It was a Saturday in May, a rainy, cold, shitty day when he first laid eyes on her pitiable form. He and Tommy visited Carl Erbe, a surprise visit to suss him out. Carl maintained some good contacts to a few not-so-honorable salesmen in Edinburgh, Southampton and Plymouth. Tommy wanted to stay in his good books. Because you never know, do you?

Carl lived in a small house, Pinkerton Drive, in a miserable neighborhood. Arthur sighed, wishing to be somewhere else, maybe in a warm bed, able to sleep without nightmares, deep and long and dreamless. He hadn't really slept for a few days in a row now, his temper simmering on the edge of insanity. About six hours of sleep in five nights doesn't cool one's temper.

The door opened as if by an invisible hand and he stepped into the hallway, right after Tommy. He looked to the right, seeing a small woman wearing a headsquare pressing herself between the door and the wall, making room for them.

"Hello, Mrs. Erbe." Tommy said, obviously already knowing her. "Kitchen?"

She nodded, pointing to the door on the left. She followed them to the small, bleakly kitchen and hurried to the cupboard, ready to serve them tea.

"Ah! Tommy! And Arthur, I guess?" The man at the table got up, shaking Tommy's hand.

"Right. Pleasure," Arthur grunted, reaching for his hand.

"Tea, gentlemen?" Carl asked and Tommy nodded. "Constance!"

He barked as if she would mooch around a few blocks down the road, not standing just an arm's length away. Arthur winced, sensitive to noise because of his lack of sleep.

"Here, sir," the small woman whispered. "I'm sorry."

She poured tea into their cups and Arthur saw that she was shaking like a leaf. She made a mess at Tommy's cup and Carl growled. He waited for her to put the teapot back to stove before he spoke.

"Come here, bitch."

Arthur noticed tears on her cheeks as she took two steps to her husband. She made herself small, obviously awaiting some blows. Her arms twitched upwards to cover her face with her hands, but she fought this reflex.

"It's alright, Carl. Nothing happened. Just send her out, I want to talk." Tommy said calmly.

"Go," Carl commanded after giving Tommy a killing glance, pointing to the door.

She wiped the tears of her cheeks and made two steps forward. Carl tripped her up and she fell facedown to Arthur's feet, not able to suppress a cry. She got up slowly, to slow for Carl's liking, so he kicked her ass, making her stumble again.

"I apologize for that stupid rag bag, gentlemen."

Arthur noticed her black eye, the cut in her lower lip, the tears on her cheeks. He reached out for her, but she shook her head, refusing his help.

Carl got up, sighing deeply: "I escort her out. Excuse me for a moment, please."

He grabbed her arm, dragged her to the kitchen door and tossed her bruised body out. Arthur heard the small cry as her body crashed to the wall. Carl stepped in the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"Pull yourself together. No interfering in the marital life of other men, got it?" Tommy whispered, squeezing Arthur's shoulder.

"He's an asshole. "

"He is. But he's useful. So, forget it."

The look Arthur gave Carl in the moment he came back would've made sensitive natures crawl to his feet, begging for mercy. But Carl didn't even bat an eye.

Arthur couldn't forget the little scene for weeks, thinking about her in every single sleepless night. He didn't consider himself as a gentle, soft and deeply loving man, but the way she existed was nothing he could stand.

In the first week of July she came to The Garrison Pub, just as Arthur wanted to leave. He bumped into her right in front of the door.

"I'm sorry, sir," she mumbled, lowering her head even more.

"Mrs. Erbe," he said. "Nice to see you. Come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby," she answered and followed him into the bar.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I've got a letter from Mr. Erbe for you. And I'm ordered to buy six bottles of Scotch Ale."

"'Course. Take a seat, please." He pointed to a table and called for Grace: "Grace! Two cups of tea. Move it!"

"Sir, I can't ..."

"You can because I say so. Take a seat."

Reluctantly she did as he said, placing the letter on the table. He took the paper and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket, without even looking at it. He watched her closely, counting the visible marks of her husband's brutality. Black eye, once again, a little cut on her cheek, a bruise on her lower jaw. She was none of his business, and he knew a lot of women who were beaten up by their husbands on a regular basis. For stealing money, for talking back, for refusing their marital duties, for fucking with the brother of her brother-in-law. But not for spilling a few drops of fucking tea.

"Do you have children?" Arthur asked, fumbling for a cigarette.

"No, sir."

"How long are you married?"

"Ten years in December."

Grace served two cups of tea and a plate of tea biscuits, god knows where she had found them.

"Help yourself, Mrs. Erbe. Please." Arthur said, pushing the plate to her.

He noticed the hunger in her eyes, the gulping, the sheer need to eat them.

"Sir, I have to ..."

"We won't tell him. Eat and drink. I insist. Did you have lunch?"

She shook her head, taking one biscuit.

"Breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Yesterday's dinner?"

Again, she shook her head, chewing with closed eyes and an expression of relief on her face.

"The biscuits are delicious," she whispered, taking another. "Thank you."

"Welcome. So, six bottles of Scotch Ale, right?" Arthur asked, just to get a grip, to distract him from this beautiful woman stumbling through a never ending hell.

She was shell-shocked, kind of.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby. "

He nodded to Grace to fill her basket and cleared his throat: "Regarding the letter, Mrs. Erbe ..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Tomorrow afternoon you'll come here, picking up my answer."

She nodded: "Of course. Thank you. What ... what do I owe you for the tea and the biscuits, sir? I ... I've got money for the ale, of course, but unfortunately not one penny more."

"You owe me nothing. It's on my tab."

"Oh. So ... thank you again, Mr. Shelby."

Arthur gave her a short nod, watched her finish her tea and all the biscuits in silence, and walked her out.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 2 p.m."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the tea and biscuits and your hospitality."

"Welcome, Mrs. Erbe."

He gave her a small smile as she looked up for a second, and watched her walking down the road. She hobbled a bit and he fought the urge to give Carl Erbe a bit of his own medicine. But first, he was going to feed her some sandwiches. Tomorrow.