Taking a seat, Gillis’s companion then leaned in towards him and spoke over the sounds of revelry in the pub. “On the way to the gents, I caught sight of Megan working in the kitchen.” He smacked his lips. “Oh boy, she’s still as fine as ever.”

Gillis raised an eyebrow. “You’re still not over her? She’s long off the market, man; already has three kids, I swear.”

“Two kids,” his companion corrected, waving off his words. “Bah, married doesn’t mean much when her husband’s a total bum, which is why she has to work to earn for her kids in the first place. And therein lies my opportunity; or it would have if only I could come by some money.”

He sighed, but shortly bounced back up to give a shifty look to Gillis. “Hey, we’ve been mates for like forever; you remember how I’ve fancied her since our school days, right? So how about you spot me a penny or two to accomplish my dreams, for old times’ sake, eh?”

Gillis scoffed. “If you want money, go earn it, you bum. You’re not any better off than her husband when all you do is dress up and play around with a different woman every day like some dandy.”

The man shrugged. “Deadbeat is in vogue right now; it could well be her type given her husband, you never know.” When it became clear, however, that Gillis wouldn’t shift from his position, the man switched topics. “Anyway, did you hear the big news today?”

“Hmm? About what?”

“Well, I was at Miranda’s yesterday and I heard from her that apparently the Cheevers’ house is occupied again. You know the old couple who passed away a while back and how their house was left abandoned for several years, right, which in itself is remarkable given how quickly squatters like to try their luck around these parts.”

“I’ve heard their son is bad news, though. That’s probably why.”

“That’s exactly why; ain’t nobody want to mess with that sort of heat. The news is apparently he’s back though, and for good. I know what you’re thinking but listen, there’s more.”

“According to what Miranda heard from one of her girlfriends who works for the mayor, the Cheevers’ son returns and immediately goes up to the mayor and demands an election, saying that he’ll take over from the old geezer. Yep, that’s right, Mr Fancy Pants himself wants to become mayor of our dear Shit Hole, apparently so deeply unimpressed with us that he wants to flip our lives on their heads and spend big on reconstructing the village. For our benefit, he says.”

Lifting his floppy hat, Gillis flapped it in his face like a fan whilst shaking his head. “What a joke. Why on teral would anyone vote for that kind of agenda? He might be a gangster wherever, but he’s kidding himself if he thinks that alone is enough for us to vote for him. He’s clearly done no market research if he’s going around spouting such a lame message about bettering our lives or whatever; that’s not how we run down things here in Shit Hole.”

The gambler met his friend’s gaze. “Hey, you wanted money, right? Well how about this: if he becomes mayor within a month, let’s say, without admitting how corrupt he’ll be or boasting how he’ll abuse his powers, then I’ll give you ninety percent of everything I own. How’s that?”

His friend showed half a pout, brow ridged. “And if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care,” answered Gillis with a sneer. “You can buy me a drink or whatever. It doesn’t matter cos he’s not going to become mayor with such a wimpy manifesto.” The gambler sniggered into his pint glass, in disbelief that someone would do such a stupid thing.

Likewise, Cal too was in disbelief of what he was witnessing. “What an idiot,” he said to Penbrooke. “Turns out he was always a hopeless gambler.”

“Truly,” the knight agreed. “And here I thought there’d been a deep conspiracy behind his loss of wealth.”

Unable to watch the ape who had only gambling on his mind for a second longer, they shifted their attention to observe something more worthwhile.

Their timing was perfect as the butcher had just walked in, politely greeting many a ruddy-faced drunk and jolly fellow as he made his way over to a table where two middle-aged women were sat prattling.

“Hello ladies, hope you’re well.”

“Oh, about time, Mr Butcher. We were worried sick you wouldn’t show up,” said the first lady, fluttering her eyelashes.

“No, no, no.” The butcher scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Apologies for the delay, I had more to do at work today than I anticipated.”

