Page 52 of Pressure Head
Gary was his usual effusive self, bless him. “Tommy! Sit down and tell Uncle Garyallabout it. Whatdidthe nasty man do to you?”
“Did he rest his pint glass on the top of your head, that sort of thing?” Darren asked. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be sympathetic or just taking the piss. Although my money was on him taking the piss.
“Sorry, Gary, I’m not sure I really want to talk about it,” I began, with a glance in Darren’s direction.
Gary tsked. “Darling, don’t be silly! Darren and I have no secrets from one another, so you might as well tell us both.”
Right now I wasn’t sure I wanted to spill the beans to either of them, but theyhadcome out specially to cheer me up. “It just got a bit weird, that’s all. You know that accident I had when I was seventeen, right?” I found I was rubbing my hip, and picked up my pint instead.
Annoyingly, they both nodded.
“Well, it sort of happened when I was running away from Phil and his gang—we didn’t exactly get on, back then. Turns out he’s been feeling bad about it all these years. Guilty. And he, you know, kept newspaper clippings and photos of me and stuff.”
“Oh. My.God.” Gary looked like he was worried his face was going to fall off, and he was trying to hold it on with both hands. “Tommy! You’ve got your very own stalker!”
“No, I haven’t! Come off it, Phil’s not like that.” I took a gulp of beer to steady myself.
“Oh? After all these years, he comes in search of you—”
“He came in search of Melanie Porter, actually.”
“—finds he can’t stay away from you—”
“He asked me to help him out a couple of times, that’s all.”
“—finally, he entices you into his secluded lair—”
“It’s a bloody loft conversion on London Road!”
“—and confesses his obsession.”
“He didn’t confess, I . . .” I glanced at Darren. He stared back, poker-faced. “I found the stuff he’d kept, that’s all.” Except that wasn’t all, was it? I put my pint down. “He said he hated me.”
“He didn’t!” Gary cried.
“Yes, he bloody did. He said he hated me, back when we were at school, because I made him fancy me.” God, I was going soft. I’d started to wish they hadn’t left Julian at home, so he could put his head on my knee, soak me in slobber, and make me feel better.
Instead of a wobbly pair of jowls, a small but meaty hand landed on my leg. Darren’s hand. “Course he hated you. Always bleedin’ do, don’t they? Sodding closet cases. Don’t like the message, shoot the fucking messenger. You’re better off without that tosspot, ain’t he, Pumpkin?”
Pumpkin?
Gary nodded and didn’t even blush. Then again, I’m not sure he even knows how. “Absolutely, Sweetie Pie.”
Not the least bit embarrassed either, Darren leaned forward. “Tell you what, I’ve got a mate out Hemel way—well, ex-colleague, if you know what I mean. Him and his partner are looking for a third. Say the word and I’ll give ’em your number.”
“Um, thanks,” I managed. “I’ll let you know. Want another drink?” I was only halfway through my pint, but I was pretty sure I’d be needing another.
I left Pumpkin and Sweetie Pie cooing over one another and escaped to the bar, where Harry herself was serving. I’d have preferred one of the harem—they’re a bit less intimidating, as a rule. She raised a bushy eyebrow at me.
“Two pints of best and a dry martini, please,” I asked politely.
“Stirred, not shaken?” Harry queried in that gravelly voice that always makes me fancy a cigarette, even though I gave up smoking a dozen years ago, which was around two weeks after I’d started.
“That’s the one. Kitchen still open?” I asked, suddenly catching sight of a packet of pork scratchings and remembering I was starving.
She nodded. “Pie’s good tonight.”
“Ah, but isn’t it always?” I smiled. “All right, you’ve sold me on it. Pie and chips, please, and whatever veg is going. Got to keep up my vitamins.”
