Page 30 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“God, no. I told you, he’ll be fine. He’s with Uncle Arlo.”
There was that name again. All these As were giving me a headache. “That’s his brother?”
“No. Amelia’s brother, as if that had anything to do with anything. Look, just give me your postcode.”
I gave. I also told her not to come round before eight ’cos I’d be having my tea.
Then I rang Phil and offered to cook him pasta tonight.
I played it safe and didn’t mention Vi was coming round until after we’d eaten (just a carbonara, with a rocket salad on the side, as I couldn’t be arsed to do anything fancy), but Phil was still less than impressed with my plans for company for the evening. “Going for the record, are you—most murderers entertained in one living room? And what if I hadn’t been free tonight? Hoping the cats would leap in to protect you?”
I leaned back in the sofa and nudged my plate to one side with my toes so I could put my feet up on the coffee table. It was all right. I had clean socks on. “Don’t be daft. She can’t have done it.”
Phil leaned back too, but kept his feet on the floor. Probably just as well, seeing as Arthur jumped up on his lap a moment later. That cat could do serious damage by landing on unsupported knees. “Why not? She’s got plenty of upper-body strength. Keen tennis player, from what I heard. And she rides.”
“So? Nobody strangled the woman with their thighs.”
Phil huffed. Arthur’s ears twitched, and he kneaded Phil’s legs with his paws. “Have you seen these horsey types? Spend more of their time slinging hay bales and mucking out stables than they do in the bloody saddle. Don’t be fooled by the padding on those arms. She’s probably got more muscle on her than you have.”
“Oi, who are you calling a wimp?” I flexed my biceps in his general direction. You have to have a reasonable amount of strength in your arms, in the plumbing line. Course, legs are a different matter, but luckily it wasn’t shorts weather anymore. “Anyway, she still didn’t do it. Can’t have, or she’d never have said what she did up at the fayre. You heard her, telling everyone she hated her stepmum.”
“No, I didn’t, and neither did you. We heard her saying everyone else hated her.”
I thought about it. “S’pose you’re right. All except Alex, some bloke called Lance, and Uncle Arndale.”
“Arlo.”
“Whatever. You’re still not telling me that’s actually a name. Not that Lance is much better, poor sod.”
“Fit right in round here, though, wouldn’t he?”
I frowned. “You what?”
“Arthur, Merlin . . .”
“What, you think it’s actually short for Lancelot? Jesus, his parents must have hated him.”
Phil shrugged. “It’s not that bad. Makes a man stand out, get noticed, having an unusual name.” He looked a bit wistful, in a grass-is-always-greener sort of way.
“Oi, I hope this doesn’t mean you’re planning on changing your name by deed poll to something weird and wonderful, like that nutter who called himself after the entire Arsenal football team. I mean, seriously, he could at least have picked a decent side.” A thought struck. “Hey, we haven’t talked about names, have we? After we get hitched, I mean. Are we gonna be Paretski-Morrisons? I don’t reckon Morrison-Paretski would work.”
Phil stared at me for a long moment. “You want to do that?” he asked at last.
“Don’t you?” I countered, feeling a bit uncertain. As per bloody usual, neither his face nor his tone had given anything away as to how he actually felt about it. “I mean, we don’t have to. It was just a thought.”
Phil opened his mouth—and then the doorbell rang.
Bloody Vi Majors. She was twenty minutes late already. Couldn’t she have stretched it another ten? I sighed and went to let her in.
Vi was in purple today, to match her name. She had on a silky blouse thing that gaped a bit at the buttons, a matching Alice band, and a pair of dark-grey tailored trousers. The outfit didn’t seem quite her somehow, despite the trousers being the regulation size too small—maybe it was her idea of mourning gear?
“Find us okay?” I asked politely, gesturing her in.
She sort of shrugged and cast a glance behind her. “I hope the car’s going to be all right, parked round here.”
“Well, if you don’t wanna stay . . .” I was a bit narked at her suggestion this was a dodgy neighbourhood. She should see the estate Phil grew up on.
Vi shook herself. “God, no, don’t mind me. It’s just, well . . . What happened. Makes you a bit paranoid, doesn’t it?” She gave me a lopsided smile that made me like her a whole lot more. “Sorry.”
