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In time, I might save up enough to solve the money problem—in a week, or two, if I picked up extra shifts. But these men aren’t going to wait that long.
In a week or two, they might kill Georgie. They might come and see me anyway, and then what little power I have won’t be in my hands anymore.
This is the only way.
I take a deep breath and hold up one of the IOUs. “I’m not lost,” I say with as much bravery as I can muster. “This is the address, right? Whoever here my father owed money to, they beat up my little brother today. I’m here to set things right. So just go and get—”
“Miss, you need to leave.” The bartender’s voice is harder now, more urgent. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t—”
“Now, now, no need to be hasty.” There’s a deep, Cockney-accented voice behind me, and I freeze in place, afraid to turn around. “George Giles’ girl, hmm? Turn around, so I can take a look at you.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. The bartender gives me a look, as if to sayI told you to leave, and I force myself to stay calm as I turn to face the man behind me, feeling myself pale a little as I look up at him.
He’s tall, over six feet, dressed in grey trousers that have seen better days, a moth-eaten sweater and a plaid vest, with a newsboy cap. His eyes rake over me in a way that I’m familiar with from the pub, but there’s something different about it this time. This is a man who knows he could have me in his pocket, and will, before the night is over.
It’s just a matter of whether or not I can negotiate the terms I want.
“That’s me,” I say with as much bravado as I can muster. “I wasn’t aware of the debts my father incurred while he was alive, sir. But I’m here to discuss how they might be paid. If you’re the man I need to talk to—”
“I’m not,” he says, a smirk curling one side of his mouth. “But I can take you to him. I daresay he’ll be interested to hear what you have in mind.” His eyes drift over me again, and I have to fight the urge to clutch my coat tighter around me.
A moment passes, and then he shrugs, motioning for me to follow him. “Come on, luv,” he says, his accent thickening as he turns away, heading towards a doorway at the far end of the bar. “I’ll take you to the man himself.”
I don’t want to go with this man, through that door, into whatever unknown lays beyond. But I think of my brother, bruised and bloody and sleeping in our flat that we’re clinging to by our fingertips, and everything we stand to lose if I don’t.
Stiff upper lip,I think to myself. The man is holding the door open for me in a parody of chivalry, and all I have to do is walk through it, down the stairs and into the darkness below. I do that, and we have a chance. I don’t—and we might lose much, much more than we already have.
I glance at the man, and see not a single speck of emotion in his face. There’s no help for me here, not that I won’t have to buy. But I knew that already. The bartender might have been the last one who had my best interests in mind.
The choice is made—as if I ever really had one to start with. The stairs stretch out in front of me, the black mouth at the end of it opening up into an unknown room, with unknown men, and an unknown night ahead of me.
I take a deep breath, and walk through the door, into the darkness beyond.
