– know this to have been true.
As it was, Lucy’s non-look was immediately followed by her dipping her dark head to Jimmy’s blond one, and whispering something in his ear, which made him laugh. And at exactly the point when Paddy returned to her from his visit to the DJ. From such tiny sparks, she thought wretchedly, watching his gaze following hers, do whole bloody infernos explode.
‘What’s that fucker laughing at?’ Paddy demanded. He’d let go of her arm now and was staring straight at Jimmy.
‘How the hell should I know?’ she said, trying to distract him. ‘Come on, “Nine Times Out of Ten” – great choice. It’s my favourite.’ She grabbed both of Paddy’s hands and started to try and swing him to the rhythm. Unfortunately, right at that moment, Jimmy decided to laugh even louder. And now she caught his gaze, which seemed to ask, ‘What the hell?’
‘No, fuck that!’ Paddy said, and his tone made Vicky’s gut clench. ‘He’s taking the fucking piss.’ He stalked across the floor of dancing couples which, as she’d predicted, was already thinning, heading straight for Lucy and Jimmy’s table.
Jimmy stood up as Paddy reached him, Vicky hot on his heels. Paddy was big and imposing and could intimidate pretty much anyone if he wanted to, but Jimmy was big too. And he could handle himself, even if in a less obvious way – as a copper’s son, he’d had to learn to since he was small.
And it looked as though he was in just as much of a mood for trouble as was Paddy, because as he closed in, Jimmy was already rolling up his sleeves.
And in they went, nothing said, both girls looking on helplessly, while, almost as if choreographed to go along with the music, fists began to fly and connected with faces, then both of them falling to the floor in a rolling heap of knuckles, legs and hair.
It would take a brave man to separate them, but a determined female was in with a shot, at least, and when Lucy moved forward that was exactly what Vicky thought she was doing – trying to haul her boyfriend off and stop the fight. But, to Vicky’s consternation, she was actually having a go at Paddy herself, kicking at him and calling him a bastard as he writhed on the floor.
Vicky was stunned into paralysis for a long, long moment, unable to quite accept what she was seeing. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she finally screeched at Lucy. ‘Stop that, for fuck’s sake!’
But since Lucy made no sign of taking the least bit of notice, she waded in too, grabbing a fistful of Lucy’s mop of hair, and yanking it back so she could better press her point home. She then slapped her, an unexpected rage coming over her from God knew where. Slapped her hard – shockingly hard – across the face. ‘Grab your fucking boyfriend!’ she yelled at a now startled Lucy. ‘You kick my Paddy again and I’ll rip your head off, you hear?’
But there was no need. By now Gurdy and Vikram had hurried over and between them had already half-hefted Jimmy away. Vikram looked daggers. Like he was an inch away from slugging Paddy himself. ‘You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?’ he yelled, as Paddy spat blood from his mouth. ‘You fucking imbecile. You cretin. Showing yourself up as usual!’
Paddy wiped the back of his hand across his lips. Then, to Vicky’s dismay, he didn’t apologise – he grinned. Even jogged on the spot slightly, arms swinging by his side, his attention not on Vikram, but still very much on Jimmy. ‘Teach you to be a clever little bastard, won’t it?’ he spat.
‘Get him out of here,’ Vikram said to Vicky, yanking a thumb in the direction of the entrance. ‘It’s my fucking birthday and I’m not having you idiots ruin it.’
Vicky started to apologise, but again Paddy’s hand was on her arm. ‘I see how it is,’ he said to Vikram and a visibly shaken Gurdy. His voice was ice. ‘Be my absolute fucking pleasure.’
There was really nothing for it but to leave. Despite Vikram assuring both of them that he knew it had been Paddy who’d started it, Lucy couldn’t countenance staying a second longer. She looked a complete state, for one thing. Her tights were laddered, her white court shoes now had a red polka-dot pattern, and her hair, she could feel, was like a rat’s nest. But it wasn’t just how she looked. It was how she felt: she felt shame. She’d felt everyone’s eyes boring into her. Everyone judging her. As well they might have. What had she been thinking, wellying in the way she had? Was her hatred of Paddy Allen that strong that she could no longer contain herself?
She felt tears prick in her eyes. She was shaking still. Jittery. All that unspent adrenalin still coursing through her veins. She jumped in shock as Jimmy banged the pub door open with his foot. Followed him out into the car park, where it wasn’t even dark yet. Looked around anxiously. No sign of Vicky and that bastard Paddy, thank God.
‘Oh, babes, I can’t believe this,’ she cried, only now taking in the full, horrible extent of it. If she looked a state, Jimmy looked like a car crash. His trousers ripped, his shirt streaked with red, buttons missing. His best white shirt, too, the one she’d bought him for his birthday. She knew Paddy had belted him hard – Christ, she’d heard it – but it had obviously been even harder than she’d thought. The blow – or blows, the bastard – had split both his nose and lip open. And just as red raw now was Jimmy’s anger.
‘You can’t believe it!’ he barked, his fists still clenching and unclenching. Thank God Paddy hadn’t decided to wait outside for them. She could see it would have all started up again out here. She took a step towards Jimmy, the tears really flowing now. Wanting only to comfort him and be comforted in return. But Jimmy was in no mood to either hug her or be placated. ‘Luce, he’s showed us both up to fuck, and for nothing! Christ, he’s a prick! A first-class one, at that. Always has been.’ He rounded on her now. ‘I don’t know how you expect me to tolerate him, I really don’t. And frigging Vicky! What the fuck was she doing, threatening you like that? Some fucking friend she is!’
Lucy reached for Jimmy’s hand, but he’d half turned away from her. He was still too wired up to stand still. And he had a point. She’d been shocked too when Vicky had turned on her. After all, she was only sticking up for her bloke. That bastard Paddy had just bloody punched him! And for nothing. For what? It had come out of nowhere. Jimmy had done nothing to provoke it. So what did Vic expect? That she’d just stand there and let him?
Though Jimmy clearly hadn’t seen the way she’d flown at Paddy. But though a part of her was relieved at that – Jimmy had no respect for brawling girls – a part of her felt bad for her friend.
But, at the same time, looking at Jimmy’s battered face, she felt vindicated. Of course she’d kicked out. Vic would have done the same. And she would again. It was no more than Paddy Allen deserved. Lucy shrugged, conscious that they probably needed to leave it. ‘Just sticking her oar in because I was trying to help you, I imagine.’ Now she did take hold of his hand. ‘I’m fine though, Jimmy, honest. It’s you that’s—’
‘You’re not though,’ Jimmy said, pulling her in to him, kissing her hair unthinkingly and then yowling at the pain. ‘Shit! Look at the state of us both. God, that fucking shit! I swear to God, hand on heart, Luce, I’ll have that cocky bastard. He might have won this battle, but you mark my words, he will not – he really will not win the fucking war!’
It was enough to raise her spirits a notch. ‘You sound like Winston Churchill.’
‘That right? He was a sweary fucker too, was he? I must have missed that. Come on, babes, no point in hanging around out here. Let’s go home.’
Not that the walk seemed to calm Jimmy any. In fact, the more they walked, the more he seemed to wind himself up, ranting on about what a twat Paddy Allen had always been, and about how Vicky was insane for having anything to do with him. About how Lucy should wake up and see things for what they were.