‘Your soon-to-be ex-wife is dating a reformed criminal. There’s a difference.’ Art shook his head. ‘Though I wouldn’t trust him with my wallet, if I were you.’
Cameron looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘This day just keeps getting better. A bloody crook going near my kids.’ He went to sit at the bar next to a young blonde woman.
Rose Clark was sitting in the corner booth as promised, nursing what looked like a gin and tonic and checking her watch nervously. Art had known her since his early days on the force when she’d been a civilian clerk who always knew where to find the file you needed.
‘Rose,’ Art said, sliding onto the chair across from her.
‘Art.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m so glad we’re both members here. It means I get to see more of you.’
‘Me too.’ Art had been seeing Rose for a couple of weeks. He hadn’t had much to say to her at work and had thought she was married until he’d had one pint too many and she’d asked him up onto the small dance floor on a Saturday night. They talked about their lives – he was a widower, she was a widow – and they hit it off. He had taken her home and spent the night, and most nights after that.
‘When can we go public about seeing each other out of work?’ she said. She sipped at her gin and tonic.
‘You can take an ad out in the newspaper, Rose. I’m not hiding it from anybody.’
‘Except today from your boss and young Cameron?’
‘I didn’t think that was the best time,’ he said. ‘But we can be subtle about it.’
‘Taking an ad out in a newspaper isn’t subtle.’
‘Figure of speech.’
‘Where’s Cameron?’ Rose asked.
‘He’s over there trying to get his hole?—’
‘Hello, Arthur,’ a man said, stopping beside their table.
Art looked at him. He hated people using his full name, and this old bastard knew it but carried on doing it anyway. ‘Hello, vicar. I was saying that Cameron is over there trying to get hiswhole backside on that bar stool. The lad’s fairly gaining weight.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t look at backsides.’
‘Me neither.’
The vicar raised his eyebrows. He had a pint in his hand, almost empty. ‘I thought you were going to make it to church? You said that a few weeks ago.’
‘Funny story. I was going to?—’
‘Attendance is down, Arthur. People aren’t giving freely to the church coffers much any more.’
Art stood up, made a drinking motion to Rose, telling her he was going to get more drinks, and guided the old man away from the table towards the bar. He took a twenty out of his pocket. ‘Why don’t I start now, vicar?’ He put the twenty in the breast pocket of the man’s jacket.
‘That’s very kind of you, Arthur.’ He nodded towards Cameron. ‘I hope you have enough money left over to buy some drinks for your boyfriend.’
Art winced, hoping nobody else heard the old sod. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, vicar. He’s my partner.’
The vicar nodded. ‘Sorry. I forgot they call it that nowadays. Same difference though.’
‘No, no, Rose is my girlfriend,’ Art said. ‘She just confirmed it a few minutes ago.’ Art inwardly groaned. That didn’t sound good at all.
‘You’ve got a boyfriend, and you’re trying to tell me that Rose is now your girlfriend? Your willy’s going to fall off before you get to the gates of Hell, Arthur.’ He looked Art in the eyes. ‘But it isn’t too late. I can help you.’ He shook his pint glass.
‘Let me buy you another,’ Art said. ‘Before I get struck down by lightning,’ he added under his breath.
The vicar smiled, and Jimmy nodded, pouring a pint for him.
‘You’ll be in my thoughts tonight, Arthur. And on Sunday, when I’m standing in my pulpit looking over my flock.’
