small boys in their claret-and-blue tops shadow boxing imaginary opponents. I shouldered through the crowds and into the pub. Oscar Burns and Big Muff were at the bar, with the same men who had been with them when they surrounded my car, and when I saw Oscar grin I suddenly knew that they had been expecting me.
And they wanted me to come.
Then someone hit me on the back of the head with what felt like a steering lock – a long and very heavy piece of metal that cracked hard across the bottom of my skull, across one shoulder and halfway down my back. I never did see who hit me or what they hit me with, but it was more than enough to put me on my knees and give the overwhelming sickness that comes with sudden, shocking pain.
The floor of the Saucy Leper was slick with beer spillage and bits of dropped food. I fought to control my breathing and master the pain and just when I was contemplating getting up, rough hands gripped me under my armpits and pulled me halfway there.
Oscar Burns and Big Muff were still grinning.
‘I smell pig,’ Big Muff said.
Oscar pushed his face into mine. ‘She was good,’ he said. ‘Your special friend. Did both of us at the same time.’
‘Spit roasting,’ Big Muff said.
‘Spit roasting,’ Oscar said. ‘Topped and tailed her we did. One at either end. Got photographs. Want to see?’
‘He laughed at you,’ I said. ‘Vic Masters. He was in the gym up there when you came in acting the hard men. And he laughed at you!’
And then I laughed at them too – not much of a laugh, admittedly, hoarse and weak and full of the bile I could feel rising in my gut.
But it was enough to wipe the grins off their ugly faces.
Oscar whispered in my ear. ‘And now you’re going to get what that lippy old man got,’ he said.
They dragged me into a back room and dumped me on the floor. It was a cold stone room where the barrels of beer were stored. The mob left us. Then there were just the two of them, looking down at me.
Oscar Burns opened his backpack and pulled out a short, thick sword. He held it up, showing it to me, and the blade of the cutlass gleamed even in the darkness of that cold stone room.
‘You like a laugh?’ he said. ‘See how you like a laugh when your mouth is the same size as your pig head.’
I began to fight then, lashing out with feet and hands and elbows, but Big Muff fell on my chest, his knees slamming into me, his full weight coming down on me so hard I thought he must have cracked a couple of my ribs. Oscar knelt beside me and placed the blade of the cutlass across my face. I could feel the sharpened edge of metal settle in the corners of my mouth. My lips twitched away from it but he pushed down, very gently, and the blade cut into the soft tissue at the corner of my mouth. I tasted blood. Then I gagged on it as it trickled down my throat. And then we heard screaming out in the pub.
Oscar and Big Muff looked at each other. ‘He’s alone, right?’ Oscar said.
The door opened and a Somalian came into the room. He was tall and thin with a cleanly shaven head and when Big Muff got up and said, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ the Somalian hit him in the chest, and I thought – ‘He’s punched him in the heart, that’s my move.’ – but Big Muff said, ‘Oh,’ and turned away, the blood already blooming on his tight grey suit, and I saw the knife in the Somalian’s hand as he turned to look back at the noises coming from inside the pub. And then, as Oscar Burns got to his feet, the sound of fighting receded and was replaced by women screaming. Three more Somalians came into the room. One of them was Ali’s brother. He looked at me with those blazing black eyes as I stood up, but it was as if we had never met in our lives.
Oscar and I stared at the Somalians and they stared back at us and then one of them – short, sturdy, built like a bull – took Oscar Burns by the collar and began to drag him away.
He meekly dropped his cutlass.
I looked down at
And they wanted me to come.
Then someone hit me on the back of the head with what felt like a steering lock – a long and very heavy piece of metal that cracked hard across the bottom of my skull, across one shoulder and halfway down my back. I never did see who hit me or what they hit me with, but it was more than enough to put me on my knees and give the overwhelming sickness that comes with sudden, shocking pain.
The floor of the Saucy Leper was slick with beer spillage and bits of dropped food. I fought to control my breathing and master the pain and just when I was contemplating getting up, rough hands gripped me under my armpits and pulled me halfway there.
Oscar Burns and Big Muff were still grinning.
‘I smell pig,’ Big Muff said.
Oscar pushed his face into mine. ‘She was good,’ he said. ‘Your special friend. Did both of us at the same time.’
‘Spit roasting,’ Big Muff said.
‘Spit roasting,’ Oscar said. ‘Topped and tailed her we did. One at either end. Got photographs. Want to see?’
‘He laughed at you,’ I said. ‘Vic Masters. He was in the gym up there when you came in acting the hard men. And he laughed at you!’
And then I laughed at them too – not much of a laugh, admittedly, hoarse and weak and full of the bile I could feel rising in my gut.
But it was enough to wipe the grins off their ugly faces.
Oscar whispered in my ear. ‘And now you’re going to get what that lippy old man got,’ he said.
They dragged me into a back room and dumped me on the floor. It was a cold stone room where the barrels of beer were stored. The mob left us. Then there were just the two of them, looking down at me.
Oscar Burns opened his backpack and pulled out a short, thick sword. He held it up, showing it to me, and the blade of the cutlass gleamed even in the darkness of that cold stone room.
‘You like a laugh?’ he said. ‘See how you like a laugh when your mouth is the same size as your pig head.’
I began to fight then, lashing out with feet and hands and elbows, but Big Muff fell on my chest, his knees slamming into me, his full weight coming down on me so hard I thought he must have cracked a couple of my ribs. Oscar knelt beside me and placed the blade of the cutlass across my face. I could feel the sharpened edge of metal settle in the corners of my mouth. My lips twitched away from it but he pushed down, very gently, and the blade cut into the soft tissue at the corner of my mouth. I tasted blood. Then I gagged on it as it trickled down my throat. And then we heard screaming out in the pub.
Oscar and Big Muff looked at each other. ‘He’s alone, right?’ Oscar said.
The door opened and a Somalian came into the room. He was tall and thin with a cleanly shaven head and when Big Muff got up and said, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ the Somalian hit him in the chest, and I thought – ‘He’s punched him in the heart, that’s my move.’ – but Big Muff said, ‘Oh,’ and turned away, the blood already blooming on his tight grey suit, and I saw the knife in the Somalian’s hand as he turned to look back at the noises coming from inside the pub. And then, as Oscar Burns got to his feet, the sound of fighting receded and was replaced by women screaming. Three more Somalians came into the room. One of them was Ali’s brother. He looked at me with those blazing black eyes as I stood up, but it was as if we had never met in our lives.
Oscar and I stared at the Somalians and they stared back at us and then one of them – short, sturdy, built like a bull – took Oscar Burns by the collar and began to drag him away.
He meekly dropped his cutlass.
I looked down at
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