Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (12 page)

“Yeah, anyway, you’d better come and meet them.” I led him around past the drinks table so we could snag a couple of refills on the way. I reckoned we’d need them. “And you call her Agatha. Not Aggie, or Taggie, or Aggs. She has ways of making you regret that sort of thing.”

“And let me guess, your brother doesn’t like being a Dick, either?”

“Well, he doesn’t like being
called
one. Come on, let’s get this over with.” I shouldered through the crowd—should have let Phil go first; he had broader shoulders—and fetched up just behind Agatha. I remembered just in time she didn’t like people touching her to get her attention, so I settled for waving around the side of her at Richard, although I felt a bit of a prat.

“Hello, Tom.” Richard reached out a hand, so I shook it. Did other brothers shake hands? I hadn’t exactly made a study of it, but I really didn’t think so.

“Richard, this is Phil. My, er, boyfriend.” I felt all of thirteen saying it.

Phil stuck out his hand. Richard hesitated for just long enough to make a point.

Or maybe I was just imagining it.

“Yes,” Richard said coolly. “Cherry told me about you. The old school…acquaintance.”

Nope, wasn’t imagining it. “Water under the bridge, all right? If I don’t mind, I don’t see why you should.” Especially seeing as brother dear had been perfectly happy leaving me alone to cock up my life however I wanted for the last dozen years.

Agatha huffed. “I hope you boys aren’t planning to ruin Cherry’s party with a row. There are times and places, and this is neither of them. Hello, Philip. I’m Agatha.” She pointedly stuck out a big, bony hand, and Phil shook it while I wondered if she and Greg could possibly be related somehow. “And Tom, it’s lovely to see you again.” I tried not to cringe as she grabbed my shoulders and yanked me in for an air kiss with an audible
mwah
. “We really should see more of you. My own brothers are always coming round to visit.”

They were probably too frightened to decline.

“And Philip,” she went on. “We hear you’re a private investigator. Why don’t you tell us all about your last case?”

That had been the dogging one. I cleared my throat. “Let’s get you and Richard some drinks first, all right?”

“God, yes—anyone would think this was a—” Agatha broke off as an enormous hand clapped her on the shoulder. I was too busy jumping a bloody mile from similar treatment to worry too much about what she’d been about to say about Cherry’s do.

We spun to see who’d assaulted us like a couple of synchronised swimmers after someone had let a shark in the water. I found myself staring a dog collar in the face while Agatha, being taller, got the full force of the Strenuously Reverend Greg’s eyebrows.

“Excellent!” Those eyebrows were outdoing themselves tonight. “The family’s all here. Lovely! And look who I found in the hall—do you all know our bell-ringing virtuoso?” He turned so we could see past him to his companion.

I stared. “Gary?”

“Tom, darling.” I was treated to a Gary version of the air kiss, which contained a lot of kiss and very little air. I could see Richard edging away out of the corner of my eye. Agatha was just looking at Gary curiously. Probably wondering how he’d taste with a nice Chianti.

She was the first to recover her manners. “Delighted to meet you…both.”

“
Enchanté
,” Gary said in a tone that made it clear he hadn’t missed that pause.

Greg gave her a penetrating stare. “You must be Agatha. So glad you could come.” They shook hands, which for a moment looked like it was about to turn into an arm-wrestling contest. I thought Greg would probably have won, with the weight advantage and all, but then again, it never paid to underestimate Agatha’s ruthless desire to come out on top.

They gave each other cautiously respectful glances as they ended the handshake, like a couple of sumo wrestlers agreeing to call it a draw. “And you’re Richard?” Greg asked with a twinkle.

Cherry roused herself. “Yes. Darling, this is my older brother. Richard, my fiancé, Gregory.”

There was no pissing contest when Richard shook hands with Greg. Their handshake was the briefest touch, soon dropped. Richard’s “Welcome to the family” sounded a bit forced.

