adrenaline surges, and I just know that anything is possible. Mothers fuelled by adrenaline have lifted cars to save their children, so why shouldn’t I take this Steve on? He will probably half kill me, but I don’t care, not if I’m protecting Sally. Kick me the length of the street if you like. I’ve had worse.
Steve looks to be angrier with Sally than at me though. His upper lip curls with something like revulsion as he looks into her eyes. “What? You know this clown?” He laughs, but it’s not a laugh that says something is funny, and now isn’t the time for me to work out what it signifies.
“From work, that’s all. He’s the night-security guard.”
Steve lets go of Sally with such force that she staggers. He steps up to me then, with bull-like menace – I half expect him to stamp and scrape the ground with his foot. He shoves me on the shoulder. “Push off,” he demands, turning to face Sally, sideways on to me.
Still staggering from his shove, I reach into my bag, pull out Father’s fishing flask and wave it like a club.
“Steve, stop it,” Sally pleads as he looks back at me. She looks extremely worried which does little to boost my confidence.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, so I answer by lifting my arm higher to show him I mean business. I’m not kidding; I’m quite serious.
Snorting with contempt, Steve advances, slamming my shoulder with the flat of his hand, forcing me to back-step along the pavement. “You fuckin’ her?” I have no answer to that, but he doesn’t wait for one and swivels back to face Sally, “You doin’ him ? This the type of man you mean, is it? Prefer this type to me? Thought you’d got taste.”
“I have.”
“Really?”
“ Yes. That’s why I’ve done with you.”
He’s underestimated my resolve, and , knowing I won’t get a better chance, I strike out with the flask. The aim is surprisingly accurate. But time seems to slow as it heads for the back of Steve’s skull. Did I hold back? Time can’t actually slow, so I must have. Perhaps I hesitated. Whatever, it’s given Steve the opportunity to turn, to react, and to block the swipe with his forearm. The flask clatters to the ground as I stumble back. I slip on the kerb edge, and my ankle twists with a sharp stabbing pain, and I crash to the ground like the useless lummox that mother always said I was. I’m sitting in a gutter brimming with the compost of wet-leaf-mould, and for all the spirit I can muster I may as well be dead. Bitter wetness soaks into my trousers, and I can only watch, a lump in my throat, as Steve raises his foot and brings it crashing down onto Father’s flask. He then launches his foot into my gut. I can’t breathe, and it hurts something awful, but not as much as the sight of father’s ruptured flask.
Maybe it’s the upset, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen as I struggle to draw breath , but everything before me seems to be one swirling smudge of mixing colour. Lungs tight. Sally’s yelling something, but I can’t make out the words. Rolling onto my knees. I try to draw air. My lungs refuse to expand and manage to suck no more than small gulps. Maybe I will die. Good, I think, after failing so miserably in front of Sally. Good, as long as it’s quick. Snap, like an overwound spring. Better that than to uncoil slowly, miserably, without having her to love.
The swirling mass slows to a blurry image , and I’m aware of Sally crouching on the ground, shielding me. “ He’s just a friend ,” she screams. “Leave him alone.”
“Oh, sod it,” Steve shouts back at her, globs of spit flying with his words. “You’re not worth it.”
Yes she is. If you really think she isn’t, then you’re a fool.
He pulls a bunch of keys from his pocket, separates one from the rest, and throws it to the pavement before turning and storming down the avenue.
“Put my stuff in a taxi,” he shouts back. He doesn’t
Steve looks to be angrier with Sally than at me though. His upper lip curls with something like revulsion as he looks into her eyes. “What? You know this clown?” He laughs, but it’s not a laugh that says something is funny, and now isn’t the time for me to work out what it signifies.
“From work, that’s all. He’s the night-security guard.”
Steve lets go of Sally with such force that she staggers. He steps up to me then, with bull-like menace – I half expect him to stamp and scrape the ground with his foot. He shoves me on the shoulder. “Push off,” he demands, turning to face Sally, sideways on to me.
Still staggering from his shove, I reach into my bag, pull out Father’s fishing flask and wave it like a club.
“Steve, stop it,” Sally pleads as he looks back at me. She looks extremely worried which does little to boost my confidence.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, so I answer by lifting my arm higher to show him I mean business. I’m not kidding; I’m quite serious.
Snorting with contempt, Steve advances, slamming my shoulder with the flat of his hand, forcing me to back-step along the pavement. “You fuckin’ her?” I have no answer to that, but he doesn’t wait for one and swivels back to face Sally, “You doin’ him ? This the type of man you mean, is it? Prefer this type to me? Thought you’d got taste.”
“I have.”
“Really?”
“ Yes. That’s why I’ve done with you.”
He’s underestimated my resolve, and , knowing I won’t get a better chance, I strike out with the flask. The aim is surprisingly accurate. But time seems to slow as it heads for the back of Steve’s skull. Did I hold back? Time can’t actually slow, so I must have. Perhaps I hesitated. Whatever, it’s given Steve the opportunity to turn, to react, and to block the swipe with his forearm. The flask clatters to the ground as I stumble back. I slip on the kerb edge, and my ankle twists with a sharp stabbing pain, and I crash to the ground like the useless lummox that mother always said I was. I’m sitting in a gutter brimming with the compost of wet-leaf-mould, and for all the spirit I can muster I may as well be dead. Bitter wetness soaks into my trousers, and I can only watch, a lump in my throat, as Steve raises his foot and brings it crashing down onto Father’s flask. He then launches his foot into my gut. I can’t breathe, and it hurts something awful, but not as much as the sight of father’s ruptured flask.
Maybe it’s the upset, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen as I struggle to draw breath , but everything before me seems to be one swirling smudge of mixing colour. Lungs tight. Sally’s yelling something, but I can’t make out the words. Rolling onto my knees. I try to draw air. My lungs refuse to expand and manage to suck no more than small gulps. Maybe I will die. Good, I think, after failing so miserably in front of Sally. Good, as long as it’s quick. Snap, like an overwound spring. Better that than to uncoil slowly, miserably, without having her to love.
The swirling mass slows to a blurry image , and I’m aware of Sally crouching on the ground, shielding me. “ He’s just a friend ,” she screams. “Leave him alone.”
“Oh, sod it,” Steve shouts back at her, globs of spit flying with his words. “You’re not worth it.”
Yes she is. If you really think she isn’t, then you’re a fool.
He pulls a bunch of keys from his pocket, separates one from the rest, and throws it to the pavement before turning and storming down the avenue.
“Put my stuff in a taxi,” he shouts back. He doesn’t
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