Rat Catchers

Rest

"You're daft as a fucking brush, Ro'." Finn was shaking his head as he was shuffling cards. "You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

"Lay off," she grumbled.

"No, I don't think I will. Split it?" Rose split the deck and Finn started to deal the cards onto her quilt. "This one's for the history books."

Rose made a face at him, but it was mainly to keep herself from grinning.

A very odd thing had happened. Everyone in the family knew what she'd done and no one appeared to be angry with her. Sure, they had given her endless shite about it, but they'd also all of them made it a point to appear by her bedside (or, in Finn's case, on her bed) to lavish her with attention.
Rose had been brought books and sweets and her cousin Karl had presented her with a dozen cockroaches in a jam jar, which turned out to be surprisingly hypnotic to watch in their tireless pursuit to find an exit.

Her uncle Arthur, who seemed largely unavailable these days, had come up to drunkenly ruffle her hair and called her a "callous little bastard" with so much affection, she'd very nearly cried.

There had been absolutely no retribution.

Her aunt Polly had even gone so far as to claim that Rose's night on the roof had not been the root cause of her illness.

"There's only so much heartsickness a person can take," she'd told Rose. "You could've stayed in your bed all warm and dry that night and you'd've still woken up with a raging fever. Some things can't be kept in, they'll make a passage out for themselves one way or another."

While Rose was not convinced, there was no denying that she felt...better. She'd been in bed for the better part of a week and was still coughing a little and a bit short of breath, but it was as if the giant hand constantly clenching her insides in an iron grip had somehow disappeared. Weirder still, she'd been so used to the tightness in her guts, she only really knew it had been there now that it was gone.

Rose couldn't grasp what exactly had shifted, but it seemed to have taken almost all of her rage at the world with it.

Even Charlie didn't seem to be quite so irritating anymore. He was certainly an apt steward and could be down to the kitchen and back with a biscuit in 65 seconds flat, she'd timed him. He had not grassed on her either, not even – as he proudly pointed out to her – when the doctor had been called and asked if anyone in the house had an idea what had brought this on. And, if Rose was perfectly honest, there was something very nice about having someone so completely convinced that the sun shone out of her arse.

"D'you know Bonnie Gold?" Finn asked, picking up and shaking his head in disgust at his hand.

"His da's terrifying," Rose said, slamming a Queen down with relish.

"Fuck off..." Finn groaned. "You've a fucking deck up your sleeve, haven't ye?"

Rose flapped her arms vigorously to prove him wrong.

"Unbelievable... anyway, they've set up a fight for him, grand affair at the King's Hall." Finn picked up again to no avail. "You know how he's not very big, Bonnie?"

"I'd say a welterweight, at most," Rose said gravely.

"Spot on," Finn said, shaking his head in amusement. "Anyway, the fella he's fighting is fucking enormous in comparison. They even call him Goliath."

"He must've made weight though, surely? Can't be that much bigger." Rose neatly deposited a trio of nines on the pile between them.

"I'm never shuffling again," Finn announced. "I'm clearly useless at it. But yea, anyway, you're mistaken. He looks twice his size. Arms like bloody anacondas. It'll be a massacre."