‘Nice shot.’ Finn gave an appreciative nod.
Philly was now their last man standing, and he looked decidedly worried. He was clearly not a fighter – his gelled and preened hair and carefully trimmed moustache told me that this was a man who valued his face. Honour, however, demanded that he made some kind of effort, so he rushed forward with a drunken roar that was his attempt at a battle cry, and swung his right arm in a clumsy arc to where Finn was just getting to his feet. Sheer momentum meant that his gold sovereign-decorated fist missed Finn by a mile, and instead smacked me full in the mouth.
I felt my teeth pierce my bottom lip as my blood and saliva created a tribute to Jackson Pollock across the wooden floor, and Philly stood clutching his fist to his chest, still in shock at actually managing to hit something. I recovered enough to plant a decent right jab on my assailant’s jaw, then Finn thumped him so hard in the stomach that all his breath was pushed out in one wheeze and he slumped back on the banquette. He made one last attempt to push himself out of his seat, but Finn simply reached over and slapped him hard on the back of his head so that he hit the table face-first. There was an audible crunching noise as his front teeth crumbled against the solid surface, and Philly stopped fighting.
‘I’ll have you fucking murdered for this!’ the landlord yelled, finally finding the courage to do something other than cower behind his counter. ‘Look at the state of my bloody bar!’
I looked around at the wreckage. ‘I’d say we’ve caused at least three grand’s worth of improvements.’
Finn laughed, and the landlord glowered at him. ‘Yeah, it’s funny now, isn’t it, you cocky little bugger? See how much you bloody well laugh when I tell her Ladyship.’
‘See if it’s any louder than you laugh when I tell her you stood there like a spare prick at an orgy whilst three of her staff assaulted her houseguest,’ Finn retorted.
That worried the man. He looked at me properly for the first time, and his face paled at the thought of Blaine’s wrath. ‘Just get out. The pair of you. And don’t bloody well come back ‘til you learn some manners.’
‘We were just leaving anyway.’ I gathered up my sweater and Finn’s hoodie. ‘I hate having one too many on a school night.’ I stepped unsteadily over Damo, and walked triumphantly out into the night.
Finn staggered out after me. Blood dripped from his nose and soaked his t-shirt, but he was grinning like a madman.
I took his arm. ‘That was amazing! Where’d you learn to fight like that?’
Finn gave a bashful shrug. ‘Ah, you know . Here and there. Care home, first up – turnin’ up on my first night with a face like a girl. Then the odd bit of bare-knuckle stuff round and about the city. What about you? You were pretty handy with that pool cue. Like fuckin’ Bruce Lee or something. And that punch...’
‘Secondary school. Turning up on my first day with an accent like Princess Anne. I gate-crashed the local Catholic boys’ boxing club on the second day and demanded lessons off the nice priest that ran it. ’
‘Ah. Right you are.’
‘You might want to do something about that.’ Huge drops of blood fell from his nose and spattered onto the slate pavement.
‘Oh.’ Finn took his hoodie from me and used it to stem the flow of blood, then sniffed. ‘Y’know, I could fuckin’ kill a bag of chips.’
‘Wow. Crisps and chips all in one night. You’ll turn into a real fat bastard if you’re not careful. So, is there a takeaway in the village?’
‘Yeah...’
‘But?’
‘But I’m not allowed to use it, am I? Guests only.’
I frowned. ‘I’m a guest, aren’t I, technically? Apart from the ‘not allowed to leave’ bit. I mean, that’s why you had to defend my honour and everything.’
‘Yeah...’
‘Then I’ll buy the chips.’
Finn looked me up and down. ‘Uh, you’re a bit of a mess, y’know? Your lip and all that…’
‘And is there a dress code at this fucking takeaway?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Then I’ll buy the chips.’
Finn
Lilith winced and put the chip back in the bag. ‘Ow. Salt and vinegar and open wounds. Not a good combination. You can finish them.’