Chapter 8

"Hey," Leo snapped, giving Newt a shove.

Newt toppled onto his side into Leo's pillow. "What did I do?"

"No stinky feet on my bed."

Newt had been sat with his knees to his chest and hadn't even thought about his bare feet being an issue.

"They're not stinky, and you weren't complaining earlier."

"Well, that was earlier."

Earlier Newt had been sat cross-legged on Leo's bunk with his tray on his lap while they ate breakfast. Newt had two slices of toast, one half strawberry jam and one half marmite. Leo had stared at him like he was an alien, outraged Newt didn't have a slice of each instead of red meets black on both. Leo picked porridge, but instead of syrup or sugar, he sprinkled a generous amount of salt into his bowl.

"Well, now it's almost lunchtime, and I'm feeling less tolerant of your weird feet."

"My feet aren't weird." Newt shifted to the edge of the bed and lowered them onto the floor. He squinted at them. "At least I don't think they're weird…"

"You've got hairy toes."

Newt gaped. "I have a few hairs on my big toes. What's wrong with that?"

"They're ginger."

"Of course they're ginger!"

Leo laughed and heaved himself up from the bunk. "Come on. Now you and Shaw have sorted your issues, we no longer have to wait for the dregs and crumbs." He turned to Newt. "You know I'm still pissed about that, right?"

"I know," Newt said softly.

Four days had passed since he'd marched into Shaw's cell. Leo had stitches in his side and had spent one night away from their cell in the hospital wing. The doctor wanted him to stay longer, but Leo flat-out refused.

When he'd returned, Newt had been unable to resist the urge to hug him. Leo had frozen before tentatively patting Newt's back. He'd asked Newt whether he'd done as he promised, stayed in the view of the officers, and when Newt told him he hadn't, he'd gone to see Shaw, Leo had taken him by the arms and shaken him.

"It could've turned out so differently."

Newt decided not to tell Leo he'd handed a shank over to Shaw and knelt at his feet for his throat to be sliced. He said they'd talked it out, which they had after the whole ‘slit my throat' taunt.

"I know." Newt pulled on his socks, then slid his feet into his trainers. He stood up, accepting the tray, bowl and mug Leo passed to him.

He pouted. "I may have hairy toes, but at least my ears are hair-free."

He stepped out of the cell with Leo hot on his heels.

"What?" Leo breathed down Newt's neck. "I don't have hairy ears."

"Never said you did."

"You implied."

Newt cracked a smile. It faltered as he passed beneath Shaw's watchful eyes on the landing, but then Shaw tipped his head in greeting and Newt allowed his smile to reform.

"You'd better be joking about my ears." Leo huffed, passing Newt and leading the way toward the servery.

"Don't worry, I'll pluck them if you like."

"Little shit."

"Who's a little shit?" Scott asked, sidling up behind Newt.

Leo glanced back. "Newt. Obviously."

"He bullying you again?" Scott asked, jutting his chin in Leo's direction.

"Always." Newt smiled fondly at the back of Leo's shaking head.

Thomas joined them, hugging his tray to his chest. Newt blamed the full-face tattoo for his lack of expression. It was impossible to tell whether he was happy or sad, and his blue eye… Newt found it mesmerising.

Leo stopped abruptly, and Newt walked into him.

"Hey!" Newt squeaked.

Leo snorted and resumed his fast march into the servery.

Newt quickened his stride, passing by Jenkins and Riley locked in an intense conversation.

"Morning," Newt shouted, breaking them apart.

Riley smiled. "Afternoon, actually. It's 12:15."

"I hope they've got something good left," Leo mumbled.

"Good?" Thomas laughed from the back. "When is the food ever good?"

Scott smirked. "I'm sorry they don't have rats and mice to cater to your tastes."

"I'm touched, thank you," Thomas replied. "And I'm sorry they don't have a tray of cocks for you to chow down on. You must be almost through withdrawal by now."

Leo led them through the pinned open entrance door, then joined the queue.

He sighed at the offerings before slapping a ham sandwich down on his tray. The bread came apart, revealing a slither of meat and a shrivelled lettuce leaf.

Newt raised his eyebrow, clutching his tray to his chest.

"Hey, Bull," Leo yelled. "Are you hoarding the ham back there?"

Bull glared at Leo from behind the servery unit. Someone had drawn breasts in thick black marker on his apron. His arms were folded just beneath them.

"There's a slice of ham in each sandwich."

