✨Written in the Stars✨

Chapter 6 - The Events of November 1912

On the night that Eric met Margaret, the Palace Bar was full of people. Just a few more and it would have been impossible to move. Of course, Margaret was not her real name. She'd changed it so many times, she'd forgotten her first one by now.

He saw her whilst he was sat with some old friends. She was across the room, stood at the bar, talking to a man who looked twice her age, but well respected by his peers and in need of a woman's embrace, likely due to the neglect of his own wife. Seeing women looking to seduce businessmen was normal for the area, but the young lad found himself taken aback a bit by the girl's appearance.

She had her hair tied back loosely, and it looked as if it would fall down at the slightest jolt. Her face was pretty, but her lack of nourishment showed and her figure was unhealthy. She evidently hadn't eaten properly in weeks, possibly even months. Though prostitutes were normally quite confident, this one was clearly uncomfortable with her position, but put on a brave face in order to hide it. Eric's first thoughts were not those of a man overcome with desire, but rather pity — all he wished to do was help her.

Within minutes he was stood a few metres away from her. The older gent she was talking to had cleared off, and she was now staring blankly at a glass of brandy in her hands. "Good evening miss. You look a little tired, are you alright?" Eric extended a hand to the girl, and she reluctantly placed her hand in his. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, holding it there for just a few seconds too long for it to be a friendly gesture.

"Truth be told, good sir, I am tired. But women like me don't deserve breaks, not in Brumley." She flashed a weak smile, but her eyes were glossed over and it looked as if she was going to cry at any moment. "My name is Margaret Swan. And you?"

"Birling. Eric Birling."

The two talked for what felt like hours. Margaret clearly had a lot of emotional baggage to unpack, and she evidently hadn't been able to talk to someone genuine in a while. Eric must have been about seven drinks in, her on three. "My mother died what feels like eons ago. My father ran off, and I haven't been able to find him since. I do have one older brother, there's around five years between us, but he joined the police force and moved to London. He despises me, I haven't spoken to him since 1909."

"My god, that's awful! I have a sister who's a few years older, and I can't imagine ever cutting her off completely no matter how many times we argue. I'm sorry that your life has had so many hardships."

"It's fine. I'm used to it. Eventually you learn to deal with dissapointment."

They drank a little more in silence, though they grew closer as friends even without words exchanged. Eric had four pounds in his pocket, which he gave to her as a parting gift and a token of goodwill, before heading off into the night.