’

Hawkins has arranged for solitary confinement until things calm down back at the cells. He’ll be moved from the cell he was sharing and into another when another con, up for parole, leaves. He hopes his next cellmate is not such a thug.

Prison has been bad. His life had been pretty shit up until now, but prison has been a whole lot worse. He’s only been here five weeks, and already he’s got another pile of horrible memories to add to the others. His sister comes to see him every visiting time. She knows he’s blameless but no matter how much she tries to convince him to tell the truth, he refuses. He isn’t going to have her hunted down and sliced open by Johnny Hounslow. Three days earlier, she’d visited and sat opposite him, her eyes blazing.

‘But he doesn’t deserve to get away with it,’ she argued.

‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t lose you. You know he’ll come after you. I can stick this out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.’

Her eyes had brimmed with tears. She’d squeezed his hand tightly. ‘It’s so unfair.’

It was. Life was unfair but he was a survivor. While his sister was by his side, he’d survive. She advised him to keep his head down. Keep silent. They were used to keeping silent. Said she’d think of him every day.

The hatch door in the huge metal door opens. The prison officer with the shaved head calls his name and he struggles to stand to attention. A tray of food is pushed through the hatch. It’s stewed mince and smells worse than dog shit. He wrinkles his nose as he collects it.

Shaved Head – Mr Burns – snarls at him. ‘Don’t look so bloody po-faced. It could be a lot worse. Count yourself lucky it was Hawkins found you. If it’d been me, I’d have left you there or locked you in with Kurt the Knife, and watched while he played with you.’ The hatch snaps shut.

He places the tray on his bed and crosses the room, where he bashes his knuckles repeatedly against the wall until he can no longer feel the pain. Hawkins was right – he has to toughen up. It’s a technique that’ll not only prevent himself from crying but to make him feel hate – hate like he’s never experienced before. One day, it’ll serve him well.