"This isn't a slice," Leo said, gesturing to it. "It's a shaving, and what is this green thing?"

"It's lettuce."

Leo held the slimy leaf aloft. "More appealing things have probably come out of your nose."

"If you want me to snot between two pieces of bread for you, just ask."

"All I want is a leaf of lettuce that doesn't look like it was dredged up from the Thames."

"I don't make the food; it comes in, and I serve it up. You want to make a complaint, go through your personal officer."

Bull shooed Leo towards the next servery unit. Newt followed, zeroing in on the second favourite sandwiches after ham. Houmous and cucumber. Newt tolerated the soggy bread and the strange twang to the cucumber. They were at least edible, unlike the cheese sandwiches, which broke teeth.

"Bull told me why they taste so strange…" Scott mumbled close to Newt's ear.

Newt looked over his shoulder to Scott, who was next in the queue. Thomas stood behind him, eye glued to Scott's arse.

"Why?" Newt asked.

"They come from HM Havisham."

"What's that?"

"A women's category D prison," Scott explained. "They grow their own fruit, veg and salad."

"That…that sounds good."

A slow smile spread across Scott's face. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Bull said the women pass the cucumbers cell to cell before sending them here."

"To…to admire them?" Newt asked.

"In a way…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Leo snapped.

Newt glanced between them. "I don't understand."

Scott hiked up one of his sculpted eyebrows. "You know…"

"I really don't."

Thomas leaned around Scott before hissing out, "They use the cucumbers for fun."

"What fun can you have with a cucum—what! Hell no." Newt launched away from Scott and Thomas, catching his hip on the edge of the servery. Leo steadied him.

Scott winced in sympathy. "It's only a rumour."

Thomas cackled as he grabbed a cucumber and houmous sandwich and shoved it straight in his mouth.

"So let me get this straight," Leo started. "The reason the cucumber tastes strange is because women prisoners insert them recreationally and manage to pickle them with their privates."

Scott shrugged. "As I said, only a rumour."

"A rumour from Bull," Leo snapped. "The Bullshitter of Brixton."

He glared at Bull on the other side of the food.

Bull crossed his arms. "I have good intel!"

Newt rubbed his hip until the pain subsided. "I've never even licked a vagina, and now you're telling me I've had several in my mouth?"

Thomas grinned, Leo face-palmed, and Scott burst out laughing.

For the most beautiful man alive, Scott sure as hell had a weird-sounding laugh. Even Thomas looked at him wide-eyed and backed up a step.

Scott recovered and wiped his eyes. "Wait until I tell you what I heard about the houmous."

"Nope. I'm not listening." Newt began humming.

"I'm messing with you, Newt. It's plain old chickpeas." Newt ignored the look Scott threw at Thomas and whatever he mouthed back to him.

Newt moved on to the last serving unit and sorted through the vegan yoghurts. Picking one without mould was a game of Russian roulette. Leo hummed and erred as Newt hovered his hands over the pots.

He snatched one up and placed it on his tray.

"Not the one I would have picked," Leo said under his breath. "Remember, if you get the shits, it's both of us that suffer."

"That goes for you too."

Leo reached out his hand, and for a second, Newt thought his hair was about to be ruffled, and for a second, Newt leaned in, waiting for it, but instead Leo snatched it back and cleared his throat. His eyes went wide, like he'd surprised himself, then he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Come on."

Newt shuffled past him to the next servery unit. He picked up two pieces of fruit, a snack bar and a bag of crisps.

"Hey…wait." Scott jogged to catch up. "Why don't you eat outside your cell today?"

Newt looked up at Leo.

"It's up to you," Leo said softly.

"Okay."

Scott led them out of the servery to a free table on the wing and sat down. Newt took the seat opposite, and Leo boxed him in. Thomas passed by with his tray in his hands, then backed up. He glanced at the remaining chair next to Scott.

"I don't bite," Scott mumbled. "Unless you pay me too."

"I was more concerned I might catch something, the proximity and all."

Scott sighed. "We share a cell."

"Don't remind me."

Thomas placed his tray on the table and sat down. He eyed Leo. "It's good to see you finally out of your cell."

Newt winced. "That's my fault. With the situation with Shaw…I felt safer in the cell."

Thomas looked at him for a long time. Newt hated that his face was so unreadable, but he knew there was something in the look.

Thomas's lips parted, but Leo got there first.

"Leave it," Leo growled. His hand tightened to a fist on the table. Thomas glanced at the threat before shaking his head and grabbing his sandwich.