“You’ll have to make it up to us afterwards by joining us for dinner, Mr Butcher,” the second lady said with a knowing smile.

“Uh, well, I can’t make any promises but… Hey, let me go grab a drink first.”

“No need, you can ask one of the waiters to get it for you. Hey Rory, could you come over here?” The first lady wagged her hand in the air. “Rory’s one of your students, right?”

The sharp-featured waiter joined the trio with a professional smile. “Hi all, what can I do for you?”

The butcher gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, he’s my best – already skilled enough to beat me, in fact. Rory, could get me a pint, please?”

Although the butcher was starting to show signs of being unnerved, it seemed he himself wasn’t too sure why he was feeling this way, probably attributing it to some random concern lingering in his mind; meanwhile, anyone observing him could tell exactly why he was feeling that way within seconds, and moreover would have counselled him to make a dash for it at the earliest opportunity.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

His hitherto loyal student would not be the one to do so, however. “Of course, teach,” Rory said, mercilessly leaving his teacher for the cougars; from the way his fingers were crossed, Rory cut the figure of a doleful dad hoping this would finally be the experience to teach his foolish child to stop being so damn gullible.

“Moving onto why we’ve met up today, then,” the butcher started. “I heard you both were considering sending your children to my lessons, but weren't quite convinced that it would be worth their time. Well, let me start by saying these are trying times, and certainly everyone could benefit from having a couple self-defence skills under their belt.”

“All you ever talk about is work this and work that, Mr Butcher, but in my view there’s more important things to look for under the belt than trained skills. For example, having something to help you relax after you’ve had a tough day. Or a special someone, of course,” said one lady, giggling coquettishly. “Now, how do you wind down after a tough day of work, Mr Butcher?”

“True, it is always defence this and defence that with you, Mr Butcher, but what about attacking skills? Say you were to attack me, how would you go about it?” sweetly enquired the other lady. “Would you take me unawares and seize me, Mr Butcher, or would you charge at me like a bull and savour me in plain sight? Is that more your style?”

“Uh, this is about your kids trying out my sessions, no?”

“Of course it is. We’re just asking these questions to see how dependable you are as a man,” answered one lady.

“Right, it’s very important that we’re able to trust you because our kids mean the world to us; we’d have to at least be able to trust you with our hearts and bodies before we send them over to you.”

From the angle Penbrooke and Cal were viewing from, they saw the ladies fistbump each other under the table.

The butcher was thrown off balance by their arguments. “Oh, sorry, is that right? I didn’t know.”

One lady clicked her tongue. “That’s always the case with men – they don’t try to understand how us women feel.”

The other lady brushed away crocodile tears with the side of her hand. “Truly, all they ever want is our bodies, never our hearts. Is that what you want as well, Mr Butcher?” The ladies fistbumped once more.

“I should have known, Mr Butcher,” one lady said, sounding offended. “I bet you were planning to pump and dump us like any other guy, weren’t you?”

“Because if you were, honestly it’d be normal and I wouldn’t even judge you,” the other lady said, indifferently checking her nails. “In fact, just because it’s you, I would even let you hit it and quit it.”

Ooh, what a deviously timed change of face; now that the first lady’s expressed a judgemental tone, she can’t double back without seeming hypocritical. Seems the second lady takes this match, then.

The first lady twitched at the abrupt betrayal from her former ally, yet she still managed to confound Cal’s expectations all the same. “Ew, so desperate,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “I could never be such a loose woman who opens her legs for any old person like that. But if you really wanted to, Mr Butcher, being the strong man that you are, you could always pin me against a wall and forcefully take me, and I’m sure I could be won over by your fearsome technique.” She ended her masterstroke play with a flutter of her eyelashes.

“Uhm, uh…”

Just in time, the waiter had returned with his teacher’s pint, which he handed over.

“Thanks, Rory,” the butcher said, looking up to his student with pleading eyes. Only now had the butcher realised he’d walked straight into a trap, and that these ladies’ dinner plans consisted solely of a feast on him.

