On the Pull by Elin Gregory
Tom worked fast, shivering as the chill of the stone walls bit through the thin cotton of his shirt. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes with the back of his wrist and stooped again.
“What are you doing down there?” his mother called. “Tom?”
“Give me a minute!” Tom replied. “You can’t rush perfection!”
As expected there was a roar of derision from above. Tom laughed as he raised the half pint glass high and peered at the treacle brown ale within. “Perfect,” he breathed and hurried to connect the beer line. Job done, he stepped back to admire the rack of barrels. There were bigger, more modern pubs locally. But none of them took as much pride in the quality of their beer as The White Horse. There you got a decent pint in a straight glass poured the old fash
