Pressure Head by J L Merrow

Author:J L Merrow [Merrow, J L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781619213623
Amazon: 1619213621
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Published: 2013-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

I was just finishing up my Diet Coke when Phil walked into the Four Candles. I was sitting in a corner, surrounded by photos on the walls of Brock’s Hollow in Days Gone By. Most of the buildings in the pictures were surprisingly recognisable, except every other house in the High Street seemed to have been a pub those days. Perhaps that was what old people meant when they talked about making their own entertainment in the pre-TV days.

Phil was looking good, in tailored trousers and a different cashmere sweater, one I hadn’t seen before. Did his wardrobe have its own mortgage? Mind you, you can get cashmere in Tesco’s these days.

I was fairly sure he’d have shopped somewhere a bit more upmarket, though. “Who says you can’t take the council estate out of the boy?” I joked, appreciating the view.

He flushed—and not in a pleased way. “Some of us work hard to get away from our roots, all right?”

“Keep your hair on! You’re going to take someone’s eye out with that chip on your shoulder. I just meant you’re looking good, that’s all.” Okay, so now I’d overcompensated and I was probably going just as red as he was.

“Oh. Well, you too, obviously.”

“Yeah, right.” I hadn’t had time to change, so I was in my dusty work jeans and shirt, and when I’d nipped into the Gents a few minutes ago, I’d found cobwebs in my hair—no reflection on Jersey Farm standards; nobody hoovers under the bath, for God’s sake. Or in the attic. “Old Lionel’s going to think you found me sleeping under a hedge.”

“You look fine.” He coughed. “Are you ready to go?”

I nodded and stood. “So is this bloke a suspect, or do you just want to sound him out about the Rev?”

I’d said it quietly, but Phil still darted a gaze around before glaring at me. “We’ll talk about it in the car.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t think—fine, let’s talk about the weather. Bit nippy for the time of year, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe that cashmere sweater was really good at keeping him warm, and he didn’t like to disagree with me. I chuckled to myself—quietly, so Phil wouldn’t hear. “How are you getting on with the new place?” I asked. “Got all your stuff unpacked yet?”

“I wish. Still living out of boxes, mostly.”

“I could come and give you a hand some time, if you like,” I offered, surprising myself a bit. Usually I get my second thoughts a bit sooner than that.

Still, Phil looked pleased, so I was glad I’d said it. “Thanks. Yeah, that’d be great.” He frowned. “Have I told you where it is?”

“No—I was going to ask you about that, but I thought you were enjoying being a man of mystery. Either that or you were worried I’d turn up and uncover all your secrets.”

“I’ve got my secrets, but my address isn’t one of them. And it’s not like I’ve been living there long enough to get the skeletons moved into their cupboards.

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