April 2022: Six O'Clock Swill - Robyn Knibb
Between knock off time and closing at six, the pub went mad. Blokes crowded the bar, yahooing and downing as many schooners as they could. Josie’s dad mainly got her to polish glasses and mop up stale beer when she helped out after school, but in that crazy hour she was sometimes called on to pull beers in the main bar or serve in the Ladies Lounge. Even though most of the able blokes around the place had gone off to war, it was still chock-ablock on a Friday night. There were blokes from the abattoir, miners who’d come up to town for the weekend, blokes in uniform off the train, old codgers.
This Friday was no different. Josie was pulling beers, trying not to breathe in the stink of the blokes in navy singlets, when her dad gave her the signal to go to the Ladies Lounge. The regulars were there of course. Mrs Cousins in the corner, hair net and lace up shoes, nursing her one port and lemonade. Madge Wilcox weaving to the Ladies after her fourth G & T.
Today there were another three ladies, all clustered around one of the small round tables. City women. All dressed to the nines. Better be on her best behaviour. Wouldn’t do to shame her dad. They all ordered lemonade. God, hopefully they weren’t from the Temperance League.
When Josie came back with their order, she took care to place the drinks right in the middle of the coasters and didn’t slop even a drop. The one doing all the talking paused, smoothing the skirt of her dark grey suit, then touching the pearls at her throat. Josie took a deep breath.
‘Give us a yell if you need anything else.’
The woman looked at her hard.
‘How old are you, dear?’ Josie’s stomach lurched. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be working in a pub, even if it was just for pocket money. Lucky she was well-developed for her age. What the heck.
‘Twenty-one, ma’am.’ She met the woman’s gaze. ‘Cocky little miss, aren’t you? Look more like fourteen to me.’
Josie felt heat rising in her cheeks and headed back to the main bar. A couple of blokes wolf whistled. She grinned. They meant no harm. All part of the job.
There was nothing for it. She would have to go back to the Ladies Lounge, collect the empty glasses and see if anything else was needed.
The three women were finished, straight-backed, arms folded. Waiting? The mean one pulled on her gloves and took a white envelope from her handbag. She beckoned Josie to take it.
‘For your father.’
Snapping the clasp, she rose and the others followed her out.
Josie trailed back to the main bar and nudged her dad.
‘One of them city ladies said to give you this. Might be trouble.’
He opened it, brow furrowed, and felt around inside.
A white feather trembled in his fingers. The bar went silent.
May’s Right Left Write short fiction competition is open now - genre prompt: Crime/Thriller. Submissions of short fiction (max. 500 words) close 31 May - submit your entry.
Right Left Write’s April prompt was At the Bar.