Greg beamed as if the undercurrents didn’t raise a
ping
on his obliviously reverend radar. “So kind. Although I shan’t count myself a true member until I’ve slipped a wedding ring on this shapely finger.” He took Cherry’s hand with a gentle, old-fashioned flourish that made her blush to her boots and the rest of us look away, embarrassed.

All except Gary, of course, who was staring at Greg with an adoring expression that, if he’d been here, Darren would’ve had to take serious exception to. I nudged him in the soft bit below his ribs. “Oi,” I whispered.

“What?” Gary turned wide, innocent eyes on me.

Been there, got the T-shirt. “No mooning after my sister’s bloke. You’ve got your own, remember?”

“So? A boy can still admire from afar. It’s all right to smell the flowers, so long as you don’t actually pluck them”

“Yeah, well, just remember, if you pluck Greg, we’re going to have a problem.”

“My days of indiscriminate plucking are over. Cross my heart.” Gary did, with an extravagant gesture that got everyone looking at us. He beamed, the centre of attention being his favourite holiday spot. “Gregory, darling, I’m parched. Drinkies? If you can tear yourself away from your lovely inamorata.”

Cherry looked torn between annoyance at him co-opting her bloke, and surprised pleasure that he’d called her lovely. “This way,” she said with an almost-smile. Either she’d decided to go with being pleased, or she was really desperate to get back to her Slivovitz.

Agatha collared Phil and dragged him off after her, throwing an “I’ll get you something soft,” over her shoulder at Richard. I managed not to make any impotence-related gags. Greg disappeared, presumably either to mingle or to save Cherry from Gary’s clutches, and that just left me and big brother facing each other like a couple of exes.

I frantically tried to think of something to say to him that wasn’t
So, you went bald, then?
“Work all right?”

He shrugged. “You know.”

Er, no, I didn’t, really. “Still living at…?”

“Yes.”

“Got any plans for your holidays?” God, I was getting desperate.

“The usual.” I could have screamed. Maybe it showed in my face, as Richard seemed to notice he wasn’t exactly doing this conversation any favours. “I suppose you’ll be going away with, ah, Phil?”

“Haven’t made any plans yet. Maybe. Might be nice to go somewhere hot for a change, maybe Turkey or Portugal…” I stopped the babbling with an effort. “Have to see.”

Richard nodded. “I suppose it could be worse,” he said unexpectedly.

“You what?”

“Your choice of romantic partner. At least he’s not
obvious
.”

I frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning like that god-awful bell ringer. I realise they have to allow all sorts into the church these days, but surely he could tone down his behaviour a little? God knows, I’m not homophobic, but, well,
you
don’t feel the need to be so blatant about it, do you? If you can act like a normal person, why can’t he?”

My fist clenched so tight my knuckles were hurting. I took a breath, about to make some polite excuse, but then I thought, sod it.

I just turned and walked away.

I was still seething when I reached Phil. The way seemed to clear magically in front of me this time, so maybe it showed.

“What’s up with you?” Phil asked.

Yep, it showed. “That bloody git of a brother of mine, that’s what. He kept going on about Gary. Wanker. Said he should
tone it down
. Play it straight, only not in so many words.”

Phil was silent a moment. “Well, he’s got a point.”

I stared. I must have misheard him, right? “You
what
?”

“Listen,
I
haven’t got a problem with Gary being Gary, but he must know it gets up people’s noses sometimes. These things go both ways.”

“Yeah, but Gary
doesn’t
, so why the bloody hell should he pretend to be someone he’s not?”

“Self-preservation? A bit of consideration for people who don’t find it so easy to get used to new ideas?”

“A bit of… I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

Heads were turning in our direction.
Oh, look, two poofs having a domestic.
Just as I was about to snap at them to find something else to gawp about, they did.

Chapter Nine

One minute we were all chatting away—or all right, having hissy fits, as might be—and the next, there were shrieks of horror and a widening circle around Cherry and Greg. She was lying on the floor with him crouching next to her and trying to lift her up. He had his head down, talking to her in a low, urgent voice, so I couldn’t see his face.

