Page 13 of Indie

The sound of his voice sent my teeth clenching together. He was familiar with her, but not friendly.

“Gaz,” Emmie wavered. “I gave you everything I had last night.”

“Nah. I let you keep some. Couldn’t have my kids going hungry now, could I? But since you’re in here earning another load from Ernie, I reckon I’ll take my cut right now.”

“Last time I checked, her wages were nothing to do with you.”

Heads turned, eyes now on me. Yet when I glanced over the top of the four fuckwits stood before me, I saw her face. Eyes wide with fear. Genuine fear. Not anxiety or nervousness. This went deeper. Emmie was terrified of these men. Of the one she called Gaz. Her lips trembled, her eyes darting from them to me, and then back again. The fear on her face changing now, as she glanced at me, a begging in her eyes. And I didn’t think she was begging me to save her. But myself. Emmie’s teeth raked at her bottom lip, at the blob of broken flesh.

He had done that to her. He had hurt her. He had damaged that beautiful face.

“Fuck off, Grandad,” the tall wiry one spat, cool blue eyes turned on me.

My fingers tensed, balling into fists. But it wasn’t the insult that fired me up. It was looking at the man who had beaten Emmie and not being able to break his face because of it.

“The shop is closed, lads. Time to go home. It’s past your bedtime.”

The others chuckled. Gaz sneered.

“Look. Mate. If you don’t want your nose broken, I’d leave now.”

“Please, Indie. Please just go,” Emmie’s voice was shrill in the overly charged atmosphere.

A darkness flashed across the cool-blue eyes staring at me. A hardness.

“You know him, Emmie? A customer?”

“No. Not really, Gaz,” her voice was faint.

The man stepped forward, three strides, with so much swagger he looked drunk, until he was looking up at me. He was only a few inches shorter, but enough that he had to tilt his head up to look me in the eye.

“You got your eyes on my wife, have you?”

“I’m not your wife anymore.”

“Really? Cos last I looked you’ve never filed for divorce,” he shot the remark over his shoulder, his eyes returning to me in an instant, watching my every move. And he should. Because there was nothing more I would have liked right now than to ram my forehead down onto the bridge of his nose.

“And I’d never sign those divorce papers.Indie. Emmie is mine. And always will be. Isn’t that right, Emmie?”

Emmie said nothing, her eyes dropping to her feet, my stomach dropping at the same time. The heavy weight of disappointment, for a moment overwhelming.

“Isn’t that right, Emmie?” Gaz barked, but his eyes never left mine, inching forwards right into any personal space I had left.

Fuck it. I slammed my head forward into the bridge of his nose as his howl filled the garage and his friends stood glancing at each other wildly. Gaz bent over, his hands coming to his face, blood gushing through his fingers and dripping onto his white, knock-off designer jumper.

“Don’t fucking think about it, lads,” I warned as the other three edged closer, each trying to decide who might make the first move. “Just get this fuckwit out of this shop.”

The three men ushered Gaz towards the door, blood dropping onto the shop floor with every step he took.

“Oh, and Gaz?” I called, half-turning, watching as he pivoted back towards me, his hands cradling his splattered nose. “You ever touch Emmie again and it’ll be more than your nose I’ll break.”

“You’ll be fucking sorry,” he spluttered, the flow of blood muddling up the sounds spilling from his mouth.

I watched them go, my eyes never leaving them till they were halfway across the forecourt. Then I turned back to Emmie, to the young woman stood in front of me with her arms wrapped round herself and tears in her eyes. Her teeth chewed at her bottom lip.

“You ok, Spuggy?”

“Indie.” Her voice was a whisper. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”