Page 43 of Pressure Head
Phil was looking good, in tailored trousers and a different cashmere sweater, one I hadn’t seen before. Did his wardrobe have its own mortgage? Mind you, you can get cashmere in Tesco’s these days.
I was fairly sure he’d have shopped somewhere a bit more upmarket, though. “Who says you can’t take the council estate out of the boy?” I joked, appreciating the view.
He flushed—and not in a pleased way. “Some of us work hard to get away from our roots, all right?”
“Keep your hair on! You’re going to take someone’s eye out with that chip on your shoulder. I just meant you’re looking good, that’s all.” Okay, so now I’d overcompensated and I was probably going just as red as he was.
“Oh. Well, you too, obviously.”
“Yeah, right.” I hadn’t had time to change, so I was in my dusty work jeans and shirt, and when I’d nipped into the gents a few minutes ago, I’d found cobwebs in my hair—no reflection on Jersey Farm standards;nobodyhoovers under the bath, for God’s sake. Or in the attic. “Old Lionel’s going to think you found me sleeping under a hedge.”
“You look fine.” He coughed. “Are you ready to go?”
I nodded and stood. “So is this bloke a suspect, or do you just want to sound him out about the Rev?”
I’d said it quietly, but Phil still darted a gaze around before glaring at me. “We’ll talk about it in the car.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t think— Fine, let’s talk about the weather. Bit nippy for the time of year, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. Maybe that cashmere sweater was really good at keeping him warm, and he didn’t like to disagree with me. I chuckled to myself—quietly, so Phil wouldn’t hear. “How are you getting on with the new place?” I asked. “Got all your stuff unpacked yet?”
“I wish. Still living out of boxes, mostly.”
“I could come and give you a hand some time, if you like,” I offered, surprising myself. Usually I get my second thoughts a bit sooner than that.
Still, Phil looked pleased, so I was glad I’d said it. “Thanks. Yeah, that’d be great.” He frowned. “Have I told you where it is?”
“No—I was going to ask you about that, but I thought you were enjoying being a man of mystery. Either that or you were worried I’d turn up and uncover all your secrets.”
“I’ve got my secrets, but my address isn’t one of them. And it’s not like I’ve been living there long enough to get the skeletons moved into their cupboards. I’ve got a flat out on London Road.” He gave me the address.
“Hey, we’re practically next-door neighbours! You must be what, half a mile away from mine?”
“Something like that.”
“You never did tell me how come you moved back out here,” I reminded him as we got into the Golf.
“No. I didn’t.” Phil started the engine.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Man of mystery and all that. Fine—have it your way. So can we talk about Lionel now?”
He nodded. “He’s church treasurer, right? So he’ll know a lot about the way the church conducts its business. We can ask him about that night—see if he thinks it’s feasible Melanie might have meant the vicar when she talked about her boss. If it’s likely the Reverend would have called her out in the evening.” Phil pulled out of the narrow entrance to Four Candles Lane and onto the village high street. He gave a pinched-looking smile. “See if he knows the vicar’s dirty little secret, and if he’s got any of his own.”
“Still think being gay’s a dirty little secret, do you?”
“It is if you’re a vicar. He should grow a pair and come out. Half the persecution of homosexuals done in the name of the church could be avoided if people like him weren’t too shit scared to stand up and be counted.”
I stared at him, speechless for a moment. I’d been about to tell him about my trip to see the Rev, but right now I was damned if I was going to betray that sad collection of books and keepsakes. When I finally found my voice, it wasn’t pretty. “You fucking hypocrite! What about when we were in school together? You never stood up to be counted then.”
Phil flinched back for about a hundredth of a second, then turned on me angrily. “That was then. Do you still define yourself by what you believed when you were seventeen?”
I thought about it. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Well, spare a thought for us poor mortals who have to learn by experience, all right? Not everyone gets it right first time.”
I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. “You think I get everything right first time? ’Scuse me, but have we even met?”
He threw me a look, but it was gone before I could work out what it meant. “You really haven’t changed, you know,” he said, and I didn’t think he meant it as a compliment.
