Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr

but Florence moved in front of him once more.

      ‘It is my shop while my father is not here.’

      ‘I want my daughter back. Now.’

      She could see his fists clench and hoped it was simply to frighten her. The smell of drink hung around him, mingling with the unmistakeable stink of someone who had not washed for a long period of time.

      ‘Sir, I do not know your daughter, although I have to admit that I pity the poor girl. She is not here and if you do not vacate these premises immediately, I will call for the centenier.’ She knew that there would be a police constable or maybe one of the Honorary Police nearby who would soon assist her.

      ‘Is that right?’

      Albert slipped in behind the man and went to stand next to Florence. ‘Yes, and if he doesn’t come, I shall evict you from this shop myself.’

      Florence wasn’t sure how her skinny friend would manage such a thing against a drunken man twice his size.

      The girl’s father glanced from one to the other before opening his mouth to speak and being overcome by a coughing fit. They waited as he collected himself, wiping his mouth on the back of his mucky sleeve.

      ‘If she comes this way, you tell her to get ’erself ’ome. She’s got chores to be gettin’ on with.’

      ‘We will tell her, if we see her.’ Florence moved to stand next to the door, waiting next to it for him to leave. After another glance around the room, no doubt to satisfy himself that his unfortunate daughter wasn’t there, he grumbled something Florence couldn’t make out and left.