Dead Flowers

Band of Gold-2

It was a hot and humid midsummer evening and the sky had only bothered to darken to a vague kind of indigo. Angela Donnelly had left her husband seven days previous, and looked full of the same kind of doubt as the sky. Her sister Marilyn was skipping down Cliff Road ahead of her, drunk on the wonder of the night, as well as the cherry brandies that were dancing in her belly. Angela had been drinking too, but she wasn’t skipping anywhere.

Marilyn tipped open the door to the Loggerheads pub and the sound of people having fun came roaring out. Angela followed to the door but turned at the last minute, looking carefully down the street behind her, checking. Trying to see into the shadows down alleys and twitchells. There wasn’t a soul lurking in any of the dark places.

The lounge was packed to the rafters with a Saturday night crowd, their bellies full of beer and freedom. A Beatles song was coming out the jukebox and there were shouts and jeers from men playing skittles in the alley out back. Marilyn was at the bar, holding out a ten bob note like it was a ticket for something. Angela stood behind her, pulling at her borrowed minidress as if to stretch it longer. She turned and looked around for a table. A man nearby waved over at her. He was very good-looking, with lots of dark hair and intense blue eyes. Self-consciously, she smiled back. She fluffed her hair, which was cut into a short fashionable bob. The right kind of haircut for an independent modern woman who wanted to make a new start.

Angela grabbed the half pint of lager and lime Marilyn had handed her and they both headed over to the fellow, who was sitting with a pal and gesturing at a pair of spare seats at the table.

The man looked up at her and smiled, his eyes soft. ‘Glad to meet ye, hen,’ he said, with a very strong Scottish accent. ‘It’s no every day I meet such a beautiful wee lassie as yoursel.’ Angela blushed bright red. She pulled at her dress again before sitting down.

‘My name’s Angela,’ she said, holding out her hand stiffly. The man took her fingers in his and kissed them. The blush bit deeper into her cheeks.

‘Angela, Angela, Angel girl,’ he said. He made it sound like a song. ‘I’m Harry, and this here’s my pal Bobby Q.’ He indicated his friend, a tall youth with red hair, who was grinning and chatting with Marilyn like everything was already decided. Harry held out a packet of Park Drive to Angela and she took one. He lit her cigarette and then his own.

Angela smiled at Harry. ‘Why Bobby Q?’ she said.

‘On account of the darts,’ Harry said. ‘He puts Q up on the scoreboard, from his surname, because there isnay any other Qs.’

Angela tried to think of something else to ask him. She loved his accent. She wanted to listen to him speak.

‘Bobby’s driving to Skeg next Sunday and says there’s space for us in his motor car,’ Marilyn said. She winked at Angela, who stared back and tipped her glass a little bit too quickly. She coughed and spluttered.

Harry patted her softly on her back. ‘That one got a bone in it?’ he said, making her laugh and cough some more.

‘Bobby’s from Ireland,’ Marilyn said.

‘Originally,’ he said. ‘Well, I were born there.’ He had a Nottingham accent now.

‘Like my da and, well, like, erm, lots of other people I know,’ Angela said. She sounded like she’d swallowed as many words as she’d spoken. She took a drink, like she was washing something down. Marilyn and Bobby had started up their own conversation again, giggling with heads close together, and Angela watched as her sister slipped from her chair and on to Bobby’s knee.

‘Your da and other people?’ Harry said, amused.

‘Yes,’ Angela said. She looked past Harry, over his shoulder, scanning the room.

Harry turned his head to follow Angela’s gaze. Quickly, whilst he was looking away, she pushed her hand into the pocket of her minidress and slipped off her wedding ring. She took a deep swallow as he turned back towards her.

‘Someone ye looking for?’ Harry said, turning back.

Angela shook her head and forced a smile. ‘You’re from Scotland,’ she said.

Harry laughed, showing all his teeth. ‘No getting anything past ye, is there, eh?’ He took a big swig of his drink, still smiling broadly. ‘Glasgow,’ he told her, although it sounded like a struggle for him to pronounce the w. ‘You been?’

Angela shook her head. ‘We went caravanning up to the Lake District once. That’s as far as I’ve been. But my da told me Scotland was very beautiful. Not as nice as Ireland, though, he’d always say.’

‘I’ll raise a glass to that,’ Harry said. ‘To Ireland and its many beauties.’ He winked at Angela, and softly placed his hand on the space between her shoulders, lightly touching her back. She could feel the heat of his fingers against her bare skin.

‘Oh, you charmer, you,’ she said, but she raised her glass.

‘So, are you courting?’ he said. ‘Nice wee lassie like yoursel. I’d have thought the boys were queuing up.’

Angela shook her head. Her eyes were wide and panicked.

‘Naybody important, eh?’ Harry said, as if he were deciding it.

Angela didn’t correct him. A flush rose from the pale skin at the base of her neck and into her cheeks. And then Bobby kissed Marilyn, and Harry turned towards Angela, grinning. Angela took a last drag from the cigarette and stood up, stubbing it out into the ashtray. Her legs were shaky as she walked towards the back of the pub.

The toilets at the Loggerheads were the other side of a backyard. Angela went into the ladies’, pushing the door hard so that it rattled on its hinges. The sounds of people having fun were muffled and far away. She locked herself in a cubicle. She put the toilet seat down and sat on it, her head in her hands. They were just having a drink and a chat with Harry and Bobby. Marilyn could do what she wanted but Angela didn’t have to join in with any shenanigans.

Opening the door, she went over to the sink. She splashed cold water on to her face, rubbed it into her cheeks. She’d had too much to drink. It was all right for Marilyn; she was more used to this kind of thing.

