Page 41 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
He doddered out again a couple of minutes later, looking sad. I tried not to feel too guilty.
We’d already arranged that Phil would come over for tea that evening, which seeing as he’d had a steak for lunch, I didn’t feel bad about making just beans on toast.
Okay, I tried not to feel bad. Then I bunged some bacon under the grill when I heard him coming in the door. Well, I wouldn’t want all those lovely muscles to waste away for lack of protein, would I? Pure self-interest, that’s what it was. Honest.
“How’d it go after I left?” I asked, shoving some bread in the toaster as his size elevens clomped into the kitchen behind me. “Hey, did you ask Lance if he did murder-mystery parties? Gary went to one of those, and he said it was a right laugh, but I’m guessing poor old Lance wouldn’t find it quite so funny these days.” He wouldn’t be the only one.
Phil just grunted.
“So go on, how’d it go? Get anything more out of him?”
“No.”
It wasn’t so much what he said but the way he said it that made me turn round to look at him. “What’s crawled up your arse?”
He gave me a stony glare. “Next time we’re with a murder suspect, you want to lay off getting all defensive on my behalf if he brings up something personal? Because one, I can take care of myself, and two, if he hadn’t already known he’d hit a nerve, he certainly bloody well did after you jumped in on your high horse.”
“Well, ’scuse me for trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit. Sorry. Just . . . I can deal with it, okay? You getting all uptight about stuff just makes it harder.”
“Oi, I wasn’t getting uptight.”
“Yeah, right. Just like you’re not now.”
I gave the beans a vicious stir and slopped sauce all over the stove top. Bloody marvellous. “Just so we’re clear, you wanna end up eating this or wearing it?”
“Jesus, I wish I’d stayed at home and ordered a bloody takeaway.”
That was . . . I mean, Christ, I’d been joking. Mostly. I put the spoon down and turned to stare at him. “What the actual fuck? No, seriously, what?”
“Do we have to do this now?”
“Do what?”
Phil huffed and carried on glaring. “Talk about that smarmy git, all right? Does he have to be the first fucking thing you mention when I walk in the door?”
I stared at him, frowning in disbelief. “What? Are you jealous? Christ, you are, aren’t you? I don’t believe it. Okay, he maybe held my hand a bit on the long side when he said goodbye, but seriously, you’d think I’d been fondling his bollocks under the table or something.”
“You didn’t have to sit there for another half an hour while he went on about how bloody fascinating your talents are, and how much he’d like to spend some more time with you. Exploring your common interest.” I swear he growled after he said that.
“No. You’re right. I wasn’t fucking there. So why the hell are you blaming me? I mean, Christ, I didn’t like him much either, so why is it somehow my fault he got up your nose?”
Phil sort of deflated. “You didn’t like him?”
“Seriously? That is an actual, serious question?”
“You seemed pretty bloody chummy at lunch.”
“I thought you’d appreciate me putting the bloke at his ease. Make it easier for you to get him to talk.”
“Oh, he talked all right. Wasn’t about the bloody case, though, was it?” Phil turned away. “I’ve been trying for months to get you to experiment. Do something with your dowsing—find out how it works and how you can use it best. Then he turns up and you’re all ‘Wanna show me your crystal?’”
“That was to get him off my back! And I tried stuff with you, all right? It didn’t work.”
He met my gaze. “Because you didn’t take it seriously.”
“Yeah, well, you ever thought I might feel like a right prat, trying to channel some mystical sodding energies I know you don’t believe in and I’m not sure I do either?”
