by Mark White
She rolled her eyes in despair and moved further down the bar to serve a waiting customer. As soon as her back was turned, Gowland sneered at her and resumed his favourite pastime of staring into his beer and bemoaning the unfairness of the hand that life had dealt him. He was joined two minutes later by Edward Bainbridge, husband of Charlotte; his freshly-pressed and barely worn Barbour clothes making him instantly recognisable as one of the Rowan Lane gang. He looked down at Frank and raised his eyebrows.
‘Care for a drink, Frank?’ he asked, arrogantly nodding at Tina to attract her attention.
Gowland sprang to attention like a demented jack-in-the-box: asking Frank Gowland whether he’d like a drink was like asking a constipated man whether he’d like a shit. ‘Err, aye, pint of Steeltown, please. Very kind of you, Mr Bainbridge.’ The two men knew each other; Edward had recruited Gowland’s services the previous summer to plant a few shrubs and fruit bushes in his garden. Since then, he’d used him for a couple of other odd-jobs: Gowland wasn’t the world’s most skilled handyman, or come to think of it the most reliable, but he generally got the job done in the end; and unless she was either mentally ill or desperate, or probably both, there wasn’t a cat in hells chance of him being able to entice Charlotte into bed with him. For a man like Edward, who spent most of the week in Newcastle, this was an important consideration.
‘I have a job for you,’ Edward said. ‘The guttering at the rear of the house is leaking in two places. The noise when I’m lying in bed, the drip drip drip; it’s like Chinese torture. Can you come round and sort it out? As soon as possible, eh?’
Gowland seethed inside at Edward’s conceited, superior tone of voice, but the chance of earning some beer tokens forced him to grin and bear it. He hadn’t always been such a pitiful slave to the bottle; he’d once owned a reasonably successful painting and decorating business, his reputation and talent ensuring that he was rarely without work. That Frank Gowland would not have been prepared to put up with Edward’s self-importance; that Frank Gowland would have told him, under no uncertain circumstances, exactly where he could stick his private education and holier-than-thou attitude. But not this Frank Gowland: this Frank Gowland, who had slipped further and further into the clutches of the bottle like a fly into a pitcher plant, was prepared to swallow his pride and sell his soul for the next drink. No questions asked.
‘Aye, I can sort it out, no problem Mr Bainbridge,’ he replied. ‘I’ll take a look as soon as the snow has cleared.’
‘I don’t want you to just take a look,’ replied Edward. ‘I want you to fix the bloody thing.’
‘Of course, of course, that’s what I meant. I was just saying that first I’d need to….’
‘Good,’ interrupted Edward. ‘Charlotte will expect you next week then. I’ll leave the details to her.’ And with that, he tried and failed to force a smile, collected his drink, and joined his wife and some equally-overdressed friends at their table.
Tina stood opposite Gowland, having characteristically listened into his conversation with Edward as she poured the drinks. ‘What a pompous twat,’ she said. ‘Who in the hell does he think he is, talking to you like you were nothing better than shit on his shoe? And you, Frank Gowland, I’m surprised you let him get away with it.’
‘Oh aye, and what would you have me do? Tell him to stuff his job and keep his money? He might be an arsehole, but so what? The world’s full of them, especially them with more money than sense. People like him have gotten away with talking like that to people like us since time began. It’s the way of the world; you should know that as well as anyone. Telling him to bugger off won’t help my situation one jot, will it?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Tina replied. For once, she was prepared to concede that Frank had a point: she’d worked for her fair share of little-Hitlers in her time; insecure, power-hungry know-it-alls who took every opportunity to abuse their positions of authority. But if you needed the money, what other choice was there than to bend over and take whatever they gave you?
There were those, however, who would take great satisfaction in kicking the living daylight out of anyone who so much as dared to look at them the wrong way, let alone a boss who tried to assert his authority using bully-boy management tactics. Jed and Lee Carter were two prime examples of such people, not that they had ever worked for anyone in their entire lives, apart from maybe their good-for-nothing father, Mick. Edward Bainbridge wouldn’t have dared speak to the Carter boys with the same tone he had used for Frank; not unless he had fancied a couple of weeks laid up in hospital drinking his lunch through a straw.
