Free That'll Be the Day (2007) by Freda Lightfoot Page A

three of them unexpectedly. ‘It’s like one of our Barry’s boxing matches in here. You Hemley’s in the red corner yelling your heads off and getting all hot and bothered, and the Catlows in the blue about to murder each other, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll bet you five bob she’s trying to get out of going to visit his blessed mother.’
    ‘What would you know about it?’
    Lynda snorted. ‘Because our Winnie is a nosy old cow. Well, you can stick your nose out of our trough. So buzz off!’
    ‘Lynda!’ Betty scolded, while Jake merely sniggered, thankful that someone else was in the wrong for a change.
    ‘Can I have some apple crumble?’
    ‘You can shut your face,’ Betty told her son. ‘You too, Winnie, me old mate. I may not approve of my daughter’s choice of words but she does have a point.’
    To Winnie it was like water off a duck’s back. She merely sniffed and said, ‘I’ll take me Guinness over here then, if you don’t mind, so’s I can watch the entertainment. But if you need a referee, Barry’ll be here himself in a minute.’
     
    ‘Do you have to be so rude to people?’ Leo demanded, when they were finally settled at a table which suited her needs.
    Helen appeared shocked. ‘I have never been rude to anyone in my life! But you can’t expect me to actually enjoy coming in here. The place smells.’
    ‘Of course it smells – of beer. It’s a pub.’ Leo loosened his tie, feeling it might choke him at any minute.
    ‘Quite!’ And folding her gloved hands Helen sat in rigid disapproval, making her disdain all too apparent as the barman placed two heaped plates before them. Leo fell upon the meal like a starving man, tucking in with gusto, while Helen watched him with undisguised distaste. Really, there were times when she wondered what kind of man she’d married.
    ‘Aren’t you even going to try it?’ he asked her, through a mouthful of food.
    Helen grimaced. ‘I told you, I’m not hungry. I rarely eat anything at lunch time.’
    ‘Dinner time. The folk in this pub call it dinner. They are not like your posh friends who nibble on a crustless cucumber sandwich and call it lunch.’
    ‘Cucumber sandwiches are eaten at tea time, Leo, as you well know.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, eat the damn food, Helen. It won’t kill you and everyone is looking.’
    ‘Please don’t swear in my presence.’ A flush appeared high on each cheek but Helen’s innate fear of making an exhibition of herself compelled her to lift a fork and take a mouthful, although she did not remove her glove as she did so, almost as if the cutlery itself might be contaminated.
    But while she outwardly obeyed him, she wanted to make Leo pay for bringing her here. It really was too humiliating. Not another soul in the place was even wearing a hat. That girl Lynda was sitting with her mother now and they seemed to be arguing. So common!
    Helen recognised the older woman as being the one who owned the flower stall, the one who’d sold her the violets. Harmless enough, she supposed, and her apron was at least clean, but she was clearly none too bright otherwise she’d find something worthwhile to do with her life, wouldn’t she? And there was no husband in evidence, so who knew what her background was? No wonder the daughter was such a shameless flirt. And the boy, her son presumably, looked something of a tearaway.
    After several delicate mouthfuls and finding the pie really rather more tasty than she’d expected, Helen returned to their more accustomed point of conflict.  
    ‘So that little floosie you were talking to so eagerly just now, how come you know her so well? You certainly seemed most reluctant to leave her.’
    Leo sighed in exasperation. ‘I told you, I buy flowers from her mother Betty.’ He nodded in the direction of their table, as if he too had been watching them. Transfixed by the girl’s crossed legs, no doubt, which were long and shapely. ‘And I wasn’t in the least reluctant to leave