Page 101 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
Right?
“And the dent?”
Gary shrugged. “Hobby didn’t specify. One can only speculate that the equipment didn’t, alas, live up to its reputation.”
I gave him the side-eye. “If you’re telling me he keeps a giant papier-mâché cock under that cloak . . . Seriously. I don’t wanna know.”
Later—much later—me and Phil were pottering around the kitchen, conspicuously not talking about tiny babies and their mysterious ability to turn grown men into mush. Arthur was keeping a beady eye on us from his favourite perch on the top of the fridge while Merlin sniffed at his food bowl and then flashed me an outraged look at its continued emptiness.
“Funny things, cats, aren’t they?” I mused. “I mean, they get more attached to places than to people, don’t they? I read somewhere that moving house—for people, that is—is supposed to be as stressful as getting divorced. So for cats, yeah, it’s gotta be even worse, poor little furry sods.” God, it felt good to be able to get whole sentences out without feeling like I’d been swallowing sandpaper.
Phil gave me a look.
“What?”
He smirked and put his arms around me. “You don’t want to move, do you? Take up your sister’s offer of the house. You want to stay here.”
Now I felt like a git. “No, that’s not what I meant. Seriously. Look, I’ve been thinking about it. You want to move, don’t you? I mean Cherry’s house is way bigger than mine, it’s in a nicer area—”
“Further from the office.”
“You could get a new office out there. Get a better class of client.”
Phil laughed. “Because everyone who comes knocking on my door wants all their neighbours to know about it.”
“Okay, so you keep the office in Hatfield Road. It’s not that far to drive in every morning. Cherry’s been doing it for years. And me, obviously, I can work anywhere.”
“But it’s not what you want. Is it? You’d rather stay here.”
Christ. I couldn’t lie to him. “I’ll get used to it. I know it’s what you’ve always wanted—somewhere better than where you grew up.” Aspirational, that was my Phil.
“Tom. Yes, I want something better than I grew up with. I’ve never made any secret of that. But . . . it’s a state of mind as much as anything. It’s about believing you deserve a good life just as much as some bastard born with a whole bloody canteen of silver in his chinless gob. And yeah, maybe I didn’t always realise it, but I don’t need the big house with the fancy postcode.”
He stopped, smiled at something, and stroked my hair. “I don’t need any of that stuff. Not as long as I’ve got you.”
Funny, I’d thought my throat was better now. But here I was, getting all choked up again.
Only in a much, much better way this time. “Me too.” My voice came out hoarse, so I coughed and said it again. “Me too.”
