Seven thirty. It was Saturday, his first weekend behind bars. There was no work at weekends, and no breakfast packs in the cells: breakfast was served at the hotplate. Shepherd had found himself waking at seven thirty every morning, a few minutes before the prison officers started the roll-call. He lay on his bunk, waiting for the spyglass to flick open. Lee got up and padded barefoot to the toilet. He groaned and urinated. He was in mid-flow when the spyglass flicked open. ‘I’m on the bog!’ shouted Lee. The spyglass snapped shut. Shepherd let Lee wash and clean his teeth at the basin before he got down from his bunk. The cell was so poky that there was barely enough room for two men to move around at the same time. Whenever possible he kept out of Lee’s way, staying on his bunk. He also let Lee have ownership of the television’s remote control, although both of them were paying the weekly rental. As Shepherd washed and shaved, Lee sat on the chair and flicked through the television channels.