Aidan Carter had stayed at home with a fever; otherwise he would have been standing in the back room playing darts and drinking beer with his two brothers, their selfish two-hour monopolisation of the board going uncontested by anyone else who may have wanted a game. Jed and Lee, at eighteen and nineteen years old respectively, were already three sheets to the wind, and their minds were beginning to wander away from the dart board as they searched for the next source of entertainment.
‘Oi, Lee, have you seen that bird over there? She’s got a right pair of tits on her. I bet you wouldn’t mind sticking your cock between them, eh?’ asked Jed, as diplomatic as ever.
‘Too fuckin' right I wouldn’t,’ replied Lee. ‘I bet she’s a right goer. I’d fuckin' love to shag that. Mind, you’d have to have first crack at her.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Cause you wouldn’t be able to touch the sides once I was done with her!’
‘Fuck off, you twat!’ came the inevitably brash reply from Lee, promptly followed by a half-hearted attempt to kick his brother’s backside.
Tina shouted at them from behind the bar: ‘Hey, you two; pack your swearing in or you’re out, do you hear?’ She was used to dealing with the youngsters, especially the fledgling drinkers who seemed to require no more than a sniff of a barmaid’s apron to cause them to start acting like paralytic idiots. Jed looked at her and pretended to be frightened, but her warning was sufficient to return them begrudgingly to their game of darts, for the time being at least.
Laura Herne was doing her best to avoid eye contact with the Carter brothers as they stared across the room at her; not wishing to encourage their unwanted attention towards her ample breasts. ‘James, those two idiots keep staring at me,’ she said to her boyfriend. ‘They’re making me feel uncomfortable.’ She looked at James and subtly rolled her eyes in Jed and Lee’s direction.
James smiled at her. ‘Who, those two over there? I really wouldn’t worry about them, darling, they’re just a couple of local halfwits. You don’t often find a gorgeous babe like you in a place like this, you know?’ He winked at her and gently squeezed her knee beneath the table. ‘Half of this lot will end up marrying their cousin or pet sheep; honestly, you’d be surprised at the amount of interbreeding that goes on around here. Anyway, you’ve got Captain Woody to protect you should the need arise.’
James Woodsman, or Captain Woody as he was known to his beer-swilling rugby mates, had been reluctantly dragged to Rowan Lane by his parents two years earlier, when his father’s firm had relocated him to a job in Durham from their home in London. James hated The Cross from the moment he arrived, so much so that his parents had stumped up the extra cash to allow him to attend Boarding School in Durham rather than the excellent local comprehensive ten miles away in Hexham. The fear of ending up back in Shepherd’s Cross, or anywhere else in the North East for that matter, had proven to be such a formidable deterrent that it had incentivised James to study night and day for his A-Levels, which he had passed with flying colours. His achievements had enabled him to attend the London School of Economics, from where he had recently returned with his current girlfriend Laura, in order to spend the Christmas break at home with his parents. The term ‘arrogance of youth’ was never more applicable than in the case of James Woodsman, whose love of rugby and pretty girls was only outweighed by his love for himself.
‘Listen
, darling, why don’t I buy you another drink? I don’t fancy heading back just yet, especially not in this weather. What do you reckon, same again?’
‘I’m not sure, James. I really don’t like it here. And I don’t like being mentally undressed by a pair of drunken apes. Can’t we just go back and watch a DVD or something? In bed perhaps…?’
James didn’t need any more encouragement. ‘Good idea,’ he replied, downing the remaining dregs from his glass. ‘And I agree with you: this place is ghastly – it’s like a scene from Deliverance.’ He got up to go, but motioned to Laura to remain sitting. ‘Wait here – I just need to pop to the gents. Won’t be long.’ He walked to the men’s toilet, turning round to give Laura an ‘I can’t wait to shag you’ kind of smile, completely oblivious to Jed and Lee as they watched his every step.
