which we all live and
for an outgoing girl like Lucy it must have felt like a prison. As
for Mr Rowling, well he was old, set in his ways. He had been alone
for some years with only the company of the valley and the odd
folks of Rottenhouse. He was strange, yes, outdated; definitely,
but would he hurt or try and stop him from marrying Lucy: probably
not. He was just one of those guys you had to get used to and try
to get on with. And Simon was good at that. Really good at that.
Maybe that’s why his friends always knew to go to him for money
when they needed, or a helping hand when they requested it. Or
maybe it was because they knew he was a push over, easy to
persuade; always seeing the good in people and not the
self-absorbed shits they could be. Maybe. Maybe not. Simon was
happy and Lucy was happy and that’s all that mattered to Simon in
the long run.
2
It was about ten o-clock when Simon
decided it was time to break the seal. He guessed where the toilets
were by the volume of men that went in and out of the room to the
left of the bar. He also decided that now would be a good time to
offer these fine folks a beer. The club was relatively busy, though
Simon had no real way to judge but there were a good 50 to 60
people in here. Sat around his particular table were 5 others whom
he believed were Mr Rowling’s closest friends, not associates, and
it was to them that he would offer a drink to.
But there was one other that he
believed he needed to buy a drink for. A chap sat on his own,
garbed in a dark blue shirt and brown trousers, in the far corner
of the club, where the lights were dim and where it appeared that
only men armed with a pint for the offering would dare go. They
would warily walk up to the man, the pint held out to him as if to
appease some all-seeing powerful God and then without a word, just
a tip of the cap (even if they weren’t wearing one) they would
leave their offering and walk away. There was never any eye
contact. The man in the shadows would continue to read his papers,
licking his lips occasionally before turning the pages. The beer
would be drank rhythmically, a couple of minutes between each gulp
until it was reaching empty and then another would be placed there
by another willing chap. If Simon judged this right then by the
time he had gone for a piss the shadow man’s pint would be nigh on
empty and he could be the one to offer up the next sacrifice. After
all, Simon likes to keep people sweet, he wants what’s best for him
and Lucy, and getting on Mr Rowling’s good side was his key
objective this fortnight.
Simon stood, his chair scrapping on the
wooden floor. He was light headed, but not drunk. ‘Just off to the
toilet. Another round?’
The men that were sat around the table
nodded, almost in unison, and then returned to their conversations
about the need for a better road along the valley floor between the
dry well and silos. Simon turned to Mr Rowling, who was sat next to
him and leaned over. Keeping his voice low he asked ‘What do I
order?’
‘ Just point over to
our table when yaorder. Barkeep will know.’
‘ And what about that
guy over there. Do I get him one?’
‘ Aye, Simon. Pint of
Flogged for him. But don’t say anything. He already knows who yaare
and why yahere.’
Simon nodded, straightened himself up
and headed off toward the toilet. As he walked past the bar another
man was heading toward him. He was young, about the same age as
Simon. He had short dark hair and a fat overly featured face. The
guy was short and wore dirty jeans and big boots. He bore a
resemblance to Bobbie/Lewis in the garage and he pondered, if but
for a fleeting moment, that they may be brothers. Simon could see
by the way the man walked that he was drunk, really drunk, and he
stumbled and swayed with each unsteady footfall. Simon offered a
smile and a nod but the gesture was not returned; the drunk man’s
eyes were wide and firmly fixed ahead, they moved for
for an outgoing girl like Lucy it must have felt like a prison. As
for Mr Rowling, well he was old, set in his ways. He had been alone
for some years with only the company of the valley and the odd
folks of Rottenhouse. He was strange, yes, outdated; definitely,
but would he hurt or try and stop him from marrying Lucy: probably
not. He was just one of those guys you had to get used to and try
to get on with. And Simon was good at that. Really good at that.
Maybe that’s why his friends always knew to go to him for money
when they needed, or a helping hand when they requested it. Or
maybe it was because they knew he was a push over, easy to
persuade; always seeing the good in people and not the
self-absorbed shits they could be. Maybe. Maybe not. Simon was
happy and Lucy was happy and that’s all that mattered to Simon in
the long run.
2
It was about ten o-clock when Simon
decided it was time to break the seal. He guessed where the toilets
were by the volume of men that went in and out of the room to the
left of the bar. He also decided that now would be a good time to
offer these fine folks a beer. The club was relatively busy, though
Simon had no real way to judge but there were a good 50 to 60
people in here. Sat around his particular table were 5 others whom
he believed were Mr Rowling’s closest friends, not associates, and
it was to them that he would offer a drink to.
But there was one other that he
believed he needed to buy a drink for. A chap sat on his own,
garbed in a dark blue shirt and brown trousers, in the far corner
of the club, where the lights were dim and where it appeared that
only men armed with a pint for the offering would dare go. They
would warily walk up to the man, the pint held out to him as if to
appease some all-seeing powerful God and then without a word, just
a tip of the cap (even if they weren’t wearing one) they would
leave their offering and walk away. There was never any eye
contact. The man in the shadows would continue to read his papers,
licking his lips occasionally before turning the pages. The beer
would be drank rhythmically, a couple of minutes between each gulp
until it was reaching empty and then another would be placed there
by another willing chap. If Simon judged this right then by the
time he had gone for a piss the shadow man’s pint would be nigh on
empty and he could be the one to offer up the next sacrifice. After
all, Simon likes to keep people sweet, he wants what’s best for him
and Lucy, and getting on Mr Rowling’s good side was his key
objective this fortnight.
Simon stood, his chair scrapping on the
wooden floor. He was light headed, but not drunk. ‘Just off to the
toilet. Another round?’
The men that were sat around the table
nodded, almost in unison, and then returned to their conversations
about the need for a better road along the valley floor between the
dry well and silos. Simon turned to Mr Rowling, who was sat next to
him and leaned over. Keeping his voice low he asked ‘What do I
order?’
‘ Just point over to
our table when yaorder. Barkeep will know.’
‘ And what about that
guy over there. Do I get him one?’
‘ Aye, Simon. Pint of
Flogged for him. But don’t say anything. He already knows who yaare
and why yahere.’
Simon nodded, straightened himself up
and headed off toward the toilet. As he walked past the bar another
man was heading toward him. He was young, about the same age as
Simon. He had short dark hair and a fat overly featured face. The
guy was short and wore dirty jeans and big boots. He bore a
resemblance to Bobbie/Lewis in the garage and he pondered, if but
for a fleeting moment, that they may be brothers. Simon could see
by the way the man walked that he was drunk, really drunk, and he
stumbled and swayed with each unsteady footfall. Simon offered a
smile and a nod but the gesture was not returned; the drunk man’s
eyes were wide and firmly fixed ahead, they moved for
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