Page 25 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
Phil stared at me. “They print naked pictures of royalty. What do you bloody think?”
“Bloody marvellous. Great. So all I can do is hope for another sinkhole to open up and swallow a few houses this time.”
Phil nodded, a half smile on his lips. “That’d knock you off the front page all right.”
The next time the doorbell rang, I didn’t bother getting up from the sofa, where Phil and me had been pretending to do paperwork while watching the motor racing on the telly.
“Don’t answer that,” Phil warned, presumably in case the old reflexes were just being a bit slow today.
“Wasn’t gonna,” I assured him.
Then a voice called through the letter box. “Yoo-hoo! It’s only us.”
Gary. And Darren, presumably. That was a relief. And not just because it gave me an excuse to leave off doing the VAT return for a bit. I opened the door and cracked a welcoming smile at them. “‘Yoo-hoo’? Seriously?”
“Did the job, dinnit?” Darren stomped past me into the hall, carrying a six-pack of beer in each hand. I felt a sudden surge of affection for him. “How you doing, short-arse?” he carried on.
Ah, well, the affection had been nice while it lasted. “I’m good. Want to bung those in the fridge?”
“Cheers, mate. Got any crisps?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Bleedin’ ’ell.” Halfway to the kitchen, he turned to Gary. “I told you we shoulda brung crisps.”
Gary rolled his eyes at me—after Darren had disappeared fridgewards. “Husbands. What can you do?”
I grinned. “I’ve got some dry-roasted peanuts.”
“Nah, cheers, mate, but I like my nuts just to taste of salt, like nature intended.” Darren had reappeared and was now off to the living room. “Phil! How you doing there, mate?”
Phil said something I didn’t hear, and Darren gave a loud cackle.
Gary beamed. “Isn’t it lovely how well our other halves get on together? Now, if you ever reconsider on the foursome . . .”
“You’ll be the first to know,” I assured him. And it’d be sweater weather in hell, I didn’t add. I wouldn’t want Gary to take it the wrong way. Or even the right way, for that matter. “I’ve got some pizza in the freezer, or we could get a takeaway—”
“You’re a treasure, but no. We’re dining with Darren’s family tonight. This is just a flying visit to see how you’re bearing up. How are you bearing up? After all that unpleasantness yesterday.”
I made a face. “Ah, you know. Wasn’t great, finding her like that. Did you know her?”
“Only in passing. Which, I might add, I did as quickly as possible. One does hear things.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, only that she had something of a forceful personality. I wouldn’t have wanted to be a keg of gunpowder anywhere near when she and her stepdaughter got going.”
“Ever hear about her playing away from home?” I asked, ’cos that reminded me about what Vi had said about me being her stepmum’s latest bit of rough.
Gary just shrugged. “Well, who could blame her? Alex Majors is hardly the sort to get anyone’s juices flowing. Now, shall we join the boys?”
Phil shut his laptop, I shifted my files off the sofa, and we all sat down with a beer—well, all except Gary, who pulled out a mini bottle of piña colada from his jacket pocket. I got him a glass and some ice. What with the sleepless night I’d had, the beer went right to my head, but I wasn’t complaining.
“So, are you officially consulting with the police on the murder?” Gary asked, while Darren munched on a packet of mini Cheddars Phil had found for him, which I’d have sworn we didn’t have in the house.
I snorted. “No. I’m helping with their enquiries, which, believe me, isn’t the same thing at all.”
“Ah, coppers. Can’t trust ’em as far as you can throw a panda car at ’em,” Darren put in. “No offence, mate,” he added to Phil.