"Leave what?" Newt asked. "I don't understand."

Scott pitched forward, listening intently, but Thomas and Leo ate their lunches in silence, and after a few minutes, Newt and Scott did the same.

Newt twitched his eyebrows at Scott, and he did the same back. Relaxed Leo had gone once again, replaced by a stoic and stiff one. He didn't soften again until they were back in their cell with the door pushed shut.

"What did Thomas mean?" Newt asked.

Leo paused, then slid his hand along the side of the TV to get to the button. "Huh?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I told Thomas to leave it, and now I'm telling you to do the same."

He switched the TV on and dropped down onto his bunk. If it was one of his brothers, he would've pushed, maybe tried the Bambi eyes to get an answer, but he didn't.

"Can I?" Newt asked, gesturing to the space beside Leo on the bed.

Leo smiled. It was golden, and crinkled, and Newt forced himself to smile back.

"As long as you keep those stinky ginger feet off my duvet, then yeah."

* * *

"So then, my old friend turns up at my front door in tattered robes, keeping steady with a huge walking stick up to his temples. His beard is longer than I've ever seen it, down to his stomach, and his eyebrows, grey and white wiry hair, stick up and out at all different angles." Bull slipped to the edge of the chair, waving them closer as if he wanted to tell them a secret.

None of them moved. Shaw closed his eyes as if wishing the world, not just the session, to end.

"And then my friend, he taps his crooked nose, and he says, Bull…there's something I need you to do for me…"

He left the words hanging. Shaw, Leo, Scott, Thomas, and Riley pressed their lips together in a vow of silence, but Newt widened his eyes, needing to hear the rest. He leaned forward. "What did he say?"

Leo groaned. "Why did you encourage him?"

"He says, Bull," His eyes welled up, moved by his story. He choked, pressing a hand to his chest. "I need you to go on an adventure…"

"That's lovely," Mel said, clicking her pen. "But I really only asked how you were feeling today."

Bull folded his arms. "I'm telling you. I feel like Bilbo when Gandalf knocked on his hobbit hut."

Thomas blinked. "What does that even mean?"

"I made myself abundantly clear."

"He's conflicted," Newt answered. "He's shocked and happy to see his old friend, but there's trepidation in the request to go on an adventure."

Bull nodded. "Yeah. What he said."

Scott held up his hands. He twitched his fingers, staring at them. "What the hell is going on? Am I dead? Is this death?"

Shaw slumped down in his chair. "You're not dead, Pretty Boy. This is what happens when you've been locked up in a cage for too long. You start to lose your mind."

"Screw you," Bull snapped.

Shaw chuckled at the ceiling.

Mel raised her finger. "That's an interesting point you've just bought up, Shaw?—"

"What? Bull losing his mind?"

"Top dog or not," Bull said. "I will punch you in the dick."

Shaw laughed louder.

"The effects of incarceration," Mel said. "Let's talk about that. How it feels to be in a cage day after day. The emotions that come with it." She twisted towards Scott and Newt. "You've been here almost two months now. What were the first few weeks like in here compared to now?"

Scott and Newt shared a look.

"Well…" Scott bit his lip. "The first few weeks, I was concerned the other inmates would find out about what I do on the outside. I was scared they'd force me to do it in here, so I came in with a strategy"—he glanced at Shaw—"that strategy failed, but so far, minus the comments and the wolf whistles, I've been left alone."

"And you're no longer scared?"

"I wouldn't say that," Scott said. "There are bigger and stronger guys in here, and they could overpower me if they wanted to. It's foolish to be complacent, but so far so good."

Mel smiled before moving her gaze on to Newt.

"I was scared too. I didn't know what to expect, and when I found out someone wanted me dead?—"

Shaw coughed loudly into his fist.

"But I think…but I think I've sorted that, for now at least, and I'm no longer scared." He looked towards Leo. "I feel pretty safe here actually."

Newt expected a smile, but Leo pressed his mouth in a grim line. He avoided eye contact.

"Everybody is scared when they first get here," Shaw said, "but once that fear fades, boredom takes over and that's when the real punishment starts."

Bull and Thomas both nodded.

"I try to help," Riley said, sounding a little desperate. "We do Friday films and quiz show Wednesdays. I'm always open to new ideas."

Shaw looked over to him. "We're not criticising you, Officer Riley. It's the mundanity of it, the routine, the claustrophobia of being caged in all the time, whatever direction you look."

