Free Tilly True by Dilly Court

to the chair by the fire. ‘Sit down, old man, afore you falls down.’
    â€˜I wants a kiss from her,’ Bert said, waving his hand in Tilly’s direction. ‘Come and sit on me knee, pretty.’
    Casting an anxious glance at Clem, Tilly shook her head. Clem took the stopper from the bottle and held it to Bert’s lips. ‘Have another drop, guvner. It’ll make you sleep like a baby.’
    Swigging a gulp of gin, Bert leered at Tilly over the bottle. ‘Sleeping ain’t the first thing on me mind, boy.’
    â€˜Where’s me sea boots, you interfering trollop?’ demanded Abel, tipping over a chair. ‘I can’t find nothing now.’
    â€˜Out there in the scullery,’ Tilly said. ‘Along with your jacket and cap.’
    Still mumbling, Abel went into the scullery and returned almost immediately carrying an armful of boots, two jackets and two caps, which he dropped on the floor. ‘Get your stuff on, Clem. Leave the old sot to get on with it. We got work to do.’
    Picking up his things, Clem moved closer to Tilly. ‘He’ll be dead to the world in two ticks.’
    â€˜What d’you say?’ Bert tried to get up but slumped back onto the chair.
    â€˜Told her to mind her manners,’ Clem said, shrugging on his pea jacket.
    â€˜Yes, and you’d better have the food on the table when us gets home,’ Abel said, shoving his smelly feet into his boots. ‘Come on, Clem. Let’s see how many jumpers we can fish out of the river tonight. See if we can’t stack the shelves in the dead houses high with their stinking, swollen corpses.’
    His grunted reply was lost as Clem followed Abel out of the room and, with the blood drumming in her ears, Tilly stood petrified. The front door slammed and she was alone with Bert, but he had closed his eyes, his cheeks were stained red and his breath came in snorting snores. If she could just get past him, she might be able to get up the stairs and lock herself in the room with the truckle bed. Hopefully, Bert had drunk enough to make him sleep through the night. Walking on tiptoe, Tilly held her breath – just another few feet and she would be out of the kitchen. Not daring even to look at him, she was about to pass the chair when his arm shot out and he grabbed her skirt, dragging her down onto his lap. His foetid breath stank of gin, sour cheese and onions.
    â€˜It’s just you and me now, Tilly me girl.’

Chapter Four
    â€˜Let go of me.’ Kicking and struggling, Tilly used her fists, elbows, nails and teeth, but she could not escape. Bert held her with one arm: a band of steel around her waist. Her frantic struggles seemed to amuse rather than annoy him. Grabbing her by the hair, he clamped his mouth over her lips, pressing his face over her nose so that in the end shortness of breath forced her to gasp for air. Chuckling deep down in his throat, Bert plunged his tongue into her mouth until Tilly retched; the gin fumes alone would have been enough to stun an ox, but added to the foetid stench of his breath the effect was nauseating. Half suffocated, Tilly went limp in his arms, close to fainting. She could feel his saliva trickling down her chin as he drew back with a drunken laugh.
    â€˜Not so full of yourself now, are you, girl?’ Holding her at arm’s length, Bert squinted at her with one eye closed. ‘You’re a mess, d’you know that? What bloke in his right mind would want to bed a slut like you?’
    Fingers clawed, Tilly struck out at his leering face, but Bert was too quick for her and he tipped her onto the floor. He was on his feet before she had a chance to scramble to safety, and, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, he frogmarched her out of the kitchen, along the passage and up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. Kicking the door open, he picked her up as if she were a featherweight and tossed her onto the bed. The springs