Page 61 of These Old Lies
Let that fucker have a taste of some of his own condescending medicine.
This debate across the bar was starting to attract attention of the rest of the BEF veterans.
Charlie found that he didn’t much care.
“The Weimar Republic! Even more disgraceful than what England’s turned into.” Pemberton shoved himself up out of the seat such that he was standing, taking his time to appraise Charlie, as if he had the right. “CharlesVilliers. Now there’s a man I didn’t expect to see.”
“That because you abandoned me on the battlefield?” Charlie had drunk just enough beer and was annoyed enough about having to breathe the same air as this bastard again to be reckless.
The rest of the chatter across the bar dried up, everyone focusing on this exchange. Charlie leaned back on the bar, keeping his gaze fixed on the soft, fat jowls of the man in front of him.
“That’s what it was written up in your file as?” Pemberton forced a harsh chuckle. “Tomorrow is supposed to be for proper British heroes.”
“I thought we were here to honour our fallen friends.” No one, and certainly not Pemberton, got to cheapen what tomorrow would be about.
Pemberton took a long swig of his red wine. That should have been Charlie’s warning. He’d always liked a dramatic pause to make sure he had the attention of the room.
“Who’d want to be honoured by a man like you?”
Charlie’s brash stance crumbled. With Pemberton’s smug and knowing tone, he was back to being Corporal Villiers, a toy for Pemberton’s amusement. He was drowning in memories of sitting in a YMCA tent, drinking gin, while Pemberton taunted him with threats to Ned.
That second of hesitation gave Pemberton momentum. “Should have known in ’16 what you were. Should have guessed when you took field punishment for Pinsent. Perversions, the lot of you. What exactly did you do to convince him…”
Pemberton had no chance to finish his sentence. A fist to the jaw had him sprawling backwards into the gathered crowd.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Each word was pronounced with an accent so sharp it could kill, from a man tall enough that his shadow filled in the space between Charlie and Pemberton at the bar.
Ned was there. Not five feet from Charlie, his face in a deep frown as his eyes blazed with fury at the man he had just punched.
The years had been good to Ned. Ned had always been someone withnatural authority, and that had matured into pure confidence, with the crowd having literally parted for him. There was no lip tint, of course, but Ned’s haircut was an edge bolder than Charlie was used to seeing. Ned’s hair also had the beginnings of grey strands that, if anything, added to his projection of a man in power.
However, now was not the time or place to be noticing how dashing Ned’s sober black suit made him look. And yet Charlie was like a moth to light, hypnotised as he absorbed all of Ned’s little gestures: the frown of distaste, the way he shook out the tension of the hand he had used to punch.
Pemberton pushed himself upright and stepped so close to Ned that there was barely an inch between them.
“It means, that I’d have let Villiers bleed out like a dog in No Man’s Land. Although perhaps a street mutt was to your tastes.”
Ned's response was to lean back and slam his first into Pemberton’s jaw again. This time the patrons jumped out of the way, grabbing their drinks protectively.
Pemberton snarled and lunged forward with a sloppy attempt to tackle Ned to the ground, but Ned was able to help hold him back with his own wrestling hold. This was no evenly matched fight, even if Pemberton had been sober.
Ned dodged Pemberton’s attempt at a punch and responded with one of his own. Something crunched on Pemberton’s face and blood flew. Then Ned was in with a kick to Pemberton’s leg and a knee to his groin. The two men were rolling around on the floor now, the crowd now cheering and hollering at the chaos.
However, others did seem to have some reservations about Ned beating Pemberton to a pulp, or at least cared enough to want the fight to stop before the barman decided to evict the English for the evening.
“Sir, I think he’s done.” Andrew tugged at Ned’s arms as another man with a face Charlie almost recognised pulled Pemberton up from the floor, while also trying to hold his arms behind his back.
“He’s so drunk he probably did more damage to himself than to Pinsent,” Andrew said to Charlie as he peered at their bloody, struggling and cursing former junior officer. He jerked his head towards where Ned was trying andfailing to blot his own bloody face. “Go clean Pinsent up, we will take care of this one.”
Charlie grabbed Ned’s elbow and began making for the door, slightly surprised at how easily the other man followed him.
“I did what any man worth his name would have done!” Pemberton shouted as Charlie dragged Ned out of the bar before they were thrown out on their arses.
???
Charlie steered Ned to sit on the stone edge of a mediaeval fountain in a quiet courtyard away from the main bustle of the Grand Place. Wetting a clean handkerchief that Betty must’ve put in his jacket pocket, he began to dab the cuts on Ned’s face. “You’re out of practice. Pemberton got in more hits than I thought.”
“Fucker had a ring on him, that’s what did the damage.” Ned spoke around a cut lip. He would probably have a sunrise of a black eye the next morning. “I’ve owed him that fight since Ypres.” He winced as Charlie started to wash out his skinned knuckles.