“Can do, can do. It’s blowing a tewedh out there, mind. Third storm this month. Going to be a big one, let me tell you.”
“You do tell me, Dad. All the time. That’s why Abel calls you Uncle Fish, remember?”
John scowled. “What about that fella you got at your place? He brave enough to come out?”
“Er . . .” Brix’s tongue let him down. For some reason, he’d kept Calum to himself as far as his family was concerned, which was ironic, considering how much Calum now knew about the Lusmoore clan. “Do you want him to come?”
“Up to you, lad. He’s not going to get all fisticuffs like that blue one, is he?”
Brix suppressed a chuckle. “No, and Lee wouldn’t have done that if you’d thumped Uncle Len for her.”
John grumbled under his breath, and Brix let him be. His father did his best with all Brix and his Blood Rush gang threw at him. And he did bring fresh eggs for Lee every day after her surgery, remember? Not that Lee would ever know the mysterious baskets on her doorstep had come from John Lusmoore, or that it was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever made to an emmet.
“I’ll be off, then,” John said. “Find me later.”
Brix saw him out, resisting the urge to direct him to the chippy for his dinner before he likely hit the Sea Bell for shanty night. John could look after himself, the fact that he often didn’t wasn’t something Brix could fix.
John disappeared into the distance. Brix went inside and allowed himself to be drawn back to Calum, who was now at his station, setting up for a walk-in Brix hadn’t noticed wander in while he’d been with John. “Do you fancy going out tonight?”
“Out?” Calum wrapped cling film around the arm of his client’s chair. “Thought you were off the sauce?”
“I’m not teetotal, mate. Just can’t handle the bangers anymore. I’m meeting my dad for a pint at the Sea Bell. Wanna come?”
Calum turned away and sketched a few lines on the design the client had brought in. “You want me to meet your dad?”
“Sure, why not? He’s an arsehole, but he means well. Trust me, you’ll not buy a drink all night.”
“What was in the envelope you gave him?”
“What?”
“The envelope. Were you were paying him off?”
“Aye. He don’t take cheques.”
Silence, then Calum appeared to shake himself. “Sorry. Old ghosts, you know?”
“I know my ghosts, Cal. Never met yours.”
“Right.”
Brix raised an eyebrow. “You okay to work with that hand?”
“Yup.”
Any further response Calum might have made was interrupted then by his client, who appeared dressed in the tiniest shorts Brix had ever seen on a man, and took a seat on Calum’s prepped chair.
Brix caught Calum’s eye at just the right moment, the tension of only moments before all but gone as they shared an incredulous glance. Looked like Calum was in for an interesting end to his day. “I’ll get a screen.”
With the tiny-shorts bloke shielded from the rest of the studio, Brix left Calum to his work and retreated to the only place in the studio he got any peace: the utility room. He sorted through junk, and then filled the sink to wash the piles of cups and mugs, and brood on the sudden suspicion that had clouded Calum’s usual mild manner. Brix hadn’t noticed him watching his brief, innocuous encounter with John, let alone thought to explain himself, and he was still wrestling with it when Kim found him still absently washing up a little while later.
“Man, you should see the piece Calum put on that weird bloke. It’s fucking sick.”
Kim’s enthusiasm got Brix’s attention; he wasn’t a man given to wasted emotions. “I didn’t see the design the dude brought in. What was it?”
“Come and see.”
Brix was officially intrigued. He preceded Kim into the studio, noting that everyone else seemed to be done and gone for the day. Shit, how long had it taken him to wash a few mugs? Not that it mattered, and all thoughts of dirty crockery left him as he pulled the screen around Calum’s station aside and caught his first glimpse of how Calum had spent the last few hours. “Jesus!”
