Page 53 of Pressure Head
She nodded, bellowed my food order to Marnie in the kitchen and got busy pulling pints.
I handed over twenty quid, thinking I really needed to make time for a bit more actual paid work in the near future. And maybe take up running, to burn off all this beer and pub grub. Harry gave me a tray to take the drinks over—it’s easy enough carrying three pint glasses in your hands, but you try it with two pints and one of Gary’s dinky little cocktail glasses. He’d have been well pissed off if I’d dropped his olive.
“Lovely, sweetie,” Gary said when I plonked them on the table. He and Darren had fallen silent when I’d got back.
“Talking about me, were you?” I asked, sitting down.
Gary shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with being the centre of attention, I’ve always thought. Anyway, you can get your revenge by talking aboutmenow while I pop to the little girls’ room.”
Once Gary was out of earshot, Darren leaned over the table, fixing me with what’s usually described as a gimlet stare, although I wasn’t too sure what it had in common with Philip Marlowe’s cocktail of choice. “He talks a lot about you, my Gary does.” There was a definite emphasis on themy. “I hope this bust-up with the closet case don’t mean you’re going to start looking nearer to home. You ever lay a finger on my Gary, I’ll nut you in the nadgers.” He cocked his head to one side, giving me a speculative look. “Actually, in your case, I reckon I could knee you in the nadgers.”
“Whoa!” I threw up my hands. “Gary and me are just mates. Cross my heart and hope to . . . get kneed in the nadgers. Anyway, haven’t you noticed he’s about this far from getting your name tattooed on his arm?” I gave Darren my own hard stare, one I’d copied off Harry from that time she caught someone making homophobic jokes in her bar. “So make sure you treat him right.”
“Or what?” he taunted, in a you-and-whose-army sort of voice, but he was smiling.
“Or I’ll come round in the night and fix it so your sewer backs up in your kitchen sink.”
Darren burst into hearty cackles. “You’re all right, aintcha?” He took a long swig of his beer. “Did Gary tell you I used to be in films?”
I toasted him with my pint. “What do you reckon? Think Gary would keep quiet about something like that?”
“Bless ’im. Have you seen any of them?”
“Well, none that I remember . . . But then again, I probably wouldn’t have been looking at your face.” It seemed a bit more tactful than just sayingSorry, mate, I don’t watch dwarf porn.“What was your stage name?”
“Ever see theMan from U.N.C.L.E.?”
I nodded, wondering where this was going.
“You’re looking at the one and only Napoleon So Low.” He leered as he said it, and I spluttered into my pint.
“So have you given Gary a private showing?” I asked.
“Depends what you’re talking about, don’t it?” Darren put down his pint, just as Gary returned.
“Ooh, what have I missed? I hope you two haven’t been talking about me.” He was lying through his teeth. Garylovespeople talking about him.
“Would we?” I said, just as Darren chipped in with, “Only the good stuff.” Then his face softened. “Course, that’s all there is, innit?”
“Aw, bless him!” Gary cooed, looking worryingly moist around the eyes. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“Darren was just telling me about his career in films,” I went on quickly, before any of us could drown in the slushy stuff. I turned to the man in question. “So how come you gave it all up? The acting, I mean,” I clarified before he could come up with some ripe innuendo on the subject ofgiving it up.
He made a face. “Had to, din’t I? Industrial accident.” He shook his head sadly, and Gary joined in.
Call me a coward, but Ireallydidn’t dare ask. Good thing my pie turned up at that point.
The food was lovely, bless Marnie’s nimble fingers, although I had to edge around the table a bit to protect the chicken filling from Flossie’s hungry gaze. She stayed on the alert for a moment longer, ears pricked and nose twitching in my direction, then settled back down on her well with a reproachful air. I didn’t feel guilty. I knew for a fact Harry fed her two square meals a day, plus all the rowdy drunks she could chew on.
I’d no sooner set my fork down for the last time than Sweetie Pie and Pumpkin were making their excuses.
“Sorry, Tommy.” Gary pouted. “Darren and I need to get an early night. I need to be up bright and early tomorrow morning to ring in the faithful.”
Darren leered and nudged me painfully in the ribs. “And after that, he’ll be coming home and ringing my bell.”
Gary shrieked with laughter and pretended to slap Darren. “Sweetie Pie! You areterrible!”
As far as I could see, the only good thing about that evening was getting home to find a chatty, friendly email from Patricia Treadgood, attaching both her shortbread recipe and one for gingersnaps.
