Page 11 of The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

‘Sorry lads, I’m now down to either margherita or chicken with peppers,’ Lucy stepped up to explain, having just used up the last of the ham.

‘You’re kidding me. What kind of a catering joint are you?’

‘It’s late,’ Lucy kept her cool. ‘You should have ordered earlier when we had all the other options available, including your pepperoni and ham and mushroom.’ Instead of leching over the staff, she thought to herself.

Hearing raised voices, Jack looked up, on alert, across the way.

‘Well, that’s no bloody good …’ Rugby Shirt swayed a bit and then, leering at Lucy across the counter top, brushed a sweaty hand over her forearm, tightening his grip as he staggered a little.

‘Whoa … that’s enough,’ Lucy’s voice was firm, yet calm. She didn’t want to cause a scene here, but if he gripped any harder, she was afraid he might end up bruising her.

Chapter 6

Jack had seen enough. Those blokes were so out of line – it was the same idiots he’d seen mucking about on the dancefloor. Okay, so he and Pizza Girl hadn’t exactly hit it off so far, but no-one should have to put up with that kind of loutish behaviour. He couldn’t help but feel protective of her all of a sudden. Something flipped inside him. He dashed out from his campervan and marched over, shouting, ‘That’s enough lads. Step back. Leave the woman alone.’

The big one in the rugby shirt – the one who looked like a bull – didn’t budge. He was about twice the width of Jack and a good few inches taller; quite some size indeed, as Jack himself was fairly tall at just over six foot.

‘We’re only after a couple of pizzas,’ one of the group answered gruffly.

‘And a pizza the action,’ Rugby Shirt added, staring at Lucy lecherously as he gave an arrogant chuckle.

‘I said that’s enough,’ Jack’s tone was firm.

‘It’s alright, Jack. I can handle this,’ Lucy interrupted.

The air crackled with tension.

Sometimes it was best not to inflame a situation, Lucy knew that. She didn’t want a row to upset the party that had been going so well. The lads were just a bit tipsy. They’d wander off soon enough, fill themselves with beer and pizza – if they gave her a chance to cook it – and no doubt would be scarpering off somewhere else within the next half-hour or so.

‘Move away right now and leave the lady alone,’ Jack warned.

Rugby Shirt didn’t budge position, though he had let go of Lucy’s arm.

His mates were laughing.

Jack stood his ground. He was boiling inside. How dare they spoil what had been such a great night? How dare they intimidate Lucy?

And then the punch flew.

Not Jack’s, though his arm was twitching.

Bosh, the blow landed right on his brow-bone. Jack felt the crunch. It made him feel sick as he staggered back a step or two.

Lucy gasped.

Tamsin instinctively took a step back, then called out angrily, ‘Hey you, dickhead, stop!’

Lucy leapt down out of the horsebox, ready to intervene if need be.

Jack’s own fist was balled. He nearly, nearly, punched back – but he was working, he reminded himself, he had his business and its reputation to keep. The last thing he needed was to be found fighting with the guests. But the bloody tree trunk of a twat was standing opposite him, now shaking his hopefully sore hand. Jack hoped the ignorant tosspot had broken a few bones in there, at least. Time stood still for a moment, the two men breathing heavily and staring each other down. Then, Jack had to let him walk away.

‘Alright, sod off you lot, you’re not worth it! And this guy,’ he snarled, pointing to Rugby Shirt lad, ‘get him home. Now.’

Jack stood there breathing heavily, his nose throbbing, his fist still itching, and him undecided about whether his pride had been badly wounded or saved.

‘Gosh, are you alright?’

Lucy took a step forward, her face creased with concern, to find Jack stumbling a little. She had heard the thwack as that idiot’s knuckles had hit the barman’s brow-bone. Ooh, there was a split now showing, pooling with blood, above the lad’s left eye.