Free Darkest Before Dawn by Katie Flynn Page A

is Percy, otherwise me brother Gareth wouldn’t be his pal. They play footie together and Gareth says Percy’s the best player in the court. He says he’ll play for the Reds one of these days.’
    At this point, the bell interrupted them and the girls hurried to form lines, and presently took their places in class. As Evie settled into her seat, she glanced across at Millie, wondering whether to ask if the other girl had any more information about the doings at the warehouse, then decided against it. Anything Millie told her would be second if not third hand. Now that she was on good terms with Percy, she felt she had access to first-hand knowledge.
    The teacher opened the register and began to call the names and Evie settled back in her seat. Before too long, she would know as much as Percy did as far as pranks were concerned.
    That evening, the warehousemen met for a drink at the Bridge Inn at the end of Chisenhale Street before making their way home. It was not pay day and the pub would not give them tick, so they sat chatting companionably, each man making his mug of porter last as long as he could. The only one not to join in the talk was Reg Baldwin, who sat with both hands round his mug, gazing frowningly at the sawdust on the floor. He was in a bad mood and wanted to put off going home for as long as possible. He had only the haziest memories of the previous night, but despite his present ill humour he still felt a glow of satisfaction as he remembered his fist crunching into someone’s face and the delicious swoop as he had chucked someone – someone light – across the filthy kitchen. He remembered shouting at his wife because the meal she had provided had not been to his liking, though he had no recollection of what had been on the table. His wife had bleated and wept, screaming that he was tearing the hair from her head, begging him to let her go so that she might begin to prepare a meal which he would enjoy. He had laughed at the suggestion, knowing that there would be no more food in the house. He remembered bellowing that he wanted GUINNESS, GUINNESS, GUINNESS . . .
    Then, he supposed, the fight had started, not that it had been much of a fight. His sons were a cowardly couple; it had not taken him long to settle their hash. But his wife had somehow managed to sneak out of the house while he was teaching the boys a lesson and brought in that interferin’ bugger Briggs. The man was huge, a docker, strong as an ox. Even now, Reg could see the man’s fist raised, which was the last thing he did remember.
    He had woken this morning, stiff, hung over, with a mouth as dry as a desert and a raging thirst. He had been lying on the floor, his head resting in something sticky and disgusting which proved to be his own vomit, and when he had shouted for assistance no one had come. He had managed to get up on to all fours and had crawled across to the sink beneath which – thank God – was the pail, still half full of water. He had grasped the bucket as lovingly as if it had contained Guinness and had drunk a good half of the suddenly delicious ice cold contents. His head had still been swimming after the previous night’s drink, but he felt better and had crawled back to the couch, heaving himself aboard it and falling immediately asleep.
    He had been woken again by someone shaking his shoulder. It was the boy, Percy, white as a sheet save for an enormous black eye. Reg had reached out for him, meaning to use the boy’s shoulder as a support to help him sit up, but Percy had stepped back quickly – so quickly that the question that had hovered on Reg’s lips – Where did you get that black eye? – became immediately unnecessary. Well, I reckon he deserved it, Reg had told himself, glancing at the kitchen clock. Oh, God, if he were to get to work on time, he’d need to get a move on. In the old days – the good old days, he had amended –