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CHAPTER NINETEEN: NIGHT'S CALLING
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TRUE TO HER WORD, it only took her five minutes to convince Mrs Scott to watch James for the rest of the day. It seemed her nosy neighbour had taken a liking to her son, enough that she didn't mind the last minute change of plans. In fact, she seemed almost happy to have the company. It reminded Helen of her own mother and what she imagined she would be like if things were just a bit different, putting her at ease that James would be in safe hands.
When Helen returned to Watery Lane, the line to the betting shop had tripled in length. The drunken group from before were at the front. As Helen drew closer, she heard them grumbling to themselves and encouraging each other to bang on the door. Helen rolled her eyes. She was about to shove past them when she spotted Linda, Arthur's wife, hesitating a few feet away like a deer caught in the headlights. Her blonde hair was pinned in strict curls kept out of her face, revealing delicate features that men like this would no doubt eat alive. Helen would know.
Just as she expected, when Linda murmured a polite 'excuse me' and tried to step around them, one of the men -- the drunkest one -- reached forward and grabbed hold of the basket she carried over one arm.
"What've you got here, love?" he smirked, attempting to shove a meaty hand inside despite her resistance. "Come on, let me look."
"If you value that grubby hand of yours, you'll leave her alone," Helen snapped, which distracted them long enough for Linda to stumble into the door.
The man spun around at the sound of her voice, nearly tripping over his own feet but righting himself at the last second on the shoulder of one of his friends. The rest of the group looked nervous now. They tried to drag their friend away in the sudden spike of sobriety (and common sense) but failed as he smacked at their reaching hands and grinned at her, revealing two rows of rotten teeth.
"Now where did a nice-looking lady like you learn to talk like that?" he asked with breath that stunk of ale.
Brazenly, he moved those dirty fingers to tug on a piece of her hair, igniting a fury in her that was blindsiding. In one quick movement, she'd snatched her hairpin from her pocket and sliced the rough blade across the exposed skin of his palm. He howled as blood splattered, clutching his wrist to his chest.
"You bitch--"
"Careful," she quirked an eyebrow. "Or I might decide that I'm not too happy with how you're looking at me. It'll hurt much more than your ego if I blind you. Don't you agree?"
Wisely, he kept quiet, though his eyes glittered with bitterness and a burning recognition that had come much too late.
"Good," she said, in answer to his silence. "Now move."
His friends parted like the red sea, allowing Helen to join a gaping Linda. She slammed her fist against the door, waiting for one of the women inside to let them in.