"Yeah," Bull said. "It's not like we can go shopping, or walk in a park, or swim in a pool, or see a sunset over the sea. It's not like we can go to a club, pick up a random guy and be done doggy-style by him in an alleyway, not like you can, Officer Riley."

Shaw twisted his head to face Bull. It was a slow movement, like in The Exorcist. Newt bit his lip at the murderous expression on his face.

"Wait." Thomas frowned. "I thought you were straight?"

Bull smiled. "I am."

"It's the lockdowns too," Shaw said, getting them all back on track.

Newt got it. Some days they weren't allowed out at all, receiving meals through the hatch in the door. But him and Leo seemed to fit, and so far Leo hadn't irritated him, and he hoped he hadn't irritated Leo.

"How do you deal with boredom?" Mel directed the question to the group as a whole, but Shaw was the one who answered.

"TV. Books. Talking. The occasional game of pool, but no matter what you do, the boredom, the frustration of being so limited in what you can do every day, gets to you. It starts to drive you crazy, and when you're looking at years of your life being like this, that's when the hopelessness takes over. That's when the dark days loom."

"I think a good way of combatting that is by having milestones to focus on. Things to look forward to; it doesn't matter how small." She looked to Newt. "What do you look forward to?"

"Visits and phone calls from my brothers." Newt fidgeted. "In a few months' time, The Star will be on. That's something for us all to look forward to."

Newt had no idea why everyone laughed. The Star was an award-winning prime-time show with consistent viewing figures. He swallowed. "I'm serious."

"You like The Star?" Shaw asked, tilting his head. "That godawful talent show, which is clearly fixed."

Newt bristled. "It's not fixed."

"Well…"

Newt shoved his fingers in his ears.

Shaw held his hands up in surrender.

"You like that show?" Leo asked once Newt had stopped blocking his ear canals.

"It's my favourite."

Leo blew out a long breath. "Anyone want to swap cellmates with me?"

"I do," Thomas said, poking his tongues out. His blue eye fixed on Newt.

Newt jerked, almost falling flat on his face when Leo yanked his chair closer. He leaned against Leo's chest as he wrapped an arm around the back of his chair. "Not happening."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Don't offer him up so carelessly."

"What do you like about it?" Scott asked.

Newt shrugged. "The most unassuming people can have the most amazing talent. The opera singers are my favourite."

"Why?" Thomas asked.

Newt avoided his blue eye. "I don't know why. It's a difficult sensation to explain, but it's like their voices rush over my skin and give me goosebumps."

"You really need an orgasm," Bull muttered.

"Who knows what talented people we have in Brixton?" Newt said, ignoring him.

Bull sighed. "We're all just a load of convicts."

"Doesn't mean we're not talented, though." Newt countered.

He turned to Leo for some support, but Leo scrunched up his face and said gently, with a lilt of humour in his tone, "It means we were untalented at something, whether murder, blackmail, tax avoidance robbery or drug smuggling, we got caught."

Newt bristled. "Untalented in those areas, but?—"

"There's not a single talented person in this place," Shaw said.

"But how do you know that?" Newt asked. "All you know is the bad of people, not the good."

"We're in prison, Newt."

"That doesn't mean everyone in here is bad through and through. Francis Mole, the body popper from series 7, did time for shoplifting when he was nineteen."

Riley shrugged. "There's always an exception."

"Hannah Spears, juggler, she got to the semifinals. She did time for drug smuggling."

"Okay, two?—"

"Harris McKay, he served two years in prison for breaking his jury service protocol and talking to a defendant online."

Shaw smirked. "I think a name change is in order."

"What?" Newt said.

"Starman," Shaw whispered.

Newt ignored him. "It's like Bull said, we're barcodes. We're good and bad, not either or."

Everyone turned to look at Bull.

Bull pressed back in his chair. He held up his hands. "I never said that. I don't know what he's on about."

"Our kind of skills are nothing to shout about," Leo said softly.

Newt shook his head. "I disagree."

"How to hotwire a car in thirty seconds, how to dissolve evidence in acid, how to roll a spliff during a high-speed pursuit." Leo sighed. "Those are the talents of the men on E-wing."

Thomas pointed to Scott. "How to suck three cocks at once?"

Scott narrowed his eyes and pointed back. "How to dislocate your jaw and swallow a body whole."

Newt folded his arms. "You're stereotyping everyone."

"There's not one talented person in here, Newt," Shaw said. "If there is, if you can find one, then I'll eat my words."

"You're on."