The Final Winter

Chapter Eight

By 10pm everyone had moved over to the sofa by the fireplace. The temperature had swan-dived so low that Harry and the others shivered constantly. Steph’s teeth had also begun to chatter, leading everyone to giggle at her, which she didn’t seem to appreciate. The atmosphere by the fire was just about comfortable, but Harry was certain it was getting colder still.

How much colder can it get before we all freeze to death?

“I’m starting to worry,” said Steph, as if she’d read Harry’s mind. She was sitting on a thread-bare footstool beside the fire and hugging herself tightly. “The snow really doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon, and it’s damn nippy.”

Harry looked over at the pub’s front window and found himself agreeing. The snow was falling as heavily as ever and the large sheet of plate glass was starting to frost over, with icy spider webs creeping from the corners. He nestled into the sofa cushions to seek out their warmth, but found none.

“What’s your drama?” said Damien from his standing place at the left side of the fire’s mantelpiece. In his thick puffer jacket he looked warmer than the rest of them. “A bit of a chill won’t kill you, woman.”

“Won’t it?” she asked.

“Course not, you dopey cow. The power will be on again soon and the heating will kick on with it, so stop fucking menstruating.”

Harry snapped, not quite sure why. He wasn’t usually quick-tempered at all. “Let’s have less of the bad language. Didn’t your father ever teach you to treat women with respect?”

Damien was instantly enraged by the comment. “You don’t talk about my father, you hear me? You’re beneath him. What you going do, anyway? Teach me some manners?”

“Maybe I will,” Harry replied, still wondering what he was getting himself into and why.

Damien stepped forwards, but was halted by Steph who placed a hand on his chest. “Behave!” she said. “Harry’s right, you should treat women with respect – especially when they happen to be in charge of the only place with an open fire for miles. You’re welcome to go freeze somewhere else, if you’d like, but if not then I don’t expect another peep out of you.”

Damien sniggered. “Why don’t you two just shag each other and get it over with.”

Harry blushed at the remark, turned the emotion into anger, and then went to get up out of his seat, but Lucas, sat beside him, placed a hand on his arm and stopped him. The Irishman shook his head and eased Harry back down onto the sofa. Harry yielded, but couldn’t help but eyeball Damien. The little prick had a smug grin on his face and obviously thought he had won some small victory.

Probably thinks I’m chicken. Maybe I am? Or maybe I’m just frightened of what I’ll do…

“Anyway,” said Lucas, changing the subject. “Besides young Stephanie here – who I know is the world’s finest barmaid – what do the rest of you call an excuse for a living?”

Stephanie laughed. “You cheeky git! I’m more than a mere barmaid. I plan on starting up a pet grooming business when I’ve saved enough money. Say about another year and I’ll be there.”

Harry had known Steph since she’d started at the pub, but he’d never learned that about her. It seemed important and he wished he’d shown more interest in her life, instead of always relying upon her to show interest in his. An air-bubble of guilt rose up from his gullet and stuck in his throat.

Beside the fireplace, Damien was rubbing at his sore hand and laughing to himself, apparently lacking appreciation for Stephanie’s ambitions. Lucas, however, seemed more interested. “Pet grooming?” he said, stroking at his chin thoughtfully. “Now does that mean you’ll spend your time giving rats haircuts and squirrels baths?”

Steph giggled. “I was thinking more dogs and cats, but hey whatever. I love animals and they all smell better after a bath.”

Damien’s laughter erupted in a mean-spirited snicker that made Harry want to spit at him. “What you want to spend your time washing shit off Rottweilers for?” He winked at Stephanie. “I’ve got ways you can earn some real money, darlin’.”

Harry’s ‘thuggish-little-prick-tolerance’ was met once again, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the comment seemed to roll off Stephanie’s back, he may have gotten into another verbal bout of sparring with Damien. He was beginning to lose patience.

Stay calm, Harry told himself. This kid would knife you so much as look at you. Don’t let him bring you down to his level. You made that mistake once before…

“So then,” Lucas addressed Damien. “What is it that you do with yourself then, lad?”

“Don’t ask,” said Nigel from his space on the floor beside the fire.

“Because if he told you; he’d have to kill you,” added Old Graham beside him.

“Is that true?” Lucas enquired, eyeing Damien up curiously. “Are you a man of mystery?”

Damien smirked. “Guess I am. I do a bit of this and a bit of that. Provide certain services to people that they may not find elsewhere.”

“Interesting; so how did you get into that type of thing?”

“Family business, innit? Learned from the best – my old man.”

Lucas nodded agreeably. “Sounds like a generous chap to pass on so much to his boy. Best thing a man can do is see his young ones right in a profession.”

Damien beamed. “Straight up. Dad taught me everything I know.”

“So where is this great man now?” asked Lucas, a knowing smile on his face that made it seem as though he knew the answer already. “I bet he’s some great success, yeah? Sat back in Luxury, watching his boy carry on the family trade? Am I right?”

Damien’s face turned sour – not angry, but defensive and dangerous – like a cornered feline. “Not exactly,” he said. “He’s… away at the moment.”

“Vacation?”

Harry watched with a disturbing amount of pleasure as he watched Damien squirm against the wall, trying to merge with the peeling paintwork. He was rubbing his injured hand rapidly with rhythmic strokes. “Yeah,” he finally said. “He’s on a fucking cruise, innit. What’s it to do with you?”

“Some cruise.” Old Graham piped up from his space by the fire, but quickly turned his gaze to the floor when he was met by Damien’s warning stare.

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted Lucas to shut up or carry on. It was enjoyable to see the drug-dealing weasel so uncomfortable, but Harry didn’t know himself what had happened to the boy’s father; he was unsure if it was a conversation the group of them should be having. Lucas seemed to have a tendency of asking too many personal questions.

Lucas stood up unexpectedly. “A vacation, you say? Well, I hope he returns soon. Anyone for a beer?”

Talk about taking it to the brink, Harry thought, relieved that the conversation had altered course just as it had neared an emotional minefield. It left Harry wondering what exactly had happened to make Damien so defensive about his father. He had a feeling Old Graham knew, but when Harry glanced over at the old man, the pensioner looked away.

Yeah, he knows alright.

Harry’s thinking was interrupted by Steph’s voice coming from behind the bar. She and Lucas she had moved away from the fireplace and entered into the flickering light of the bar’s candles. There was a phlegmy sound of concern in Steph’s voice as she spoke: “I think we have a problem, guys.”

“What?” They all asked in unison.

Steph walked back over to the group and re-entered the light of the fireplace. She had a bottle of beer in her right hand, the top already removed. She turned it upside down.

Nothing happened.

“Jesus, no!” Old Graham cried, throwing his hands up at the sky as he realised what he was seeing. “The bloody beer’s frozen.”

Harry eye’s widened.

Is it really that cold?