Angela glanced up into the mirror and caught her own eyes. Then Jack’s behind her. He was standing so close she could feel his breath against her neck and smell the alcohol. She turned towards him.

‘You’ve been following me,’ she said.

‘So?’ he said. ‘You’re my wife, supposed to be. I have a right to know what you’re on with.’ His voice was low.

‘Leave me alone, Jack.’

Angela tried to duck past Jack but he grabbed hold of her dress. A seam ripped as he yanked her hard towards him. She struggled away from him and managed to get out through the door and into the yard. She was breathing hard and fast. Then she pulled away from him again and her wedding ring flew out of her pocket. They both stared as it bounced across the yard, making musical sounds as it hit one stone, then the next.

‘b***h!’ Jack shouted. He flung himself at Angela and wrapped both of his arms around her middle, jerking her back towards him. She screamed; loudly. Then he shoved her, throwing her with some force into the back wall of the pub. She was winded and struggling for breath. She managed to stand up and he pushed her to the floor again. Then he picked her up, grabbing her by the collar of her dress and pressing her into the wall.

Jack pulled Angela towards him and then thrust her hard into the wall again. Her eyes watered.

‘What the bleddy hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he said, spitting the words into her face.

Angela turned her head away from Jack. She was crying, letting out pathetic little moans begging him to stop, please. ‘Nowt’s going off. I don’t even know them blokes.’ She could smell his breath, sour from the drink.

‘Exactly,’ Jack said. ‘My mam always said you was a wrong ‘un.’ He brought his face close. His eyes were narrow and menacing and his teeth were gritted. His mouth made a sharp line, the same as the time he’d bitten her, right on the cheek. ‘Sitting in the pub with fellers you don’t know. Sitting there, carrying on, in clothes like them.’ He nodded down at the minidress.

‘Hey you!’ The voice had an authority about it as it carried across the yard. That Scottish accent again. Harry. ‘See you with the broken nose.’

Jack let go. Angela fell to her knees. She pushed herself up from the cobbles and pulled in deep draughts of air. She stood up, holding on to the wall and wobbling on her heels. Harry was squaring up to Jack. He wasn’t as tall or broad as Angela’s husband, but there was something about him that looked serious.

Jack puffed out his chest. ‘I an’t got no broken nose.’

‘Oh aye?’ Harry said. Then he headbutted him – hard and full in the face.

Jack staggered backwards then stood up straight and lurched back towards Harry. He wiped blood from his nose. ‘You think yer a hard man, eh?’ he said, snarling.

‘Harder than you, son, I’ll tell ye that for free,’ Harry said.

‘Right, so it’s this 'un, then, what you’re knocking off?’ Jack looked from Angela to Harry and back again. He spat on the floor.

There was a flash of movement and a loud c***k. Harry had punched Jack hard and fast. Jack reacted after the punch had landed, his hands windmilling halfway to his face. He fell backwards on to the ground and tried to jump straight back up, then fell a second time and lay still, making Angela think of the skittles from the alley behind the public bar.

‘C’mon,’ Harry said, gesturing to Angela to take his hand. She stared at Harry like she was trying to work out what he was offering. She was shivering and Harry took his jacket off, placing it over her shoulders and making comforting noises.

Harry ushered Angela towards the pub. Jack came to and sat up, looking dizzy and annoyed. ‘Oi! That’s my missus!’ he called after them. His voice was loud but broke up at the edges.

‘Go inside,’ Harry said, waving Angela towards the door. But she stood there, looking at Jack.

‘She’s no yer wife, pal. No nay more.’ Harry’s angry voice sounded like a growl. ‘Ye think ye the big man, eh? Knocking her about like that? Eh?’

‘You don’t understand what she’s been on with, all the cheek and lies,’ Jack said, getting to his feet but swaying.

‘I couldnay care less if she shagged the pope,’ Harry told him, walking back over. He grabbed the front of Jack’s smart shirt, popping some of the buttons, and then pushed him backwards. ‘You no got the message yet?’ He punched him again, knocking him to the floor. He gave him a couple of kicks while he was down there and Jack groaned in pain. ‘Ye hear me now, pal? Eh?’ He kicked him again, harder, and right in the mouth. ‘Eh?’

Harry pulled Jack up by the collar and examined his face; it was smeared with blood and his nose was definitely broken. ‘That enough for ye yet, laddie? Ye want a bit more, eh?’

Jack’s head was weaving around so that it almost looked like nodding.

‘Well, then? Ye want a bit more, aye or naw? Answer the f*****g question, big man.’

With some effort, Jack shook his head from side to side.

Harry pulled him closer. ‘Ye sure? Can easily be arranged, sonny Jim.’

Jack shook his head again and Harry let him go. Jack landed on his arse, and then pulled himself to seated against the wall. He was crying. ‘I love you, Ange,’ he said, through sobs.

‘Ye mibbe should have thought about that afore you went around walloping her,’ Harry muttered. Angela didn’t say anything. She stood next to Harry, shaking under his smart suit jacket. Harry turned towards her. ‘You his missus, hen?’

Angela shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. She sounded very sure about it.

‘Right, then,’ Harry said. ‘We’re gony go back in. We’re gony sit down and have a drink and you, laddie, you’re gony get tay f**k out this pub and you willnay be coming back. I swear to God that if I see ye here again, ye’ll be leaving in a box. Ye get me, pal?’

Jack nodded through sobs.

Harry turned to Angela. She took one last look at her husband. ‘Goodbye, Jack,’ she said. And she took Harry’s hand and walked into the pub.