Simon grimaced as Hurley gave him a shove, but he didn't fight back. Whether it was father or Hurley, Simon never fought back. He would argue, he would provoke, he would insult. But he never fought back. It was an impossibility. He always submitted to it in the end. They had won from the beginning. But no more. Simon wouldn't submit any longer. His life was his own. He had left home, and now he was leaving Hurley.

And yet there was a flicker of doubt, as Hurley mocked the idea. All this time, Simon had told himself that in York there would be a place for him at last. In York he would be free and happy and he could be himself. But Hurley had the power to make him doubt everything he held true, and for a moment, he believed that he could never be happy in York. He was destined for misery and humiliation.

No. In less than an hour, he would be on the train and he would be free and Hurley would hold no power over him anymore. He took a deep breath and risked looking Hurley straight in the eye - something he dreaded, even now. "I'll thank you to step off my things, and leave me alone." There was a tremor in his voice, and yet it was more steady now. Hurley no longer owned him.

Some people nearby had moved to other tables. Some were watching from a safe distance. But no one intervened. Simon, in his poor fisherman clothes and a half-healed black eye looked like an obvious thug. Hurley was evidently a gentleman. Surely, the gentleman had something to settle with him. Perhaps the thug had stolen something, or owned him money. It wasn't their business. Some fishermen recognized Simon. They watched closely in case Hurley would harm him, but they knew that Simon was difficult and had probably gotten himself into this situation, and they preferred not to get involved.