Page 75 of Not That Ridiculous

“I don’t! The upstairs one is fine.”

The upstairs bathroom had an alarming soft patch in the floor that I avoided stepping on because I was fairly certain it would drop me straight through to the kitchen if I tried. It was decorated in early-eighties harvest-beige and brown with actual sheafs of wheat printed on the tiles and it wasnotmy style, but as long as water came out of the taps and the toilet flushed, doing anything in there was at the bottom of my list.

“Upstairs one?” Kevin said. “You’ve got one downstairs?”

“Yes, in an extension at the back. It’s the one I use most.” Except for brushing my teeth or the odd nighttime trip to the loo.

I had a suspicion that Deirdre had built it for her beloved Phil, who wouldn’t fit in the poky little shower stall upstairs. If she hadn’t built it for him, at the very least she had decorated it in his honour. It was a large wet room—no tub—and little cartoon dogs frolicked on the floor-to-ceiling tiles. Phil was certainly no stranger to using the facilities. I’d found that out after he’d made it to the goose poop in the park before I could stop him, and I’d spent a good hour and half scrubbing first him and then the bathroom clean.

He’d had a lovely time. I had not, and I now had a local grooming parlour saved in my contacts, one that was owned by a woman who was happy to fit Phil in for any goose poop-related emergencies if I was happy to bribe her with free coffee.

I was.

“Okay,” Kevin said. His animated expression said: not okay. It said Kevin was now mentally redesigning my bathrooms. “I’m going to need a proper look around.”

“I’m starting to think you’re more interested in my house than me,” I said.

“I’m not,” Ali muttered from behind us. “Probably because I’m the only one working while Kev’s standing around chatting you up.”

Kevin’s cheeks pinkened. “All right, all right,” he said. He detached a screwdriver from his tool belt with practiced grace that didnotturn me on, flipped it, and held it out to me, handle first. “Why don’t you get unscrewing?”

Phil joined me as I knelt on the lawn by the door and started unscrewing the big ornate door knocker.

I didn’t get far. I notched the tip of the screwdriver in the screw head no problem, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get it to turn.Lefty loosey, righty tighty,I reminded myself, wrapped both hands around the black-and-yellow handle of the screwdriver and gritted my teeth as I gave it my all.

Nothing. Not even a millimetre.

I sent a shifty look over at Kevin and Ali, who were being all competent and professional as they got the frame up and fitted it into the doorway. Kevin must have sensed my attention on him because he looked back at me immediately.

Instead of smiling, his gaze went over my shoulder and his face blanked.

I heard a car pull up at the kerb, and turned to follow Kevin’s gaze.

It was a white Nissan Juke and I wondered crossly why the driver had decided to block my drive when there was plenty of street parking available. I stopped wondering when the door opened and Craig Henderson climbed out.

I didn’t think I’d ever seen him not in his work gear. Dressed as he was now in chinos and an apricot polo shirt, he looked like he was off to play a round of golf, or else was about to try and sell me something.

Behind me, Ali said, “Uh-oh,” quietly. He raised his voice. “Hey, Charlie, can I use your loo?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “First door on the—oh.”

Ali bolted into the house. Okay. I’m sure he could find it on his own.

“What’s all this, then?” Craig said, bluff and hearty. He hovered at the bottom of the drive. “You didn’t tell me we had a new client, Kevin! Morning, Charlie. Been meaning to catch up with you and see what we could do for you for a while now. You’re in good hands with Henderson’s Handymen.”

I could practically hear theka-chingin Craig’s head from here.

“Craig,” I said with a short nod.

Before I could continue, Kevin came over to stand beside me where I was, somewhat unfortunately, still on my knees holding his screwdriver.

Phil, being a shitty judge of character, looked at Craig Henderson and thought the exact same thing he thought when he looked at anything with a pulse, be it squirrel, goose, or grifter: new friend!

He heaved to his feet and got all of one step towards his new friend before Kevin reached down and caught his collar. “Phil.”

Phil looked up at him.

“No,” Kevin said firmly.

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