Rough Justice by Gilda O'Neill Page B

And as for Stephen, the man’s got to be at least forty-bloody-five years old, and that’s not including the year he had measles.’
    ‘He’s nice to me, Sylv. He’s kind. And he says such nice things to me.’
    ‘I know, but there’s something about him, Nell.’
    ‘Please, Sylvia, don’t let’s get stuck on this again. We’re opening up soon, and I’ve not even polished the glasses yet.’
    Sylvia leaned her back against the bar, taking in the sparkling bottles on the spotless glass shelves, the glow of buffed wood, and the glint of firelight sparking off the brass. Nell was more than a breath of fresh air; she was a bloody force of nature. Sylvia had never seen the place looking so good or anyone work so hard in all her life. The home might have had a rotten reputation for the way it treated the kids it was supposed to be caring for, but it knew how to train them to graft for a living all right. A few more girls like Nell working for her, and Sylvia would have been able to open a whole chain of pubs, and just sit on her arse all day watching them earning her money. But now Stephen – ‘just one more pint’ – flaming Flanagan had his eye on her. He might have been a big drinker – in fact he was in the pub just about every day – but he wasn’t a stupid man. Far from it. Sylvia always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, but he made her suspicious for some reason. From what she’d heard he’d had some sort of a turn since his wife had gone amongst the missing. Mind you, who could blame her for doing a runner from him and those horrible twins of his? Good on the woman, whoever she was, was Sylvia’s opinion.
    She closed her eyes and let out a long slowbreath. If Nell decided she was going to go off with the old bugger, she’d be like flipping Cinderella, but without the benefit of a fairy godmother. But was she just being selfish, not wanting to lose her?
    Sylvia plastered on a smile. ‘Darling, you do know – and you mustn’t mind me saying this – that all I want is for you to be happy, don’t you? But to be honest with you, love, wouldn’t you miss all this? We have a good laugh working here together, don’t we? And going shopping down the market. Having our cup of tea and toast together. You always love that. You would miss it, I know you would.’
    Nell blinked back the tears that were threatening to show her up in front of Sylvia. ‘Course I’d miss it. All of it. Keeping everything looking nice, having you to talk to.’
    She couldn’t control the urge to cry any longer. What was wrong with her? She’d never been so happy, but she’d never cried so much in all her young life either. ‘And having you as my friend,’ she sobbed. ‘Everything.’
    Sylvia reached across the bar and took Nell’s face in her hands. ‘I’ve always said it: you’re a daft great ha’p’orth. And I’ll never stop being your friend, but I won’t stop worrying about you either. Please, Nell, please think about it.’
    ‘He only wants me to go down the Lane for a wander.’
    ‘Yeah, and –’ Sylvia paused, searching for an explanation that Nell would understand. Noteasy, when she didn’t really know what she meant herself. ‘And the snake only wanted Eve to have a little nibble of his apple, if you get my meaning. You’ve been to Sunday school, you know what happened next.’

Chapter 9
    As usual, Stephen Flanagan came into the Hope and Anchor at half past seven, and, as had happened for the past two months, Nell pulled him his pint of mild and bitter before he even had a chance to ask for it.
    Sylvia watched, skunk-eyed, as the man brushed his fingers along Nell’s forearm.
    ‘All right there?’ she snapped, making Stephen pull his hand away, as if she’d just caught him rifling through the till. ‘Over here, Nell, there’s people want serving.’
    While a blushing Nell took orders from a group of animated young doctors from the nearby hospital, Sylvia marched over to Bernie to