Bootlegged Angel
“Said somebody was offering good money for them,’ Melanie was explaining breathlessly. ‘She dragged the chair behind the bar and she must have knocked the latch on the trap-door – the trap-door that goes to the cellar. The chair started to fall through and she sort of fell sideways on to her ankle.’ ‘There’s no need for all this fuss. I might leave this pub in a box, but I’m not ready to go yet.’ I could hear Ivy but not see her. I presumed she was behind the bar, one of the paramedics leaning o...ver her, the other kneeling under the open bar flap. Melanie was swinging her chair from left to right, trying to look over his shoulder. Dan was ashen-faced at the end of the bar, his fingers in a white grip around an empty glass. It must have been shock – and the prospect that the pub might close on time for once.
‘You’re not going anywhere on that foot, Mrs Bracegirdle,’ said one of the paramedics, ‘except hospital. We’ll get you into the Royal Victoria and you’ll be flat on your back for a week at least.’ Ivy laughed loudly and dirtily.MoreLess
‘You’re not going anywhere on that foot, Mrs Bracegirdle,’ said one of the paramedics, ‘except hospital. We’ll get you into the Royal Victoria and you’ll be flat on your back for a week at least.’ Ivy laughed loudly and dirtily.MoreLess
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