Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (32 page)

“Figures. So what was his game?”

“Vetting you. You’ll be pleased to hear you’ve got the Gregory Titmus seal of approval.”

“Ecstatic.” His tone was so dry I felt an urge to pour myself a drink.

“Hey, it’s only one step below canonisation, that.” I frowned. “Actually, that’s a bit weird, innit?”

“What is?”

I wandered into the kitchen. Yep, there was a good half cup left in the cafetière from after lunch. I tipped it carefully into my mug. A bit sludgy but still good. “Well, if you call it canonisation when you make someone a saint, what do you call it when you make them a canon?”

“Ironfoundry.”

I blinked. “Oi. You thought I wasn’t going to get that, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” I swear I could hear the smirk. “So what are you and your sister up to today?”

“Sorting out the van, mostly. Me, I mean. You wouldn’t believe the stuff I found in there—”

“I’ll believe anything. I’ve seen inside the back of your van—it’s like a black hole that’s swallowed a scrap yard. Let me guess, enough spare parts to plumb out an entire house, and a couple of old lovers?”

“Yeah. I’d been wondering where they’d got to.”

“Remind me never to accept any invitations to get kinky in the back of your van.” Not that he ever would, anyway. Phil, risk snagging one of his expensive sweaters on an off-cut of pipe? “What about your sister?”

“Cherry? Well, she’s not going into the office. Think she just wants to slob around and watch daytime telly. Help her empathise with her clients, that sort of thing. Oh, and there’s Raz’s thing this evening.”

“Christ, with you around, I’m spoilt for innuendo. Go on—tell me about Raz’s
thing
.”

“It’s poetry in motion, Raz’s thing. Well, close, anyway. It’s poetry in the library. In Pluck’s End—didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah, you told me. A poetry reading. And you’re going because?”

“Well… He’s Auntie Lol’s stepson. I just thought we could talk and stuff.” Realisation hit me like a sock in the jaw. “Shit, he knows, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s got to.”

“What, that you and him have got the Auntie Lol connection? Course he knows.”

“Were you ever going to mention this to me, or do you just enjoy keeping me in the dark?”

Phil huffed. “I thought you’d already realised, you twat.”

All right, maybe it was a bit obvious. “Yeah, well. Put it down to lingering concussion from the Fishpool Street fondler. So how long do you reckon… That must have been what he was on about on his doorstep. Why he let me in, and all.”

“Yeah. What interests me is how long he’s known him and Cherry had the connection.”

I took a sip of sludge to fortify my brain. Jesus, it had a kick like a mule. “I reckon he must have known all along. Auntie Lol must have told him about her, and then when they met in the Post Office he realised who she was from the name. Wonder why he didn’t say anything? I mean, apart from asking if she was Polish.”

“Does he strike you as the sort to trust anyone as far as he can throw them? Anyway, you can ask him tonight, can’t you?”

“Yeah, guess so. You want to come?”

“All right. Be interesting to see who else turns up.”

“What, like the Literati? Hey, how’d it go with Hannah this morning?” I’d forgotten he was going to interview her today.

“It didn’t. She left me a voice mail cancelling the appointment.”

“Suspicious.”

“You’d be amazed how many people blow me off when I’m working,” he said, deadpan.

“Right. I hope by
blow you off
you mean
stand you up
, not
give you head
.”

“Jealous?” There was a grin in that voice. I grinned back at it.

“You wish. So what time am I seeing you tonight?”

“Depends if you’re offering me dinner first, doesn’t it?”

“Beans on toast do?”

“Beans on toast? What happened to home cooking? Something tells me the magic’s gone out of this relationship.”

“Nah, we’ve just reached the cosy, comfortable stage where neither of us has to pretend to be something he’s not. I’ll see you around six, all right? Got to leave time to get there.”

“See you then.” He hung up.

I slurped down the rest of my sludge and bunged my trainers on to go shopping. Phil knew I wouldn’t
really
serve him up beans on toast.

