Gallows End

Chapter 2

NOTHING MORE THAN A COUPLE OF BRUISES AND A CUT LIP‘Been in a fight, have you, Jack, a bit of a dust-up?’ Freddie Jackson, the barman at the West Garside Working Man’s Institute said, nodding at Jack’s bloody hands.

‘What?’ Jack responded. He had been deep in thought: why did she always make him do it, all the f*****g time getting on his case over nothing? OK, she gets a bit of a slap now and again, but so f*****g what? But he knew deep down that this time it had been more than a slap, much more than a slap, but whatever he’d done, it was her own fault. It’s always her own fault whenever she gets a slap or two, never giving a working man a bit of peace, whittering on about clothes for the brats or more money this, more money for that. She gets enough, what the f**k does she do with it all?

She’ll be all right, he told himself as a hard pit of unease grew in his stomach, nothing more than a couple of bruises and a cut lip, stupid f*****g cow going on at me like that and the f*****g brats always getting under my feet, f**k knows why she didn’t get herself off to Mrs Campion after the first 2 or 3 and have it taken care of, but no, she said, can’t get aborted, it’s a mortal f*****g sin, I’ll give her mortal f*****g sin, all right.

‘I said, you been in a fight, Jack? Look, your knuckles are bloody and there’s blood all down your shirt, look as though you’ve gone 15 rounds with Rocky Marciano.’

‘Nay, a bit of some’at and nowt, that’s all. Give us another pint.’

‘You got the money to pay for it, Jack? You’ve had five pints and not paid for the last two of ‘em?’

After losing heavily on ‘Angel Delight,’ Jack Palmer had tried to recoup his losses by putting most of the rest of his money on ‘Come Sunday.’ But that beast hadn’t placed either, probably still be running come Sunday, it was so f*****g slow.

‘Put it on the slate, for f***s sake, you know I’m good for it.’

‘Can’t do that, Jack, the boss won’t allow it no more. You’ve already got a big slate running up, and until you clear it, I can’t give you any more tick, shouldn’t have served you them last two pints, truth be known, and if Arthur finds out I’ve put another a couple of pints on the slate, he’ll have my guts.’

‘What the f**k you talking about? I’ve put enough money behind this f*****g bar to buy the place ten times over, so stop f*****g about and pull me another pint,’ Jack shouted angrily, and Freddie backed away, reaching for a beer bottle in case Jack got violent.

‘You’d best be off home, Jack; I can’t serve you no more.’

‘Well, f**k you!’ Palmer shouted as he stormed out of the bar, sweeping an ashtray and some empty glasses from a table as he passed.

‘Charming,’ Freddie said to Jack’s departing back.