‘Right, Jed,’ said Lee. ‘Now’s our chance. How about we ask that slag if she’s ever been with a real man, eh?’
Jed smiled at his older brother. ‘I’m up for it,’ he replied, nodding towards Laura’s table and setting his darts down on a nearby bench. ‘After you.’
Laura noticed the two brothers making their way towards her; as she watched them out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that they were intent on hassling her while James was out of sight. She felt confident that she wasn’t in danger - there were too many people in the pub for that - nevertheless she froze to her chair like a startled rabbit in the glare of an oncoming headlight. How she longed for the cold anonymity of London, where nobody spoke to anybody anymore and where it was as socially acceptable to stare into the soulless screen of a smartphone as the human face of a stranger.
Lee spoke first, his younger brother standing behind him and ogling her like she was the first woman he’d ever seen. ‘Excuse me, pet, I saw you sitting here all by yourself and was wondering if you’d like a drink or something?’ He sat down beside her without invitation, laying his arm behind her on top of the cushioned bench.
Laura squirmed uncomfortably in her seat without replying, staring intently at the door to the gents, praying for Captain Woody’s swift return.
Jed’s initial shyness disappeared as soon as he realised that she was frightened of them; his confidence growing like a bully who knew he wasn’t going to be challenged. ‘Didn’t you hear him?’ he asked, sitting down on the other side of her to Lee. ‘He asked you if you wanted a drink. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude not to answer?’
‘No, thank you. I don’t want a drink. Actually, I’m waiting for my boyfriend – we’re just leaving.’
‘Boyfriend?’ said Lee. ‘You’re not telling me he’s your boyfriend, are you? Good looking bird like you could do a lot better than that ugly tosser. Listen, why don’t you ditch him and come for a walk with me? There’s this place I know where we can be alone. Not far from here. You won’t regret it, trust me. You posh birds love a bit of rough, don’t you? I promise I’ll be rough with you, sweetheart!’ The two brothers laughed at the cleverness of the innuendo, knowing it wouldn’t get them anywhere, but nonetheless enjoying their intimidating game.
‘Please, just leave me alone. I’m really not interested.’ She tried to stand up to get away from them, but Lee’s strong hand gripped her shoulder and pushed her back on to her seat.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked. ‘We haven’t finished talking yet.’ He moved his mouth closer to her ear and whispered: ‘listen, have you ever been screwed by two men at the same time? Seriously, come with us – you’ll have the time of your…’
‘Hey, what do you think you’re playing at? Get away from her, now! NOW!’ James strode towards them, his fists clenched, ready for the fight. At six foot two inches, he cast an imposing figure; and while he didn’t particularly relish the opportunity to square up to two hardened farmhands, he knew that there was a good chance of scaring them off if he went in with all guns blazing.
Unfortunately for James, Jed and Lee weren’t remotely threatened by his bravado: they’d taken too many beatings at the hands of their father to be frightened of anyone; indeed, win or lose, the Carter boys loved nothing more than a good old-fashioned punch-up. ‘Come on then, you pussy,’ said Lee, jumping up. ‘Let’s see what you’re made of. I tell you what, whoever comes out on top gets first crack at your missus. She’s just told me that you’re shite in the sack anyway.’ Jed laughed at his brother’s joke as he went to his side to join him in the action.
Publically poking fun at his manhood was enough for the red mist to suddenly cloud James’s vision, and he leapt at them, blindly swinging his arms in their general direction. He struck lucky with the first punch, his fist smashing into Lee’s face with an enormous cracking sound as his nose gave way, blood gushing down his shirt as he fell to the floor screaming in agony. Jed jumped furiously at James, pulling him over in a headlock and trying with all his might to strangle him as he writhed beneath him, Laura screaming for him to let go and begging for somebody to stop them. No matter how hard he tried, James wasn’t able to extract himself from Jed’s grip, rage giving way to fear as he struggled to breathe and began to lose his strength. Meanwhile, Lee had returned to his feet and began kicking James in the ribs, forceful blows being dealt in rapid-fire succession, the sound of his moaning becoming fainter as he slipped steadily towards unconsciousness.