Yet the butcher’s reliable student failed to meet his gaze, which forced the butcher to desperately make a direct appeal. “By the way, Rory, is Angela in today? You know, Angela.”

“Sorry, not today,” Rory answered curtly, rushing away to attend to other customers’ noisy calls for attention.

“Wait, you’re not supposed to say that…”

“Angela’s your new bird, then. Is that right, Mr Butcher?” asked one lady with a pout.

“So you’ve taken a young schoolgirl as your woman, and you’re going to leave us old hags out to dry. Is that right, Mr Butcher?” asked the other, the ladies unifying forces as naturally as they’d backstabbed each other the second they sensed an external threat.

“What? No…”

“And here I thought he was a lucky chap,” Penbrooke commented on the scene, shaking his head wistfully. “But no, he’s gone and gotten himself mixed with a crafty range of cougars. That’s what happens when you don’t keep wary of them at all times; you get taken for a ride, like this.”

Fortunately for the butcher, there was someone else in the pub who shared Penbrooke’s point of view, someone who made no effort at hiding their distaste.

“Oi, what are you hussies doing hounding that boy? Don’t you have a family to take care of, Lottie? And you, Sally, your mother and father didn’t raise you to become a hussy who chases shorts for a hobby.”

The ladies hissed towards their plaintiff. “Shut up, Noel. What I do is none of your business,” said one lady with a loud harrumph. “Why don’t you go stick your limp dick where the sun doesn’t shine?”

“Yeah, no need to take it out on us pretty ladies just because no one will lay with you or your wrinkly balls,” said the other lady with a noise of disgust.

“Pretty, ha!” Nagging Noel gathered phlegm at the back of his throat and spat onto the floor. “I’ve seen worms wriggling in the dirt that look more appealing than you two shrews.”

It was an understatement to say the ladies did not take kindly to this charge; their shrill, shrieking responses were deafening, almost fierce enough to cover up the dogs barking loudly outside.

Seeing how the livid ladies had met more than their match in the unflappable old man, the butcher tried to broker a peace between the warring parties. “Come on, Noel, there’s no need to insult these ladies so rudely like that. Let’s all just calm down, eh?”

Unfortunately, the butcher had misjudged the situation in thinking Noel had ever been on his side or trying to defend him.

“I’d sooner be six feet under in a coffin than follow any advice from you, you daft cunt. To think Gertrude’s son would turn out to be a gigolo after all the efforts she put in trying to raise you right – if only your sweet mother could see you now, she’d cry tears of blood, I’m sure.”

A piercing yelp from outside punctuated Nagging Noel’s harsh words.

The butcher clicked his tongue in irritation but looked away, knowing there’d be no end to the stream of abuse coming out of this old man’s mouth if he said anything back.

The ladies accompanying the butcher, however, didn’t care for toeing the line. “Since you’re so eager to pass on, Noel, how about we give you a hand with that? You show us the coffin, and we’ll help you get nice and cosy inside in no time; before you know it, we’ll have you buried a hundred feet below shit brook, you doddering git.”

“That way you can get your rocks off to those worms you have hots for, and we can finally get some peace and quiet around here,” the other said.

“Keep dreaming. Even if I died tomorrow, I’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you shrews.”

In the midst of this, Rory came over with a mop to clean the spittle and spilt drinks from the floorboards, sighing. “Please don’t spit inside, Noel. We’ve told you how many times now?”

“The hairs on my wrinkled balls are wiser than you, boy, so watch where you’re snapping. I’ve spat on the floor for decades before you or your mam were ever born, and I’ll continue spitting till the day I die.”

“Seeing this, it’s no wonder Noel ended up being matched against the Black Knight,” Cal commented to Penbrooke.

The knight chuckled. “Too true; he’s like a man with a grudge against the world.” He paused. “Though I think we missed something going on outside during this. Let me rewind and check.”