pushing Melanie away, an offended look on his face. ‘I’m cool,’ Lucy snaps, yanking herself free from Becker’s grip. Mark seems to be handling a steaming drunk Melanie perfectly, but she’s blotto and determined, and tosses an evil scowl in Lucy’s direction before she makes a beeline for him again, which confirms that she really is a nasty player. ‘Oh no she didn’t,’ Lucy laughs coldly, and is suddenly gone from Becker’s side. This time, he doesn’t catch her, and I can only watch as she flies across the bar like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth.
‘Oh God, you have to stop her.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Becker grumbles, slamming his glass down and going in pursuit. I’m hot on his heels, fearing the worst. I can’t blame Lucy for snapping. She’s endured enough. Heck, I’ve endured enough.
Becker is fast as he swoops across the bar.
But Lucy is faster, and she’s apparently in no mood to handle the situation delicately. No, she goes in like a bull in a china shop, practically ripping Melanie off Mark and tackling her to the floor. They hit the deck with ease, alcohol assisting, and start rolling around like a pair of brawling men. I reach the inside of the circle that has naturally formed around their scrapping bodies and skid to a stop. I’m so stunned by the scene playing out in front of me, I just stand, watching . . . a bit like Mark, who’s next to me, his beer held limply in his hand as he gapes at the two women rolling around on the filthy floor.
‘Oh, Lucy,’ I sigh, my palms coming up to my cheeks in despair. For someone who always acts so cool on the outside, she’s acting pretty uncool right now. She’s brought the whole bloody pub to a stunned silence, which means everyone can hear every word being screamed.
‘You piss-taking piece of shit!’ Lucy screeches, lashing with her nails at Melanie’s dress. ‘Keep your filthy paws to yourself!’
‘He wasn’t complaining in the printer room,’ Melanie retorts, grabbing onto Lucy’s hair and yanking it, making my friend hiss in pain.
What I’m witnessing now is, quite literally, a cat fight, each woman hissing, thrashing claws, rolling around and kicking out their legs. It’s ugly. I glance blankly up at Mark, and his eyes fall down to mine, all wide and lost. ‘What the fuck?’ he splutters uselessly as my friend does an amazing job of falling spectacularly from grace. Or crashing. What is she thinking? I search for Becker in the crowd, wondering where he’s disappeared to. He’s probably concluded that he wants no association with this, and I wouldn’t blame him.
I roll up my proverbial sleeves and prepare to dive in and split them up, but just as I put one foot forward, Becker appears through the dense gathering of people. My gratitude is immense, my relief profound . . . until I notice that he’s carrying something.
Something big.
And red.
‘Oh . . . no,’ I breathe, watching as he locks and loads . . .
A fire extinguisher.
He wouldn’t?
I half close my eyes, stepping back and wincing.
He fires.
And the loudest whoosh of noise erupts, followed by an explosion of white foam.
He would.
My hand slaps over my mouth, watching in horror as Becker soaks the two crazy women, walking forward with the canister in one hand and the hose in the other, ensuring they get the full hit of white stuff. The shouting has stopped, being replaced with shocked gasps, and the two scrapping women have been replaced by two huge foam monsters, slipping around unattractively on the floor. The deafening hissing of the fire extinguisher seems to stretch on for ever, and once Becker’s finally drained it, he tosses it aside and brushes his hands off. ‘Sorted,’ he says, completely unfazed, as he brushes down his T-shirt.
The audience – which is basically everyone in the bar – flicks astonished stares from Becker to the silenced women, back and forth. Then the doormen come crashing through and Becker takes my arm. ‘Time to go.’
I’m hauled through the throngs of people, my feet working fast out of necessity rather than obedience. Becker has a determined hold of me and judging by the look on his face, I’d do well not to object.
Once we make it outside, he releases me and scans me up and down with worried eyes. ‘You okay?’
Me? I shake myself to life and point aimlessly over my shoulder. ‘I’m fine, but I don’t think Lucy is. We