I pushed through the crowd with a lot fewer apologies this time and knelt down next to her. She looked awful—all pale and twitchy, her face shining with sweat. “What happened?” I demanded.

“She just collapsed. I think we should call an ambulance.”

“Sure?” I wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “I mean, she’s not just…?” I waved at my midriff, my face getting a bit hot.

The eyebrows shot heavenwards. “Good Lord, no.”

“Or, you know?” I made drinking-up gestures, mindful of that well-filled glass she’d had earlier. Which, now I came to think about it, probably should have clued me in she wasn’t knowingly pregnant.

Now the eyebrows were little lightning bolts threatening dire retribution, probably with a bit of smiting involved, for this sullying of Cherry’s reputation. “
No
. An ambulance.
Now
.”

Cherry added her two-bobs’-worth by convulsing and throwing up on the carpet, narrowly missing Richard, who’d just elbowed his way over. Nice one, Sis. There was a shocked murmur, and the circle around us widened significantly.

I thought it was overkill, honestly, but I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and was about to dial 999 when Phil clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve called them. They’re on their way.”

Richard nodded briskly. “Good. Now help me turn her on her side.”

Right. Recovery position. The Helplessly Reverend Greg seemed as pleased as I was that someone else was taking charge. Richard and Phil rolled her over gently, arranging her arms to support her. Phil even took off his expensive sweater, rolled it up and put it gently under Cherry’s head. Maybe if she chucked up on that, she’d have to start being a bit nicer to him.

Then Richard stood up and raised his voice. “We need a bit of air in here, so everyone needs to move to the other room. Now, please.” It was weird. Suddenly he was every inch the senior consultant, not just my bald, borderline-bigoted big brother.

There were shocked murmurs. Also pissed-off murmurs, confused murmurs and even the odd laugh. It’d better bloody well be nerves. I heard Edie’s voice ringing out with, “Poor dear, she did seem a little overwrought,” and spotted some bloke I hadn’t met snagging a bottle of brandy off the drinks table on the way out.

At least they all went, though. Cherry wouldn’t want people seeing her like this. I was a bit surprised Richard hadn’t just suggested everyone go home. I couldn’t see the party carrying on after this. Poor Cherry. She was going to be gutted in a couple of hours when she was feeling better.

Only Richard and Agatha stayed, although Gary cast a worried glance over his shoulder as he shepherded the last few stragglers out of the room.

Richard hitched up his trouser legs and knelt down gingerly, obviously trying to avoid the mess, then did all the doctor-looking stuff like checking her pupils and taking her pulse, which seemed to take a lot longer than it did on the telly. Then again, on the telly, people were usually dead.

When he finally looked up again, he was frowning. “What was she drinking?” he snapped out.

“Spirits, I think,” I said, looking around for a dropped glass. It’d rolled under a table. I pushed myself up off my knees and went to pick it up. Maybe she’d just overdone the Dutch courage, despite what Greg said.

Phil stopped me with a firm hand on my arm. “Might be an idea not to touch that.”

“Why?” I frowned. “You don’t think there’s something funny about it, do you?”

“Your sister have a habit of collapsing at parties?”

“Course not. But it’s probably just something she ate.”

“Or drank.” He sent me a significant glance.

I wasn’t buying it. Neither was Agatha, it seemed. “Don’t you think you’re letting your profession colour your views, here?” She marched over, grabbed the glass and gave it a good sniff. “Hm. Something strong, Richard, but I don’t recognise it.”

“Here, let me.” I took the glass from her and shoved my nose in. Yeah, Cherry was still on the hard stuff. “It’s that Slivovitz, I reckon. Unless there’s a half-empty bottle of turpentine around here.” I looked up and caught Phil’s glare. “What? The doctors’ll want to know what she’s been drinking. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Not good.” I didn’t like the clipped, worried way Richard said it. I didn’t like it at all. It was the sort of voice I imagined him using to tell a nurse to prepare the patient’s relatives for the worst.