The Longest Fight Read Free Page A

new ones to choose from down at Simmonds’ Grocers. They were both trapped in that mirror of the past. But they weren’t the only ones; the pub was full of faces. They would all want to be his mate now he was on the up. The new barmaid was rolling his way too, swaying one pretty hip after the other. Her skin as creamy as the head on the pint of Courage she put in front of him.
    ‘Evening.’ Jack winked at her. ‘First day?’
    The barmaid made some reply but he couldn’t hear her voice over the noise in the pub. He nodded anyway, hoped she didn’t sound like a yapping puppy as the last girl had.
    ‘Well, don’t know if Cousin Alf told you, but he only marks down every other pint in the book for me. We’re close.’
    She flicked the cloth at him. ‘He told me not to listen to nothing you lot said.’
    That quick movement sent a buzz down Jack’s spine. He reached across the bar, caught her wrist before she could snap the damp rag again. She let him stroke the sides of her fingers for a second. It really was her first day: hands soft, not cracked and dry from rinsing glasses; neatly filed nails, polished tin jewellery. The gold-coloured rings reminded Jack of Rosie buthe pushed the thought from his head. He concentrated on the pumping pulse in his neck.
    The girl nodded in Pearl’s direction. ‘She with you?’
    Jack nearly blew beer from his nostrils but swallowed it back in time. ‘Christ, I ain’t that hard up. She’s my little sis.’
    ‘She looks too young to be your sweetheart but I thought she might be your daughter.’
    ‘Don’t make me laugh. I ain’t ready to be six feet under yet.’
    The barmaid turned her head. Glasses were building up at the other end of the bar, but Jack didn’t want her to leave yet. He gripped hold of Pearl’s wrist, rolled up her sleeve. Small teardrop-shaped scars, white as milk, marked her arm.
    ‘I’ll show you a trick.’ Jack kept his voice low, reeling the girl in.
    He took the cigarette out of his mouth, sucked the dry-paper taste from his bottom lip. The end was damp with spit so he gripped it nearer the ember; as if he were holding a pen he dabbed a full stop on Pearl’s forearm then whipped it away again. The barmaid let out a shriek – the best reaction yet. Pearl turned a page and the girl closed her mouth. They fell for it every time.
    He re-lit the end with a fresh match, handed the cigarette to the girl. ‘Go on, try it. She’s been like that since a baby. Smack her across the face and she just ain’t going to feel it.’
    ‘I don’t know.’ The girl twisted the cigarette between her fingers. ‘Sure it won’t hurt none?’
    ‘Did you hear her make a peep? Doctors got some name for it, can’t for the life of me remember what.’ Jack sat back on his stool. ‘Tell her, Pearl.’
    ‘Idiopathic neuropathy.’ She stared at the girl. ‘It wouldn’t hurt if you cut me open with a knife.’
    The girl picked up the cigarette, tapped it against Pearl’s arm, and let out a small squeal. It filtered through the growing fog of beer inside his head. Pearl snapped her lips tight, snatched her arm away. Those grey irises, always staring athim. Sometimes a trick of the light or a fall of a shadow and it was like having Rosie back.
    ‘Best leave it there.’ He winked at the barmaid.
    ‘At least she’ll never get her heart broken.’ The barmaid sucked down on the cigarette, drawing out the last spark. ‘How can she, when she can’t feel nothing? Lucky cow.’
    ‘She’s just a kid, not even interested in boys. Are you, Pearl?’
    She shrugged. Too busy reading and dreaming; a lost cause, but still she was good around the house. Pearl rubbed antiseptic over the red bump; the pot of Clayton’s she carried round stank of eucalyptus. The barmaid turned to serve one of the dockers. He gave Pearl a gentle push.
    ‘Get supper on for me?’
    ‘I waited here because you said you’d have money, Jack. I don’t get paid until the end of the