As Deirdre walked past a table she noticed two geezers lounging ostentatiously. One of them was the guy called Gary who’d been horrible to her earlier. He leaned over and said something to his friend in a low voice which prompted a snort of raucous laughter. Then he stepped out in front of her and thrust a fist between her legs.

Before Deirdre had a chance to react, Rory was there. He grabbed Gary by his shirt collar and the expression on his face was dangerous. He was white with rage. ‘Back off, friend,’ he said in a very calm, very scary voice. ‘If you ever touch that woman again I will rip your head off, do you understand? I will do it if that’s what it takes to teach you respect. Now. Tell me this. What are you going to learn from me?’

Gary’s eyes were bulging. He was sweating and his face had gone bright red. He spluttered something incoherent.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.’ Rory’s tone was perfectly level. ‘What are you trying to say, man? Respect? Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Gary finally managed to get out. ‘Respect.’ Around him the punters had gone very quiet. Nobody tried to intervene.

‘Good.’ Rory let go of his collar. ‘Now. Apologise to the lady.’

Deirdre’s face was as white as Rory’s. Gary looked at her like a sullen child and said: ‘Sorry, babe.’

He immediately put his hands up in an attitude of surrender. Rory was at his throat again.

‘She’s not a babe.’ His voice was oily with menace. ‘She’s a lady. What do you say to a lady? You call her madam, don’t you? Do it.’

‘Sorry, madam.’ Gary was craven now.

‘That’s better,’ said Rory. ‘You’re learning manners now.’

 

© 2005 Kate Thompson