If it wasn’t for the timely intervention of Sergeant Brian Jennings, there was no doubt that the Carter brothers would have pursued their relentless mauling of James Woodsman until it half-killed him. Laura’s screaming had travelled through to the formal bar, where Jennings had been enjoying the evening’s first pint of ale. He’d rushed to her assistance with the spritely movement of a Policeman half his age, dragging Jed away from James by the hair and throwing him to the floor. It wasn’t long before Jennings was joined by Bill Turner, whose huge arms wrapped around Lee in a bear-hug embrace, preventing him from dishing out any more violence.
After a few moments of scuffling, Jennings and Turner eventually managed to restrain the two brothers. Jennifer Conway, a nurse living in the village, accompanied James, Laura and Tina to a room above the pub, where she could administer the relevant first aid away from the prying eyes of the not-so-good Samaritans downstairs; most of whom had seemed content to turn a blind eye to the horrific act of violence they had witnessed before them.
When the Carter boys eventually calmed down, Jennings looked at them in dismay and shook his head. ‘Congratulations, you two: you’ll be pleased to know you’ve just been awarded a night in the cell for your actions. And it’s highly likely you’ll be waking up in the morning with a charge against you of Common Assault. For Christ’s sake, what were you playing at? You nearly killed him!’ It had been almost a year since he’d needed to lock anyone up in the Station’s single basement cell; most of his arrests were transferred to the larger town of Cornforth. But there was no way of transporting these two tonight, especially given the worsening conditions on the roads. And besides, a night in a cold cell to think about their actions was precisely what they deserved. ‘Bill, I’m sorry to bother you, but will you give me a hand to take these two over the road? I don’t want them slipping away like ferrets.’
‘Aye, no problem Brian. C’mon you two, let’s go.’
The two men accompanied Lee and Jed from the sanctuary of the warm pub into the bitter cold of the night, leading them across the green to the lane that led to the Station. They arrived five minutes later, Jennings opening the front door and ushering them inside. Without saying a word, he manhandled them through the foyer to a narrow flight of stairs leading down to the basement. He was furious at the inconvenience that the Carter boys had caused. Apart from the mountain of paperwork they’d created, he would need to sacrifice his evening to wait in the Station and stand guard over them until morning. As much as he wanted to leave them alone banged up downstairs, he was acutely aware that to do so would result in him losing his job. He could call Cara, after all it was her turn on duty, but what was the
point? She had to work the whole weekend, and as capable as she was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing she was alone in the Station with the Carter boys, especially if Mick and Aidan got wind of what had happened and decided to come and add to the trouble. No, he would settle in for the evening and hand over the reins to her in the morning. Turn the heating up, switch the radio on and boil the kettle.
Jennings and Turner led the pair downstairs to the cell and pushed them inside, locking the door behind them. ‘There’s water and a toilet over there, anything else will have to wait until morning. And if I so much as hear a whisper out of either of you, I swear to God I’ll do my utmost to make sure you end up serving time for your actions this evening, do you hear me?’
Jed and Lee looked at the ground and nodded, their fledgling hangovers and realisation of the trouble they were in combining to make them feel exceptionally sorry for themselves.
Jennings sighed. ‘Right, I’m going to leave the basement light on. It wouldn’t surprise me if you two cowards were afraid of the dark. And remember, not a word!’ With that, the two young men were left standing in their cell: twelve long hours ahead of them to lament their stupidity before facing the inevitable wrath of their father.
When Jennings and Turner returned upstairs, the two old friends sat down to recover from the strain of the previous thirty minutes. ‘Is there anything you need from the store?’ asked Bill. ‘I don’t mind opening up and fetching a few things – food, milk, whisky?’
Jennings smiled. ‘That’s kind of you, Bill, but I’m fine. There’s plenty here in the kitchen. You get yourself back to the pub – I know I would.’ He suddenly felt very tired, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. ‘Times are changing, Bill. This place is changing. I don’t know what you think, but there’s just not the respect anymore; not the trust there once was. I don’t know…maybe I’m just getting old.’