The Friends We Keep(11)
It sounded like a rugby song, something about how they used to work in an old department store in Chicago, which led to chickens, which led, inevitably, to something about cocks. Evvie tensed.
They jeered and cheered, staggering in, the biggest one in the front pausing by a table on the side, where two older men sat quietly having a drink. They were locals who usually came in early during the week before getting back home for dinner, but tonight, a Saturday, they had been in with their wives, who had just left. The men were finishing up their pints before heading home.
The big student knocked the cap off one of the men, then leaned down, picked up his pint, and drained it, banging it back on the table. Everyone in the pub held their breath, but nobody said anything. The local man wouldn’t meet his eye, just stood up. When the student pushed his body into him, the old man stopped for a few seconds, looking at the carpet, then walked out as the rest of the boys laughed.
Evvie took a deep breath and told herself not to be scared. This wasn’t her father, about to have a fight with her mother, a fight that may or may not end in something violent. These were strangers, and they were boys, and they couldn’t hurt her. But her thoughts didn’t stop her heart from beating fast, the anxiety making her breath quick and shallow, a buzzing in her ears.
“Who’s this then?” One of them walked up to the bar, then leaned down and sniffed. “Mmm. Fresh meat. I smell fresh meat.” He turned to his friends, who all laughed before he turned back to Evvie. “Eight pints of lager and a serving of snatch.”
Evvie pretended not to hear the last bit. She walked down to the other end of the bar for the pint glasses, aware that her heart was pounding.
“Oi, Whitney,” he yelled. “I’ll be your greatest love of all if you’ll let me.”
Evvie forced a small smile, as if she hadn’t heard this a million times before, especially since she moved to England, where every other person seemed to think she was a dead ringer for Whitney Houston.
“Bring those beers over to us, will you.” He leered as Evvie’s heart sank. At least behind the bar she had some protection.
“I can’t leave the bar,” she said. “Boss’s orders.”
“What?” He leaned forward. “I don’t understand you. Say it again.”
“I said, I can’t leave the bar. Here.” She pushed the drinks toward him. “You can take them with you.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m telling you what to do. My friends and I will be at that table, and you will be bringing us our beer. Got it?”
“I’m sorry,” Evvie said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than it felt. “I can’t do that.” She knew that if she walked out, in her miniskirt and Converse sneakers, there would be hell to pay. At best, it would lead to lewd comments. At worst, there would be groping involved.
The student pushed himself up on his hands and lurched toward her, almost over the bar, as Evvie stepped back, now frightened.
“Leave her alone.” Suddenly, Maggie was standing next to the goon in all her imperious, angry, redheaded glory.
“Well, hell-o, ginger. What have we here?” the big one slurred, as his friends laughed.
“How dare you just walk in here and steal someone’s drink? And now you’re sexually and racially harassing my friend. Leave her alone. I suggest you leave right now.”
Evvie was impressed by Maggie’s bravery, even while knowing how stupid it was for her to step forward. Maggie had no idea that she was now in the real world, no longer in the protective bubble of her perfect family. She had no idea that people didn’t always do the right thing, that girls like her weren’t necessarily respected or listened to.
“What the fuck do you know about it, pasty?” said the big one as his friends cheered him on.
“Fuck, she’s ugly,” another one shouted out. “Don’t even bother talking to her, mate. You might catch something nasty.”
Maggie turned bright red, but she didn’t back down. “What are your names?” she said.
“Fucking minger!” someone shouted from the back of the gang as they all laughed.
“What does that mean?” Topher, who had also come up to the bar, whispered to Evvie.
“I’m not sure but I think it means ugly.”
Topher stepped up. “Leave her alone. There’s no need to insult her. And she’s right, you shouldn’t have stolen that man’s drink, and you definitely shouldn’t be threatening the female bartender. You’re all drunk. You need to go home before we call the police.”
The rugby players paused, their faces lighting up. “Well, well. This just gets better, doesn’t it,” said the leader. “Not only is he a nonce, he’s a bleedin’ American one as well.” At that, the big drunk one stepped right up to Topher and got in his face, intimidating him with a glare before using his body to push him against the wall.
Topher flinched, but only for a second before regaining his composure and sighing. “God, this is all very tiresome. Do you want to just hit me? It’s totally fine if you do, because I will file an assault report with the police immediately. Not only that, I will also bring a civil case against you. I hope Mummy and Daddy have money, because we Americans love nothing more than a court case. We love suing people, it’s like a national pastime with us, and I have enough money and power to wipe the floor with your entire family. So go on. Please. Do us all a favor and hit me.” He turned a cheek. “How about this one?”