Page 3 of The Happy Hour
‘Someone who’s crucial to something,’ Hat Man said. ‘They hold it – in this case, the market – together. It’s a pin that goes through an axle to hold a wheel in place. The wheels would come off without them.’
‘Ta very much, Dictionary Corner.’ Braden scowled at him.
Hat Man looked exasperated. ‘Youliterallyjust asked what a linchpin was.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t—’
‘Enough!’ Roger raised his hands. ‘Braden, do you want me to get on the telephone to my police sergeant friend?’
Braden’s trainers were interesting again. ‘Nah.’
‘Good,’ Roger said. ‘So let’s talk about this sensibly. No running, understood? Because Iwilltrack you down.’
‘Can’t be arsed now, anyway,’ Braden murmured.
Jess went to turn away, and saw that Hat Man had also decided he wasn’t adding anything useful. He edged past Roger, shoving his hands in his pockets as he gave her a tentative smile.
‘Nice to meet you, Jess the linchpin.’
‘And you, Hat Man.’ She winced. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘Hat Man?’ He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, as if to check he wasn’t still wearing one.
‘You were at Olga’s stall,’ Jess explained. ‘The red felt hat?’
‘Ah.’ His gaze was amused. ‘So you were watching me?’
‘No! It’s just that Olga’s stall—’
‘I’m joking,’ he said. ‘You work in the market, obviously. You’re the linchpin.’
‘Not me, my boss,’ she told him. ‘I’m just an extension of Wendy, so we get lumped in together.’ She had still felt a glow of pride when Roger had said it, though. ‘And you’ve done your good deed for the day.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, to be honest. Following him was pure instinct, then I thought I was going to be stuck there for ever, just trying to stop him wriggling out of my grip.’ He frowned. ‘You know the stallholder?’
‘That’s Roger,’ Jess said. ‘He used to be a policeman, and he’ll know exactly what to do with Braden. I’m guessing...’ she glanced over to see Roger giving the boy a firm telling off. ‘He’ll be lenient with him, despite what he’s done.’
‘He’s about twelve.’ Hat Man sounded outraged. ‘I couldn’t see his face properly before. I wish I’d had the balls to steal something in broad daylight from a crowded market whenI was that young – not that I would have,’ he added quickly.
‘I was still playing with my train set.’
Jess laughed. ‘You never grow out of train sets, from what I’ve seen.’
‘Oh? Who’s the guilty party in your life?’
‘My dad,’ she admitted, stumbling slightly over the word, as she often did with new people. She always wanted to addadoptedon the front, get that fact in quickly, even though she was twenty-seven now, and Graeme Peacock had been nothing but fatherly to her. ‘He has one in his garage – studio. That’s what he calls it.’
‘Sounds like he’s serious about it. I’m Ash, by the way. Ash Faulkner, not Hat Man.’
Jess smiled. ‘Ash, not Hat Man. Got it.’ Should they shake hands? Her fingers flexed at her sides. This close, she caught a waft of something delicious, somewhere between coffee and chocolate. It could have been aftershave, or a lingering smell from something he’d bought at the food hall. A few dark locks curled in front of Ash’s left ear, and she saw a faint mark on his lobe, as if he’d worn an earring a long time ago.
‘I should really...’ She thumbed in the direction of the market.
‘Do you sell antiques, too?’ Ash asked. ‘On your stall?’
‘I work in one of the shops along the edge. It’s a gift shop – No Vase Like Home. I suppose one day, years from now, some of the items might become antiques.’
‘No Vase Like Home?’ He frowned.
