lifeline

2.

As Florence sat at work the next day, feet dangling from her stool as she waited for the pub to open, she couldn't help but flick her mind back to the previous night. She couldn't rid herself of the image of those four men. Ordinarily, she had the self-control to lock it up into a little box in her head and forget about it. This was not an ordinary time. She put it down to feeling uneasy about her own house's security but secretly, she knew that wasn't it.

"Flo, shifts about to start I need you take orders tonight." Mary, the manager, called over as she furiously scribbled on a sheet of paper with a chewed up biro. Florence nodded and got up from her stool, heading into the back to grab a notepad and pencil to fit into the band of her work apron. She nodded a polite hello to the head chef before making her way back into the main area.

A small trickle of people began to filter through the doors, distracting Florence from her prior thoughts. Every night was the same. She'd go the customers, slap a fake smile on and use every ounce of her strength to not roll her eyes when they were inevitably rude. It was an immense skill that she was certain everyone in the service industry, minus of course the chefs, had learned.

As the night passed, she found her attention drawn to a particular table. Perhaps it was the fact that they were four men, or maybe the fact they had yet to pick up their menus or maybe, just maybe it was because one of them was wearing a face covering. Florence found herself becoming agitated as she kept a watchful eye on them. She knew she didn't have a reason but she didn't quite trust them. There was something strange.

After half an hour of watching them sit and talk without picking up the menu once, Florence decided it was time to go up to them and ask for their order. She made nimble work of darting between customers, never once taking her eye off them. It was getting late so the atmosphere was beginning to change. After nine, the pub became a place less so for for food and more so for drinking. She knew she should be focusing more on the behaviour of the other customers, trying to avoid the occasional one that couldn't handle their beer, but she didn't.

"Hello boys, can I get you anything?" She smiled at them but there was an edge to her voice. A warning. Three of the men turned their attention to the final one. He seemed to be the oldest. It was as though they weren't expecting her question and needed him to get them out of the situation. He let out a gruff chuckle as he rubbed a large hand across his beard, eyeing her up and down.

"Four pints please," He answered with a nod. He was jabbed in the side by the man next to him. "And a side of chips for Johnny here." He finished with a laugh as he clapped the man on the back. She hesitated, keeping a watchful and untrusting eye on him before slowly reaching to her notepad and taking down the order.

"So uh, you from round here?" Florence tried to make small talk as she wrote, wanting to suss the situation out. Her eyes moved back up to him, wanting to see his response. She knew, of course, that he wasn't from here, having lived in the same small town her whole life. But she was interested to see what he said.

"No, the boys and I are just stopping for a while," His eyes burned into her like they were watching for a reaction. It was at that moment that she was grateful for her incredible poker face. She had learned from a young age how to hide her every emotion so as to not give people the upper hand but it had never really come in handy, until now that is. She gave him a satisfied nod before walking away and giving the chef the order.

Florence made her way to the bar and quickly pulled their pints before balancing them on a tray. She wiped her slightly damp hands on the back of her uniform skirt, silently praying for the day someone figured out how to get rid of condensation. She picked up the tray, evenly distributing the weight so she didn't drop it and walked back up to the table.

As she placed the drinks down one by one on the table, she was very much aware of them staring at the bit of cleavage that was exposed from her being  bent over. "Chips will be about five," She said to the man who had seemed to be eager about them before. She made her way to her place behind the bar, willing the night to be over.

As the night progressed, Florence became more and more agitated with rude customers. She was almost at breaking point. It disappointed her heavily when she saw parents of children in village come in and get heavily inebriated. As she walked over to the bathroom, needing to relieve herself, she felt something slam into her shoulder. She let out a sharp gasp as a dull, throbbing pain filtered it's way into her arm. She glanced up, only to be met with the masked man from before.

"Watch where you're going," He huffed as he rolled his eyes and walked off. If looks could kill, he would not only be dead but his body so disgustingly mangled, so awfully disfigured that it would take an entire team of forensic specialist to identify him.

"Prick." She mumbled under her breath as she continued her trek.

When she came back from the bathroom, the older man from before waved Florence over, "Can we get the cheque please love?" He asked as he greeted her with a smile. She returned his look as she asked him to bare with her for five minutes while she served another customer but if he would wait at the front desk that would be great.

As she waited for the payment to process, she gave each and every one of them a smile, somewhat grateful that even though they had acted strange they were her politest customers of the evening. As her eyes landed on the masked man, she allowed her mask to fall for a split second. A small scowl landing on her face before she tore it off.

As they exited the bar, she heard the chip man say in a heavy Scottish accent, "She looked like she was gonna fucking sock you one Ghost!" He cackled as he threw his head back, "What the fuck did you do?"