The hackles on Harry’s neck tightened. “What did you just say to me?”
Damien stepped towards Harry, but was still a good nine feet away. “I said that you’re a no-good fucking drunk, and that if someone is hurt out there, screaming for help, the worst person that could turn up to help them would be you. Probably just puke on ‘em and pass out. They’d end up having to get an ambulance for your sorry ass.”
Harry wanted to use words to retaliate – he was a civilised man after all – but none came to mind. The only thing that entered his head was a blind, boiling rage. He leapt at Damien’s smug, laughing face, crossing the nine feet before his heart could even beat once. His first punch landed square and no more blows were required. Damien’s nose scrunched up, spreading across his cheeks, until both nostrils were gushing blood. The young thug didn’t go down though and instead just staggered backwards, holding his nose in stunned bewilderment.
After a few moments of confusion, Damien grabbed a hold of himself, dropping his hands out to his sides and straightening up his body. His nose dripped a viscous meld of blood and mucous; it ran down the light-blue shirt inside his puffer jacket.
“You just shot yourself in the head, mate,” said Damien. “If I were you, I’d go in those toilets, take off that cheap-ass belt around your cock-less waist, tie it round your alcoholic neck, and hang yourself. Cus I’m going to kill you. I’m going to slide a knife in your belly and laugh in your face while you die. I’ll be the last person you see and I’ll be laughing my ass off.”
Harry’s soul deflated as he realised the seriousness of his actions. What had made him act so violently? That wasn’t him at all. Was it? Either way, he’d chosen a course of action and he would stick to it – there was no other choice.
Harry spat defiantly. “Try it, you little fuckweed!”
Damien nodded and started towards him, taking each step casually as if he had all the time in the world. Harry tried to swallow but found a lump of coal blocking his throat. He raised his fists and prepared for his first ever bar fight.
Lucas jumped between the two of them and placed a hand across Damien’s chest. “Calm down there, fellas. Thought we had an agreement? We’re all going to play nice tonight.”
Damien sneered. “Try telling that to your man here; wrecked a perfectly good designer shirt. He’ll pay for it though, so don’t worry.”
Lucas sighed. “You gentlemen can settle up another night. There’s no time for it now. There’s some lass screaming out there and our Harry was about to do the noble thing and go offer assistance. You should do the noble thing and let him.”
Damien shook his head. “You were the one telling him not to go out there two minutes ago.”
“Well,” said Lucas, “that was before he was in as much danger here as he will be out there. Besides, there’s a chance he might freeze to death so you should be all for it.”
Damien backed off slightly, waving an arm towards the door. “We’ll finish this later. That is, if you don’t freeze your tiny balls off out there first. Good luck!”
Harry was unsure what to do, not wanting to lower his fighting stance until he knew the situation was defused. He looked at Lucas who nodded at him reassuringly. Harry lowered his arms and moved back towards the pub’s exit.
“Wait!” It was Steph. She sounded worried. “Let me find you a torch or something.”
“Yeah,” Old Graham agreed from under his blanket by the fire. “At least take a blanket with you.”
Nigel added the final voice of concern. “Or maybe you should try calling out the door before you go trekking off. See if anyone shouts back and gives you directions.”
Harry waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure someone’s just slipped over. I’ll be straight back.”
Damien sniggered from the back of the room. “Then you and me can pick up where we left off.”
Harry’s stomach churned. He decided to put Damien out of his mind for the moment; there were other things to worry about. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Life had taught him that a long time ago. Harry stepped towards the door…
Clonk!
…before falling to the ground clutching his head. The door had swung inwards, clubbing him in the forehead. The world was cast into darkness as the wind swept in from outside and extinguished all the candles on the bars. Harry moaned in pain.
“Shit! Are you okay?” asked Steph from somewhere in the darkness.
“What’s going on?” asked Nigel, who was just about visible beside the flickering fireplace. The flames fought back against the darkness but failed to light more than a small semi-circle at their base.
Harry ceased his moaning and tried to get up. He could feel the pressure building in his skull as a swelling began to form above his left eye. Reaching forward onto his hands, he planted his knees on the floor and prepared to get back to his feet. It was then that he realised someone stood in front of him in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
For a few moments everyone stood still and listened for an answer. Eventually one came: “My name’s Kath. I’m the manageress of the supermarket across the road.”
A collective sigh of relief filled the room, more so from Harry than anyone else. “Try knocking next time. You almost had my head off.”
Kath laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry. I guess the weather has put me in a bit of a panic.”
“Were you the one screaming?” Steph asked as she started relighting the candles on the bar.
Kath moved away from the doorway and towards the light. “Oh, that’s better. I was starting to forget what it was like to be able to see properly.” She offered her hand to Steph.
Steph shook it. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Steph. So, was it you that was screaming?”
“Huh? Screaming? No, that wasn’t me. It would no doubt be that silly girl.”