Closer than Blood: Friendship Helps You Survive. Julie Shaw

should be flattered, Joan,’ Doreen said. ‘My bloody Kenny wouldn’t notice someone trying it on with me if we were having it off in the middle of the bloody dance-floor!’

      Shirley was shocked at her being so graphic, but it was certainly an ice-breaker, and within minutes she felt she’d made two lovely friends; there was something so appealing about being with the sort of girls who said it like it was, rather than being all stuffy and buttoned up. And, between them, they fended off two or three hopeful advances – well, bar one lad with an enormous quiff, who seemed determined to keep chatting Shirley up, much to the amusement of the others.

      ‘Leave the lass alone,’ Joan kept telling him. ‘She’s taken!’

      ‘A new face,’ Doreen whispered. ‘And I’ll bet he’s been clocking you since you got here.’

      ‘I’m hardly that,’ Shirley said. ‘I’ve been coming here for ages!’

      ‘No, him,’ she corrected. ‘Which he must be, to be so stupid.’ She raised her voice then, and looked pointedly at the lad. ‘If he wasn’t, he’d know better than to make a pass at Tucker Hudson’s girl.’

      Shirley grinned, but the lad’s face suddenly fell. He might not have known who Keith was – he’d been away in the army, after all – but he obviously knew the name Hudson. And would doubtless have left her in peace at that moment, except he wasn’t going to be allowed to.

      ‘Here’s your Keith,’ Doreen observed, looking beyond Shirley.

      ‘And here comes trouble,’ Joan added. Shirley spun around. He was striding across the dance-floor, taking in the scene – she could almost see his mind working – and looking rather more animated – or rather, tanked up – than he had when he’d left.

      It had been more like twenty minutes rather than ten, but he’d come back alone, his mates having obviously decided to linger in the pub. Shirley thought fleetingly that she was pleased he’d taken his leave of them to rejoin her, but any pleasure in that was soon taken away by the realisation that he’d veered off from his route to where the girls stood and was walking towards the lad, who was now heading back to his mates.

      The girls watched as he stopped dead in front of the group of lads. ‘Shit!’ Shirley said, feeling a ripple of anxiety in her gut. ‘He saw, didn’t he? And he’s going to say something to that lad, isn’t he?’ She took in the scene. ‘Oh God, and he’s on his own. And there’s bloody three of them.’

      ‘Uh-huh,’ Doreen said sagely. ‘Looks like it.’

      ‘Say something, Dor?’ Joan said. ‘He’s a Hudson, remember. I doubt he’ll waste energy on small talk. No, he’ll nut him, most probably,’ she finished, sucking the last of her milkshake up her straw. ‘Looks like it might be a lively kind of night after all.’

      ‘But there’s three of them!’ Shirley squeaked. ‘Why would he –’

      At which point, Keith did. Just as her brand new friend Joan had predicted, he landed a body-bending punch into the hapless lad’s chest then followed it up with the promised head-butt for good measure.

      She banged her own milkshake glass onto the bar and ran towards them.

      ‘Keith!’ she yelled anxiously. What on earth was he thinking? There were three of them! And even as she screeched at him, they were all jumping in.

      Not that it seemed to dampen Keith’s enthusiasm for defending her honour. ‘You think you can chat up my bird, do you?’ he screamed at the boy, simultaneously ducking from the blows raining down and launching straight back in with his fists. But however fearless he was, he was surely no match for three of them, and Shirley decided she’d better get stuck in as well, by trying to grab the smallest of the three of them. He shook her off as if she’d been no more than a gust of wind on his back, though, and as Keith saw her stagger backwards, it only served to rile him more. Back in he went, blood pouring freely from his nose now, kicking and punching past any resistance, and beginning – incredibly – to get the upper hand, as well.

      And then Bert arrived to break the fight up. Keith saw him, too. ‘You want a go as well, Bert?’ he growled, ‘go ahead and be my frigging guest, pal.’ He raised his fists just as three men in suits grabbed him from behind. Bert grinned – he’s actually enjoying himself, Shirley realised – as, while two of the men quickly and surely grabbed Keith’s arms, Bert and the third man grabbed his feet. Between them, as the three other lads stood back to inspect their bruises, they lifted him off the floor.

      ‘Let him go, you bleeding bullies!’ Shirley yelled, tears springing in her eyes, but as she raised her fists to pummel the back of the nearest of Bert’s henchmen, Keith spun himself around somehow, twisting his neck so he was facing her.

      ‘I’m all right, Shirl,’ he reassured her, winking at her as if in endorsement. ‘I’ll meet you at the other end of the car park, okay?’

      She could only look on, stunned and shaken, as they carried him by his wrists and ankles to the double doors that led to the car park, looking for all the world as if they were giving him the bumps for his birthday.

      Oh, God! she thought anxiously. He wasn’t about to get a beating, was he? The thought galvanised her and, with a weak smile at her new friends, Joan and Doreen, she hurried after them, just in time to experience another shocking moment as they swung Keith back in unison before launching him straight across the car park.

      They were all laughing, as well, which made her furious. ‘You bad bastards!’ she screamed, elbowing them out of the way. ‘You could have killed him!’ But by the time she’d run across to him, he was (miraculously, it seemed to Shirley) already getting back up again. He must be like a cat, she decided, as he sprung to his feet, engineered to always land the right way up. He began dusting himself down. Muck and gravel stuck to him like a new suit. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously, wincing at the blood smeared on his face.

      ‘Me?’ he asked, as if it was a completely unexpected question. ‘Course I am, love. I’m used to that from them pillocks. Don’t you worry, Shirl. Wait till I see them one by one, though.’ He grinned. ‘Trust me, they won’t be laughing then.’

      Shirley certainly wasn’t laughing now. Did he mean the lads, or Bert’s hard men? Either way, was he totally insane? He was certainly fearless, she conceded as he brushed the last of the dust from his lapels. ‘Keith, you’re still bleeding,’ she told him, anxious anew. Had they broken his nose? Would he end up with it all bent and lumpy like his mate Titch’s? It was definitely still oozing blood. It was beginning to get dark now, and she could see it glistening by the light of the car-park security lamp.

      He pressed the back of his hand to his nose and then held it away from him, tutting, before pushing a hand inside the sleeve of his other arm and tugging down a length of jacket sleeve that had obviously been tucked up inside. That done, he carefully wiped his nose with it, before tucking the sleeve carefully up again. The jacket, she realised, had cuffs that matched the collar. Or would have, had the sleeves not been six inches too long.

      ‘What?’ Keith was asking her, and she realised she was standing there, gawping. And, transfixed as she was by the bizarre thing she’d just witnessed, she didn’t know quite what to say. There was something so singular about what he’d just done that all her anxiety melted away. Instead, she found herself collapsing into a fit of giggles.

      Keith stared at her for a moment, just like Titch had earlier, as if she was mad. ‘What’s so frigging funny?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘Oh, Keith,’ Shirley spluttered, ‘you should have seen your face! When those men got you, and it was just when you were going to hit that lad, and then you were, like, so surprised – so, like, “What’s going on here?” and next minute you were up in the air, and … oh my God, I’m going to wee myself if I’m not careful …’

      She crossed her legs, tears of laughter spilling onto her cheeks now. What had happened here? By rights she