He did know that, didn’t he?

Right?

In the end, Cherry and me between us managed to put together a fairly decent risotto.

Cherry stirred the pan with a doubtful look on her face. “I’m not really all that keen on home-cooked risotto. Does it
need
four kinds of mushroom?”

“Well, yeah, if you don’t want it to taste like boring mushy crap.” I peered over her shoulder. “You can add a bit more stock now. Just half a cup.”

“Can’t we put it in all at once? That’s what I always do.”

“Which would be why you don’t like home-cooked risotto. That’s a
no
, by the way. And keep stirring.”

She tutted, but just added half a cup. And kept stirring. I felt safe enough to go back to grating the parmesan.

Phil turned up right on time, just as the rice was getting to the al dente stage. I dished up the risotto with a couple of chicken drumsticks on the side, for the benefit of muscle-bound hulks who might be worried about losing an ounce if they didn’t eat meat at least twice a day.

“It’s good, this,” he said, showing his approval by helping himself to seconds of risotto. I grabbed a bit more myself before he could scoff the lot.

“Thank you,” Cherry said, as if it’d been all her own work. Then she gave me a look. “It’s not an eating competition, you know.”

“Oi, I’ve got a fast metabolism,” I defended myself.

“Hollow legs, more like,” Phil muttered. “Are you coming to the reading tonight?”

Cherry shook her head. “I really don’t think I can face it. I’m just going to have a quiet evening in.”

“What, on your own?” It was Phil’s turn to give me a sharp look.

I swallowed my mouthful indignantly. “
No
. Gary’s coming round.”

“Gary?” Now Phil was looking like he was worried for my sanity.

Cherry stabbed a few leaves of rocket, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Yes. Tom
insists
I need a babysitter, and unfortunately, Gregory’s got a meeting tonight.” Or fortunately, depending on your point of view. I still didn’t trust that bloke, with his murderer’s mitts and evil eyebrows. “Anyway, Gary wanted an opinion on the wedding invitations. I know he and I didn’t get off to a good start, but he’s rather sweet, once you get to know him.”

Phil frowned at me. “Just how much wine did you put in the risotto?”

“None. It was brandy. Nah, it’s okay. We met up with Gary in the Dyke last night, Cherry and me, and they got on great.”

“Do your mum and dad know you’re such a corrupting influence on your sister?”

“Probably,” I admitted.

Cherry
tutted
. “I’m thirty-nine, you know. Not thirteen.”

I smiled at her. “And it’s just lovely the way you’ve kept your childlike innocence all this time.”

I don’t think Cherry quite knew what to say to that.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Feels a bit weird, this,” I said as Phil and me walked into Pluck’s End library for Raz’s reading. “Last time I came to a library for a reading, I was in short trousers, and we all had to sit cross-legged on the floor. And no, it wasn’t just last week.”

Phil grunted. “If you’re hoping he’s going to hold the book up to show you the pictures tonight, I think you’re in for a disappointment.”

We’d left Cherry in the hopefully capable hands of Gary, who’d brought round a shed-load of wedding magazines and left Darren at home with Julian, thank God. I’m all for people having their minds broadened, but an evening with Darren would have left Cherry with her mind so bloody broad her brains would be dribbling out of her ears.

Libraries had changed a bit since last time I’d been in one. It was all electronic scanners now instead of little date stamps with purple ink, and there were notices up on the wall about their range of audiobooks and ebooks. “How do you borrow an ebook?” I wondered aloud.

“Just download it, like if you were buying it.” My Phil, expert on everything.

I frowned. “How do you bring it back, then? Does it self-destruct after two weeks?”

“I don’t know, do I? Never tried.” All right, maybe not expert on
everything
.

One thing hadn’t changed—the librarians still looked motherly. Maybe taking care of books was like looking after children? Keeping them in order, making sure their jackets were clean, letting them go home with random members of the public… Okay, maybe the analogy wasn’t perfect.

