This week’s photo prompt is provided by Iain Kelly. Thank you Iain!
Danny downed the last of his pint, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sodding police helicopter,’ he said. ‘Drowns out the football.’ He nodded towards the TV, its dashing, fuzzy players.
The landlord, Nige, turned another page of his newspaper.
A gust of wind tugged Danny’s sparse hair, a door banged and Maggie, Nige’s wife, appeared behind the bar, breathing heavy like she’d just run the 100 against Usain Bolt, her nose speckled with damp.
‘Raining is it?’ said Danny, shaking his glass.
Maggie smiled. ‘I’ll fill that for you.’ Soon there was a fresh pint of Guinness on the bar, bright foam shivering.
Danny spotted the beads of blood round Maggie’s wrist, the grime smudging her sleeve. Funny how she was never around when the choppers went over. Funnier still how she returned breathless, often grazed, often grubby.
She watched him, lip clamped between her teeth, forehead glistening as if the rain had followed her inside.
Danny raised his pint. ‘Cheers, love,’ he said.
She always did pull a better pint than Nige.