"It's not a debate," he says, and with that shuts down the conversation.
We sit here in silence.
Well, almost silence. Bilker farts, and Kibber taps a beat with his finger on the arm of his chair. Malker takes a long gulp of beer and lets out a belch.
"So, have you not got anything to say?" he asks.
Bilker shakes his head, Kibber pauses his finger drumming for a moment and looks at Malker briefly before resuming his tapping. I look down at the floor. Malker scares me.
He knows it too.
He stands up and comes and stands behind me. He puts the beer down on the table in front of me, and his large pudding hands fall upon my shoulders. I try not to shiver or pull away, but I tense up.
"You need a massage, Lib," he says.
"I'm fine," I say. "Please, go back to your beer."
He sniggers and takes his hands off me.
"You don't like to be touched," he says. "That's okay."
...
