Gus cursed and pushed past me to examine the dodgy windowframe. “I don’t know jack about fixing windows. Does it need an entire new frame? Or can I patch it?”
“It needs a new frame.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Gus fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped through something, his expression darkening. “Damn it. It’ll have to wait, there’s no money left.”
“No money?”
“Yeah. She didn’t have much left from—anyway, uh, thanks, mate. I’ll get it sorted.”
I took the hint. Gus had been torn about asking me for help in the first place, and I got the feeling we were both reaching our limits. We hadn’t talked about Mia since I’d taken over from Uncle Jon, and for a year it had been easy to pretend we’d never need to, but awkwardness shadowed our easy relationship now. Gus was guarded, and I was... Shit, I didn’t even know what I was. I just hadto get out of this fucking shop.
Gus went back to plastering, and I left him to it, pointing the van automatically in the direction of home.
I should’ve gone straight there.
But I didn’t.
