Page 33 of Fool Me Twice
Zig raised an eyebrow.“Gentleman, eh?Haven’t met one of them in a long while.Should I dye my hair blond?”
“Nah, the blue suits you.Brings out your eyes.Well, one of ’em.”
“Like that’s a recommendation.”It came out like it was second nature for Zig to do himself down, and Si hated that.
He put a hand on Zig’s arm.“You know I like your eyes.I told you, didn’t I?”
Zig looked away.“Yeah, well, takes all sorts.We oughtta be getting home, yeah?You had an early start this morning.”
Si heaved himself to his feet, and they set off, Zig calling out a farewell to Ange as they went.
The air outside was chill after the warmth of the pub.Si wished he’d brought a warmer jacket.He sent a sidelong glance at Zig, who was shivering in a Prince of Wales polo shirt with a black button-up shirt on top.“Ain’t you got a coat?”
“It’s fine.It ain’t that far.”
“You daft bastard.You’ll catch your death.”Si slipped off his leather jacket and went to sling it around Zig’s shoulders.
Zig dodged.“Oi, no way.You put that back on.”
“Got me beard to keep me warm.And there’s nothing of you.”Si lunged again.
Zig danced away.“A bloke could get a complex.Just cos I ain’t got muscles growing out of me muscles.”
“Put the bastard jacket on.You think I’m going to nurse you through double pneumonia?”
Zig grinned as he finally let Si drape the jacket over his shoulders.“I bet you’ve got a great bedside manner.”He slipped his arms into the sleeves, and somehow Si wasn’t cold anymore neither.
“Don’t you believe it.You catch some lurgy, you’ll get nothing but tough love from me.”
“Yeah?”Zig’s grin widened.“Long as it’s some kind of love, I don’t give a monkey’s.”
Si had to take a deep breath.“Stop arsing about and let’s get home, all right?”
Six years ago
After he’d said his final goodbye to Si, Zig walked away from the Dog and Duck with a spring in his step and didn’t look back.Not a care in the world.The fuckingworld, okay?He didn’t need a naïve fucking farmboy from Mummersetooh-aaring in his ear every time he fancied a shag.
Who the hell did Si think he was, acting like he was better than Zig and his dad just cos they had to grift to make a living?Making such a big thing out of a little scam that the insurance was gonna cover anyhow?Didn’t he know everyone in this fucking country was on the make?
Except Si...Zig shook his head.Fucking Trent.How many building sites were there in south London?Why the hell couldn’t him and Dad have picked one of the other ones?
Cos then they couldn’t have used Si to get the gen on the site, could they?Idiot.
No wonder they hadn’t hauled Zig in on the job.He should have known.
Some arse had left their wheelie bin out, perfectly placed for Zig to catch his foot on the wheel and almost face-plant on the pavement.Zig gave the bin a vicious shove, snarling a smile when it tipped over into the hedge, all the rubbish inside falling out onto their stupid fucking metre square of lawn with a rosebush in the middle.A nappy sack caught on the thorns and ripped, displaying its stinking contents.Fuckinggood.
Then he had to leg it when a six-foot DILF came slamming out of the house yelling about what he was gonna do to Zig when he caught him.
Zig lost the git by ducking down an alley, then leaping over a fence.He doubled over, wheezing, his hands on his knees in some other sod’s garden.Christ, he needed to stop smoking.
Or not.What the fuck did it matter anyhow?
When he finally made it home, Dad was in the living room, watching sport on the telly, a beer in hand.
“Did you put him up to it?”Zig demanded.
Dad put his beer down.“Who’s crawled up your arse?”Then he laughed harshly.“Thought you liked that kind of thing.”
