‘Right, is that the key to your mum’s place? I’ll go and unpack my things. If that’s all right with you? You know, without leaving my phone number?’
‘Jesus, why did I ever agree to this?’ I paused, folding my arms. ‘I want the house number on Queen’s Gardens. I’m going to go and pick her up myself.’
‘One of those houses without a number. House had a name but can’t for the life of me remember what it was…’ Dean closed one eye, obviously trying to think. ‘Willow something maybe? Anyway, it’s a big modern box behind high gates. Next to a red phone box. On Queen’s Gardens. You can’t miss it.’ Dean sniffed, a job obviously well done, and then grinned in my direction. ‘Thought you had the rozzers coming for a chat about parking on those double yellows?’ He started to laugh. ‘In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never brought the police to our doorstep. If you end up in the clink, I’ll bring you one of your cakes with a file in it.’
‘How original you are, Dean.’ I shook my head in his direction. While I hadn’t forgotten their imminent visit, I’d sort of pushed the police coming to the back of my mind. They’d said sometime after five.
‘And isn’t that kid, Joel – you know, the drug pusher – moving in today? Again, I never brought this place into ill repute by inviting druggies in.’ He laughed at his perceived wit.
‘I’m impressed you understand the meaning ofill repute.’
‘A man of many talents, I am.’ Dean preened, reaching for more of the experimental pudding.
‘Look I can do without all this.’ I threw Mum’s key in Dean’s direction. ‘Instructions for the washing machine, lawnmower, oven and hob etcetera, etcetera are in the kitchen. Make sure you read them.’
‘You mean you’re not going to be feeding me?’ Dean appeared genuinely put out.
‘Dean, ifIhave anything to do with it, I won’t even beconversingwith you unless it’s concerning Lola.’
‘OK, OK, don’t get your knickers in a twist…’
Oh, for God’s sake. Could the tosser not come up with anything better than that? Presumably not.
‘I thought you were going up to The White House with the trailer for Fabian’s car?’
‘Already been.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I tell you now, Jessie, someone’s got it in for him.’
‘For whom?’ I stared.
‘Forwhom?For Carrington!’
Dean was obviously enjoying being the one to relate what had happened to Fabian’s car. ‘So, me and Mick got up there before Carrington arrived…’
‘Can you not call him Fabian?’
‘Bloody poncy name. Anyway, not a nail or piece of glass to be seen anywhere. The ground, where he’d parked right up to the site,clean as a whistle.’
‘Right?’
‘All four tyresflat as a pancake.’ Had the man always spoken in clichés, I wondered irritably? I thought he probably had.
‘And?’
‘Slashed!’ Dean ended his tale with some triumph. ‘All four tyres slashed.’
‘Slashed?’ I stared. ‘So Fabian realised that yesterday, when he finally arrived for lunch?’
‘Well, if he didn’t, he must be a bloody moron,’ Dean went on cheerfully.
‘He never said.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he?’
‘Wouldn’t he?’
