The Murder Pit. Mick Finlay
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with a few drinks in him.’
‘Just one more? For friendship sake?’
‘We cannot.’
‘Of course,’ agreed the parson, putting the stopper back on the decanter. He looked at the ruby liquid as the flame from the lamp played on it and sighed. ‘We did enjoy ourselves the other night, didn’t we?’
The pub fell silent as we came through the door. It was packed out: the three old blokes who never seemed to leave were there, the fellow with the wizened grandmother, Skulky, Edgar, and twelve or thirteen others, all of them red-faced in the close heat of the fire. Under one of the tables slept a baby in a wooden box, a bottle of Dalby’s Calmative in her hand; a girl of four or five smoked her ma’s pipe by the fire. Even Root was standing at the counter, his eyes half-closed.
Godwin sat in the corner next to the lady he was having a shunt at before. He was the only one in that baking hot pub with his jacket on and was suffering from it: his brow was damp, his neck out in blotches. He scowled at us as we found a couple of empty seats by the door.
‘Thought you said you chased these two off, Godwin!’ cried the coalman, a great Welsh bloke with a glass eye that shone out of the grime of his ruined face.
‘What’d you do, wave your flipper at them?’ called one of the old blokes from across the room. A great peal of laughter arose.
Godwin looked away, taking a long draw of his tankard. He whispered to the woman, who nodded and patted his knee.
I got us some drinks. The landlady was half-cut: she moved about like she had two wooden legs and now and then let out a growling burp into the great hubbub of the drinkers. The old dog staggered over to me very slow, his legs shaking, his eye gunked like a smashed-up egg. I pushed him away toward the little girl, who made a grab for his fur.
We sat there in the noise, watching them all drink and shout, spending their wages, baked by the blazing fire and the heat of their chat.
‘My Lord, this is a drunken pub,’ said the guvnor at last. I could tell he was uneasy by Skulky and Edgar being there, so sure was he that they’d been about to rob us the other night. They stood by the skittles table in their checked shirts and waistcoats. Their beards were wilder and bushier than any other, and it seemed to give them a level above the other men. Next to them was a short bloke in a moleskin jacket and a battered bowler: Weavil, I guessed. They were watching us, whispering.
Root staggered past, his helmet crooked, and fell out the door.
As I supped my porter, a cockle shell hit me in the brow and dropped onto the floor; a laugh went up from the other side of the room where three butchers sat with a couple of women in aprons.
The guvnor went to the counter and ordered drinks for Godwin and his lover. He paid and came back to sit with me, while the landlady squeezed out from the counter and thumped a tankard and a mug on Godwin’s table. She pointed at us and burbled something to him.
‘I’ll buy my own drinks, Arrowood,’ called Godwin across the room, pouring the beer into an ash bucket on the floor. His lady didn’t want him to take the gin, but he got it off her and did the same. It was clear he’d had a few already.
Some of the punters turned to watch.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Mr Ockwell,’ said the guvnor. ‘I haven’t come to cause any trouble.’
‘You’re a bloody nuisance, you two,’ snarled Godwin. ‘You sent the parson to examine us. You accused us to the police. You’ve been asking questions in here. You found nothing against us and now here you are again dogging me. So how about you just finish your drinks and leave? There’s no one wants you in here.’
‘I wanted to apologize, that’s all, sir,’ said the guvnor. ‘Let me buy you and your friend a meal, how about that?’
‘Leave!’ cried Godwin, slamming his fist on the table. Everyone there, even the baby, was watching him now. ‘Go on. Hook it!’
We didn’t move. He glared at us for a moment, then hunched in towards the lady and they started to talk again. As they did, he glanced over at the other punters. His cap came off, his hand travelled over his bald head. The cap went back on again.
Soon the old men took up their dominoes. The grandma and her bloke turned back to the fire and stared at the flames, their heads drooping. The coalman said something to the butchers. They laughed. The talk got louder, the men vying with each other to be heard. The two women in aprons, their arms around each other, looked on with broad smiles. We watched it all for a while longer, the guvnor chewing his lip, thinking hard. Finally, he leant over.
‘Look at him,’ he whispered. ‘How he hides that lazy arm in his jacket. The two of them sit on their own while all the rest are enjoying each other’s company. See how he keeps looking over at them?’
He gazed across at Godwin again and thought on it. The lady had her hand on the farmer’s knee as she talked. Godwin nodded and drank steadily, a sour look on his face.
‘Doesn’t he seem alone, Barnett?’
‘He does, sir.’
He leant closer to me and whispered: ‘I want you to try and make love to his lady-friend. Go and talk sweet to her. Provoke him.’
‘How’s that going to help?’
Another cockle shell come through the air, bouncing off the guvnor’s mug. He ignored it.
‘He’s feeling humiliated. We’ve diminished him in front of all these people by not leaving when he told us. The only way he’ll talk is if we give him a chance to get back his pride. Act as if you’re cowed by him, then skulk back over here. Let him dominate you; put on a show of it.’
‘Could make things worse, sir.’
‘Just do it, Barnett.’
I drank my pint down in one go. As I did, Godwin got up and went to the counter with his tankard. I was straight over to his table, sliding up the bench next to the lady. She looked at me, her movements lazy. She was stewed, like everyone else in there.
‘Hello, sugar,’ I said.
She nodded and took a swallow of gin. The green scarf round her neck had fallen, showing the skin as rough and sooty. She smelled of pineapple.
‘Fancy getting a bit of fresh air?’ I said, putting my hand on hers. ‘Away from this lot?’
‘Leave off, will you?’ she said with a giggle. Her lips were painted a funny orange colour; a patch of red was on each cheek.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Lisa,’ she said, soft enough so Godwin wouldn’t hear.
‘You ever been up to the city, Lisa?’
‘A lady ain’t safe up there, mate. Not till they catch old Jack.’
I put my arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear, ‘I’d keep you safe, Lisa. You can take your davy on it.’
‘Oh yeah? Don’t think my fella’d like that.’
I leant in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Here!’ she cried, pulling my arm off her shoulder and sliding away from me. I looked up to see Godwin standing over the table, a pint in one hand, the other hid inside his jacket.
‘Get out of it,’ he hissed.
‘We’re just talking, mate.’
‘Yeah? Well you can go fuck yourself, mate. I said get out of it! Now!’
‘All right.’ I stood up, holding my hands in the air and trying to look scared. ‘Steady on. No harm done.’
‘Hook