The girls get paid by how fast they serve so it’s understandable,” he reasoned. “She acted like I’d asked her to fetch me a pint from the Liffey itself.” She snuggled closer as he stroked her hair. “I don’t like her,” she finished. “I’d say the feeling’s mutual,” he observed with candour. “She’s a jumped up little cow,” she added belligerently. “Well,” he conceded, laughing softly, “I suppose I should think myself lucky you didn’t try to head butt her. Despite your woeful aim, as head of security I’d be forced to take a very dim view of you assaulting my staff.” The light on the landing abruptly flicked off, enfolding them in an artificial twilight created by the diffused illumination of the main lights inside the club shining through the partially closed door. She could hear soft clinking from beyond and imagined the few remaining staff collecting the scattered detritus of a night of focused drinking. The sudden quiet unsettled her and she began to wonder where they were going to. Bugger! I can see that in your face; he lied, didn't he?" Sure did Debbie, I gave Sheila Peters a lift to college and back every week because she lived in the next street to me. You knew that at the time." Yeah, but you went around her house some evenings." Every Monday evening until her father died. Shelia's dad and my father were in the forces together. John Peters lost his sight in the same mine explosion that crippled my father. Every Monday since I was old enough, I pushed my old man's wheelchair round to Sheila's house and the two old soldiers would talk the war together, and my old man would read to John Peters. Poor bugger never did get the hang of Braille; nerve damage or something. When my father passed on, I went round there on my own every Monday and read to John Peters myself; it gave Sheila a break and allowed her one night she could go out, without feeling guilty." Why did you never tell anyone that you were doing that?" Why should I, what the hell has it got to do.
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