"Not much else to do," replied Nick with a laugh.

Big Al sat up and removed a pouch of tobacco from a pocket in his jeans. "So whit you in fur, Cartwright?" he asked, breaking one of prison's golden rules.

"Murder," said Danny. He paused. "But I was stitched up."

"Aye, that's whit they aw say." Big Al took out a packet of cigarette papers from his other pocket, extracted one and laid a pinch of tobacco on top of it.

"Maybe," said Danny, "but I still didn't do it." He didn't notice that Nick was writing down his every word. "What about you?" he asked.

"Me, I'm a fuckin' bank robber," said Big Al, licking the edge of the paper. "Sometimes I pull it aff and get rich, other times I get dinnae. The judge gied me fourteen years this fuckin' time."

"So how long have you been banged up in Belmarsh?" asked Danny.

"Two years. They transferred me tae an open prison for a while, but I decided tae abscond, so they'll no be takin' that risk again. Huv yous no got a light?"

"I don't smoke," said Danny.

"And neither do I, as you well know," added Nick, continuing to write his journal.

"What a pair of numpties," said Big Al. "Noo I'll no be able to huv a drag till efter tea."

"So you'll never be moved out of Belmarsh?" asked Danny in disbelief.

"Not until mah release date," said Big Al. "Wance ye've absconded fae a cat D, they send you back tae a high-security nick. Cannae say I blame the fuckers. If they transferred me I'd only try it again." He placed the cigarette in his mouth. "Still, I've only got three years tae go," he said as he lay back down and turned to face the wall.

"What about you?" Danny asked Nick. "How much longer have you got?"

"Two years, four months and eleven days. And you?"

"Twenty-two years," said Danny. "Unless I win my appeal."

"Naeb'dy wins their appeal," said Big Al. "Wance they've got ye banged to rights, they're no going tae let you oot, so ye'd better get used tae it." He removed the cigarette from his lips before adding, "Or top yersel."

Beth was also lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling. She would wait for Danny however long it took. She had no doubt that he would win his appeal, and that her father would finally come around to realizing that both of them had been telling the truth.

Mr. Redmayne assured her that he would continue to represent Danny at the appeal and that she shouldn't worry about the cost. Danny was right. Mr. Redmayne was a real diamond. Beth had already spent all her savings and forgone her annual holiday so that she could attend every day of the trial. What was the point of a holiday if she couldn't spend it with Danny? Her boss could not have been more understanding and told her not to report back until the trial was over. If Danny was found not guilty, Mr. Thomas had told her she could take another fortnight off for the honeymoon.

But Beth would be back at her desk on Monday morning, and the honeymoon would have to be postponed for at least a year. Although she had spent her life savings on Danny's defense, she still intended to send him some cash every month, as his prison wages would be only twelve pounds a week.

"Do you want a cup of tea, luv?" her mother shouted up from the kitchen.

"Tea!" hollered a voice as the door was unlocked for the second time that day. Danny picked up his plastic plate and mug and followed a stream of prisoners as they made their way downstairs to join the queue at the hotplate.

An officer was standing at the front of the queue, allowing six prisoners up to the hotplate at any one time.

"More fights break out over food than anything else," explained Nick as they waited in line.

"Other than in the gym," said Big Al.

Eventually Danny and Nick were told to join four others at the hotplate. Standing behind the counter were five prisoners dressed in white overalls and white hats, wearing thin latex gloves. "What's the choice tonight?" asked Nick, handing over his plate.

"You can 'ave sausages with beans, beef with beans or spam fritters with beans. Take your choice, squire," said one of the inmates who was serving behind the counter.

"I'll have spam fritters without beans, thank you," said Nick.

"I'll 'ave the same, but with beans," said Danny.

"And who are you?" asked the server. "His fuckin' brother?"

Danny and Nick both laughed. Although they were the same height, around the same age, and in prison uniform they didn't look unalike, neither of them had noticed the similarity. After all, Nick was always clean-shaven with every hair neatly in place, while Danny only shaved once a week and his hair, in Big Al's words, "looked like a bog brush."

" 'Ow do you get a job workin' in the kitchen?" asked Danny as they made their way slowly back up the spiral staircase to the first floor. Danny was quickly discovering that whenever you're out of your cell, you walk slowly.

"You have to be enhanced."

"And how do you get enhanced?"

"Just make sure you're never put on report," said Nick.

" 'Ow do you manage that?"

"Don't swear at an officer, always turn up to work on time and never get involved in a fight. If you can manage all three, in about a year's time you'll be enhanced, but you still won't get a job in the kitchen."

"Why not?"

"Because there ur a thousand other fuckin' cons in this prison," said Big Al, following behind, "and nine hundred of thum want tae work in the kitchen. Yur oot of yer cell for most of the day, and ye get the best choice of grub. So ye can forget it, Danny boy."

In the cell, Danny ate his meal in silence, and thought about how he could become enhanced more quickly. As soon as Big Al had forked the last piece of sausage into his mouth, he stood up, walked across the cell, pulled down his jeans and sat on the lavatory. Danny stopped eating and Nick looked away until Big Al had pulled the flush. Big Al then stood up, zipped his jeans, slumped back down on the end of his bunk and began rolling another cigarette.

Danny checked his watch: ten to six. He usually went around to Beth's place around six. He looked down at the unfinished scraps on his plate. Beth's mum made the best sausage and mash in Bow.

"What other jobs are goin'?" asked Danny.

"Are yous still talking?" demanded Big Al.

Nick laughed again as Big Al lit up his cigarette.

"You could get a job in the stores," said Nick, "or become a wing cleaner or a gardener, but most likely you'll end up on the chain gang."

"The chain gang?" asked Danny. "What's that?"

"You'll find out soon enough," replied Nick.

"What about the gym?" asked Danny.

"Ye have tae be enhanced for that," said Big Al, inhaling.

"So what job 'ave you got?" asked Danny.

"You ask too many questions," replied Big Al, as he exhaled, filling the cell with smoke.

"Big Al is the hospital orderly," said Nick.

"That sounds like a cushy number," said Danny.

"I huv tae polish the floors, empty the midgies, prepare the morning rota and make tea fur every screw that visits matron. I niver stop moving," said Big Al. "I'm enhanced, aren't I?"

"Very responsible job, that," said Nick smiling. "You have to have an unblemished record when it comes to drugs, and Big Al doesn't approve of junkies."

"Too fuckin' right I don't," said Big Al. "And I'll thump anyone who tries tae steal any drugs fae the hospital."

"Is there any other job worth considerin'?" asked Danny desperately.

"Education," said Nick. "If you decided to join me, you could improve your reading and writing. And at the same time you get paid for it."

"True, but only eight quid a week," chipped in Big Al. "Ye get twelve fur every other job. Noo many of us like the squire here cin turn oor noses up at an extra four quid a week baccy money."