Page 25 of These Old Lies
Ned shifted Hugh out of his lap and moved into the crowd towards the policeman. The best play was to pull out a wallet. Bribes were neat and efficient, a victimless surrender. He would be conceding to the idea that the men here deserved persecution, however. With the extra salt in the wound that Charlie would be watching his humiliation.
Ned sauntered up to the hunched figure. “Enjoying your evening?” His tone was friendly, a touch flirtatious even.
The man twisted in his stool to look at Ned. “What’s it to you?” The response was a bit too sharp. The Met really should make their provocateurs better actors before they were sent into bars like this.
Ned leaned even closer in, properly whispering in his ear. “I don’t think this is your type of establishment. So why don’t you get going?”
“I could report you!” The disgust and threat in the man’s voice was unmistakable.
Ned towered over the young man. “Well then, make sure you report it correctly, the Honourable Edmund Pinsent of Heyworth at your service.” Ned articulated his full title in all its glory.
Proper fear flashed in the man’s eyes as the British class system reared its ugly head. Ned hammered the point home. “Any prosecution of me would be quite a public affair. The name of the copper who spent his evenings seducing young men in Soho would probably feature prominently.” Ned smirked. They all knew how the broadsheets would spin that sort of story.
Ned saw the moment where panic overwhelmed the copper’s better sense, and he was able to deftly dodge the punch to the gut. This copper wanted to take down some poofters? Let him have at it.
The copper was young and filled with indignation, but Ned was better, and more experienced at fighting to hurt. Ned pulled back his own fist and landed it in the middle of the twat’s face. He then made the most of having taken the upper hand to smash his opponent's face into the bar. They were attracting a crowd, but Ned ignored the gawkers. One or two more punches and Ned would have this pathetic excuse for a policeman scurrying home with his tail between his legs.
Except now there were now two more men approaching, fists clenched. Fuck. The Met must have sent several provocateurs. The chance of the tabloid scandal Ned had threatened increased dramatically.
Then there was the sound of breaking glass and the splintering of a wooden chair. The arms gripping Ned’s fell away, and he turned to see Charlie engaged in a wrestling match with one of his attackers.
Charlie had come to his rescue? A dozen thoughts and questions flashed through Ned’s mind, but they would have to be dealt with later. Now they need to win this fight. He and Charlie punched and fought, and even thoughthey were outnumbered, the tide started to turn. Ned was dimly aware of the shouts and hollers of the other patrons.
They had always fought well together. Maybe it was because their battle instincts were forged in the same fire. Or maybe it was because Ned just knew Charlie to his bones.
The large beefy arms of The Pillars’ barman started to pull Ned away, “Enough of this nonsense. We’re throwing you out.”
Ned resisted, mostly as an excuse to twist around to make sure Charlie was alright. To his relief Charlie was sweaty and swearing up a storm, but looked fine. As they were dragged out, Ned caught a glimpse of Hugh’s and Freddy’s shocked faces, and George smiling, raising his glass in salute.
He and Charlie broke into a dead sprint the moment they were thrown onto the pavement, dashing down the central London lanes before the Met could catch up with them.
After a good quarter of an hour running, Ned darted into a dank alleyway, breathing heavily as he leaned against a brick wall. Euphoria filled his veins. He felt like punching something. He felt like laughing.
“Christ, I haven’t felt like this in years. That was well done, Charlie, well done! You were bang on to spot that copper!”
“Fuck, Ned! Jesus!” Charlie whirled around, eyes flashing in anger.
“What are you on about? We got away, and I doubt those men are going to admit to being thrashed anytime soon.”
“You told them your name, you idiot! We were damn lucky there wasn’t a full raid, with a boy in your lap and your tongue half down his throat. You could’ve got hard labour!”
Now Ned’s adrenaline was finding another way to go than laughter. “We both knew the risk we ran tonight. No one forced you to come with us.”
“It’s like you want to get caught,” Charlie was almost yelling now. “Just like when we were up at the front, you took damn risks that no one had any business taking. We used to joke that you had a death wish.”
“You’re one to talk. How many times did you crawl through No Man’sLand? Risk yourself to save others?”
“I did what I needed to do to protect us both.” Charlie’s eyes sparked with anger, and a hurt Ned didn’t understand.
He wasn’t sure what they were even talking about anymore, but he could tell that this whole conversation was getting terrifyingly close to the subject that Ned had promised himself in the Charing Cross pub that they would never ever discuss again. For a moment, Ned was sure it was going to bubble up between them before either of them could stop it.
Charlie saved them, attacking Ned in an entirely different way. “What did you think you needed tonight? An indecency charge?”
“To be myself!” Ned stood tall, taking full advantage of his height and size. “I like men. I like flirting with men, holding their hands, kissing them, feeling their body up against mine. I like feeling pretty and wearing clothes that make me feel that way. And I like being with other people who like being themselves, whatever that means, and society be damned. I am not going to spend my whole life hating myself for the way I feel, or pretending that part of me doesn’t exist. If I got any reward for surviving the damn war, it was that I will never hide from myself again.”
Ned continued to slash with his own verbal knife. “I don’t know why you care about getting caught now. We both know if this was Flanders you would already have me up against this wall with your cock down my throat.”
Charlie staggered back as if Ned had punched him and responded in a low, cold voice. “It isn’t Flanders, is it? The man I knew wouldn’t have put on a show for his friends. He wouldn’t make a spectacle out of things for the sake of it. He might have worn masks, but he was proud of who he was, including his service for his country. I don’t care about who you kiss, or what you wear, but at least do it with some self-respect.”