This particular librarian was tall and well-built but round-shouldered like she spent a lot of time bending down to talk to kids. She was in her thirties, wearing trendy glasses and a name badge reading “Bridget”. “Are you here for the reading?” she asked brightly.

I smiled back at her. “Yeah—Raz Nair, right?” Just in case we’d got the wrong library or something.

“It’s this way. Are you both poets too?”

“Nah, we’re just, er, friends of Raz. Do you have a lot of these readings?”

“We do like to support our local authors wherever possible.” Bridget led us around the shelves to a corner, where about forty plastic chairs had been laid out in optimistic rows. “You can sit anywhere. It’ll be about ten minutes or so before the start.”

“Cheers, love,” I said with a wink. Bridget pursed her lips and gave me an over-the-glasses look and a smile as she went back to the desk. Raz wasn’t there yet, and neither was anyone else, much, although in amongst a gaggle of old grannies clearly up for all the free entertainment Pluck’s End could provide, I spotted one or two familiar faces. I nudged Phil. “That’s Peter Grissom,” I said, nodding to the bloke in question. “And Morgan,” I added. “Next to Margaret.”

“Literati’s out in force, then.”

“’Cept Hannah,” I said and then jumped a mile when I heard her voice right in my ear.

“Hello, Tom. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I spun. “Hannah. Er, yeah. Well, you know. Got to support local authors, and all that. You’re looking…” Grey. She was looking grey, in a shapeless cardi over a frumpy dress over clunky shoes. I racked my brains for something more acceptable to say. “…well.”

She peered at me, her brow furrowed. “You look a bit tired. Have you not been sleeping well?”

“Few too many late nights, that’s all. And, you know, worrying about my sister. It was a really nice gesture, you sending that gift basket to Cherry,” I added as innocently as I could.

Hannah frowned. “Um, thanks, but I didn’t send anything. And I wouldn’t really have thought it was appropriate, sending fruit to someone who’s had an upset tummy.”

Had an upset tummy
? That was a new euphemism for
been poisoned and nearly died.
“It was signed from all the Literati. I assumed you’d all had a whip-round.”

The frown cleared. “Oh, it was probably Margaret, then.” Hannah smiled. “She’s really quite sweet, once you get to know her.”

I followed her gaze over to where Margaret was in furious confab with Morgan. She glanced up at me and glared daggers. Probably poisoned ones.

Sweet? Yeah, right. Like a bloody python.

Speaking of unpleasant animals, Peter Grissom was heading our way. He didn’t smile as he came to stand next to Hannah, a faint air of
are these men bothering you?
about him. “Surprised to see you showing your face here,” was his version of a friendly greeting.

“Er, Raz invited me.”

“Oh? Now that I find hard to believe.”

Phil stepped forward. “Why’s that?”

Peter sent him a suspicious glare. “Who are you?”

“Poetry lover,” Phil said, straight-faced. Was it just my imagination, or had he just straightened his shoulders to add a bit more menace to his loom?

“Really? Or did you just come to mock, like
him
?” Peter definitely did a bit of chest-puffing before sneering in my direction.

Oops. Rumbled. “I didn’t go along to the Literati to mock anyone,” I protested.

“Raz had your number. Said you played us all for a bunch of idiots.” Our dark rat’s sneer was turning into a snarl. I wondered how painful it’d be if he bit me, and tried to think how long it’d been since I’d last had a tetanus shot.

Hannah made a distressed little noise and grabbed hold of Peter’s arm. “I never believed that. You wouldn’t do that to us, would you, Tom?”

“Course not! It was all a misunderstanding, that’s all. I spoke to Raz yesterday, and we’re good mates now.” I gave them my best innocent smile. “Like I said, he even asked me to come along to this do.”

“Really.” Peter’s chest deflated.

“You see?” Hannah said brightly. “I knew it couldn’t be true.”