Page 58 of These Old Lies
“Get out of my shop, you fuckers!” Charlie shouted.
“You think you can hold us off, old man?” spat a tall brute with greasy hair and a five-day beard. He also sported a black eye that looked suspiciously like the remnants of the type of punch that Charlie had once been known for.
Charlie turned to Ned and mouthed ‘old man’?
There were times in life for subtlety and cunning, and then there were times in life to make one’s point in a more physical manner. With a nod to one another, this was exactly what Charlie and Ned set about doing. If the looters had been startled to find they were not alone in the shop, they were even more shocked to learn that the two ‘old men’ had weapons and knew what to do with them.
Ned ducked a punch from one of the bulkier looters and the younger man stumbled forward and smashed his hand into a glass display, cursing as the shards tore into his skin.
As Ned rolled back into a crouch, he glimpsed a grim-faced Charlie over his shoulder as he swung his bat, taking out the legs of another looter.
Ned shifted the knife in his hand and swiped towards his snarling opponent, who was trying to figure out how to punch a knife. One of the great revelations of having gone to war was discovering he was a damn good fighter. When forced into combat, Ned lost any sense of panic or noise—there was only action, reaction, feint, lunge, punch, and duck. And excitement. Ned liked to be good at what he did. He might have been more than midway through his fourth decade, but he could still absolutely kick the pants off these young men.
Charlie instinctually covered for Ned’s weak spots, as Ned covered for his. Here, at least, there was no awkward conversation, or unreadable looks, or mulling over decades of past emotional history. This was Ned and Charlie, back to back, fighting for survival.
Exhilarating in a way Ned was not sure whether he should be proud of or embarrassed by.
Yet even the most skilful could be unlucky, and an unexpected stumble on Charlie’s side separated him from Ned. Three more punches later, Ned found himself facing Mr Black Eye and Mr Bloody Hands with his backliterally up against a wall.
“Give up, codger,” Bloody Hands spat out. At Ned’s silence, they tackled him to the ground and delivered a staccato of punches to his side. Ned tried to remember how to breathe. He couldn’t let himself pass out, not now when Charlie needed him. Ned leaned into the pain, using it to hold tight to his knife, to find an opportunity to get back on his feet.
There was a movement above Ned, and, like a falling tree, Black Eye toppled off of him with a solid thunk, giving Ned enough time to knee Bloody Hands in the balls. Looming over him was Charlie, sweaty but smiling. He extended a hand to pull Ned up just in time for Ned to see that one of the youngsters Charlie had previously engaged was now charging behind him, a knife in hand.
Ned moved faster than he would have thought his body capable of, pushing up past Charlie and sliding his blade into the boy’s belly. The boy’s scream bounced off the broken shelves, scattered merchandise, and panting men.
Outside, the sirens wailed like banshees.
There was no time to brace. The ground shuddered, and Ned and Charlie were knocked to the floor.
The Blitz had come to Marylebone.
???
By the time Ned and Charlie picked themselves up, the looters had fled, leaving broken glass and a trail of blood in their wake.
Ned’s knife hand was sticky with blood. He didn’t think he had killed the boy, but at the moment he wasn’t particularly bothered either way. He could throw up about it later.
“I think they are gone.” Charlie leaned against the door frame, peering out into the street.
“Next time we meet for drinks, you’re paying,” Ned answered as he looked around for somewhere to wipe his hand.
Charlie’s response was cut off by the low buzz of aeroplane engines, andNed looked up through the glass-less window frames to listen for whether the bombers were looping back.
“Should we make a run for the Tube?” Charlie shouted.
“Even if we made it in time, there probably isn’t any space,” Ned replied absent-mindedly. A memory of a report flashed in Ned’s mind. Underlined and circled, a ‘looks interesting' noted in Miss Forbes’ neat handwriting. The report had documented the causes of fatalities in the Blitz and found that the majority were from falling walls or upper floors. While a direct hit would certainly leave them dead as dormice, they might be able to do something to protect themselves against the secondary effects.
“Does your shop have any large metal plates, something that we could put up on top of a table?”
Charlie surveyed the mess around them. “I’ve some spare hoods, would they do?”
“Perfect.” Ned followed Charlie around the store’s turmoil where, sure enough, curved metal hoods were stacked neatly against a wall. “Put this on the dinner table and we’ll crawl underneath.”
If Charlie thought this was crazy, he kept his views to himself. “I’ve got some winches. They might add some extra reinforcement to the table legs.”
“Take them.”
That they had barely any time to enact this foolishness went without saying. The men scrambled to build their makeshift shelter, the cuts and bruises from the fight numbed by the urgency.