Free Rosie by Lesley Pearse

constantly to check the effect they were having on everyone. Thomas smiled to himself at this. He’d met so many men like these during his time in the army. Strutting, dim-witted bully boys who, if you could separate them from their sidekicks and give them a dose of their own medicine, would turn into snivelling runts.
    ‘Come on, Stan, get the pints in. It’s your shout,’ one of the boys called out suddenly. Thomas guessed this must be Seth and the object of his attention was a very small man in a Norfolk jacket who looked distinctly nervous.
    There was a sudden hush. The little man had only come in to the bar in the last fifteen minutes and he certainly hadn’t been stood a drink by any of the Parkers.
    ‘I can’t tonight,’ the man replied, licking his lips nervously and clutching his pint mug in front of him. ‘I’ve no money on me. I only came in for a quick one.’
    Seth grinned. ‘Well, let’s make it quicker for you then,’ he said and with that grabbed the man’s hair with one hand, tilting his head back, and seizing the pint from Stan’s hand began to pour it into the little man’s open mouth.
    There was a titter of uncomfortable laughter, several men turned their heads away, but no one lifted a finger to stop it. Stan’s arms flayed wildly, he was choking and spluttering, beer running all down his jacket.
    Thomas started to get up out of instinct, but Hilda shot him a warning glance from across the bar.
    ‘Now then, Seth,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Stop that this minute. Thass no way to behave.’
    Thomas noted from the faces of all the other customers that they were in total agreement with Hilda, but no one attempted to back her up.
    Seth ignored Hilda and continued to pour the beer in the man’s mouth.
    It was Cole who stopped it. He laid one hand on his son’s forearm. ‘Enough, son,’ he said quietly.
    Stan backed away, still spluttering, reached for the door latch and was off without a word. Thomas sunk back into his seat and pretended to look at an old photograph on the wall beside him. He guessed Seth would be looking around, hoping to challenge anyone unwise enough to pass comment.
    By closing time, Thomas had the Parkers’ full measure. All three men had consumed at least eight pints of cider each and their voices became louder with each one. They bragged constantly, about horses they’d backed, women who fancied them, deals they’d done. He heard they were off to London next week collecting up Anderson shelters. Apparently they could get as much as ten pounds for each one they dug up, along with often getting the owner to pay them on top for disposing of it for them. Seth made a crack about knocking off lonely housewives too, while Norman said something about giving old ladies a couple of bob for old furniture and silver.
    As the bar closed on the last customer and Thomas got up to go to his room he felt sickened that his young sister had lived in a house for four years with such creatures. They seemed worse than animals to him. Women were there to be used and abused, as they conned, lied and cheated their way through life. He wondered too how Rosie had managed to turn out so nicely, and also how safe she was in the company of those two brothers.
    ‘Weren’t you lonely stuck in that corner alone?’ Hilda asked him as she followed him up the stairs. ‘You should have sat at the bar. We’re a friendly bunch really.’
    ‘I was happy enough watching and listening,’ he replied. ‘Those three dark men particularly. They were characters!’
    She stopped at the top of the narrow staircase and turned to look at Thomas, her narrow, bony face full of contempt. ‘Just between you and me,’ she said, ‘if I had my way they’d never step over the threshold here again. Blaggards the three of them, they’d sell their own grandmother for tuppence. But Harold’s scared of ‘em.’
    ‘Don’t cut that bread so thin,’ Cole snapped at Rosie the next morning. He was washing at the