‘And you can’t stay behind, to look after the shop?’
Sophie propped the mop in the corner and hung up Robina’s apron. ‘Robina and me go together,’ she said, firmly. ‘And Little Ru, of course, but he often goes all sulky, so he’s no company.’
Honor pulled off her own apron. ‘Was Robina fixated on Martyn Mayfair when Tucker was alive?’
Sophie shook her head, freeing more of her hair to dance around her head. ‘Oh no, she and Tucker were cool. Robina was happier with him than with anyone and he took care of her and loved her. She didn’t get hooked on Martyn Mayfair until after Tucker died. Then she developed a bit of a crush on him.’
Thinking back to Robina’s storm of grief on seeing Martyn’s picture on the bus, Honor murmured, ‘Some crush.’
* * *
When Honor finally stepped outside, the traffic had eased and the gulls were exchanging heartbroken cries. It was much later than she’d expected to finish work and she could smell something delicious. Despite the coffee cake, her stomach rumbled as she looked around to identify the source.
And there it was, right across the street, a glowing blueFish ’n Chipssign flashing in a window running with condensation. Her mouth watered. English chips had always been a huge favourite with her and Jess and Zach. Somehow tastier thanAmerican fries — although soggier, also —fish ’n chipscouldn’t be good for her but, right that instant, they were what she wanted most in the world. In moments she’d joined the patient queue that curled around the steamy interior where great fat fryers sizzled and a hot cabinet of golden battered fish and round crinkly pies sat above.
She ordered her fish and chips ‘open’ and watched the frying guy shake salt and vinegar over them, then set off to walk home, eating as she went. Very English. Especially the vinegar. Frankly? That was weird. But when in England, one should do as the English do.
She broke off a steaming hot battered morsel of fish and popped it in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and puffing to try to make it cool enough to chew, glancing in shop windows and thinking how freaky Robina was about Martyn. And his picture sliding past Honor’s astonished eyes on the side of that bus — wow. That had been something.
Nearing the Starboard Walk shops she glanced up at Martyn Mayfair’s front door planted in the flint wall high above the street, with its access stairway, like a fire escape, cutting diagonally across the building to where the cars parked to the side of and behind the shops.
‘You freak!’ The words cut the evening air, making Honor jump. The voice continued more quietly, so that Honor couldn’t make out the words. But the tone was as hissy as a rat. Soundlessly, she crept around the shrubs that divided the small parking area from the road. It was Frog she saw first, more distinctly as she drew nearer. ‘Thing is, freak, you’re beginning to get on my nerves.’ Honor took another step.
Then saw Rufus.
The Tadpoles had him, spread-eagled against a wall.
Chapter Twelve
Only Rufus’s eyes moved, desperately seeking escape. His green striped shirt was torn and hanging off one shoulder. His eyes kept coming back to Frog. Eyes full of fury and fear. And, worst of all, to Honor, resignation. He was steeling himself for whatever bad thing was coming and, judging from the way that the grinning Tadpoles had their ankles hooked around Ru’s to spread his legs, what was coming probably involved a hefty kick where it really hurt.
From her position, Honor could see that beneath his baseball cap, Frog’s face shone with the incomprehensible pleasure of the bully. ‘And what do I do to people who get on my nerves, freak?’ Frog’s voice dropped. ‘I teach them not to do it any more.’
Honor’s stomach churned and she suddenly lost all desire for the fish and chips in her hand, so fragrantly mouth-wateringly delicious seconds before. A long chip lay greasily across the top of the packet, glistening with salt. She extracted it and wiped it around the excess salt that had collected in the corners of the wrapping paper.
Two strides away, Frog was still winding himself up for attack.
Anger engulfing good sense, Honor moved forward. The expressions on the Tadpole’s faces changed to astonishment as she stepped up beside and behind Frog but, before they could warn their leader, Honor reached around and jabbed the pointy corner of the salt-laden chip into Frog’s eye, halting his nasty rhetoric mid-flow. ‘So, frea-eek! Fucking hell!’ Frog threw his hands up to his face, spinning instinctively to face his attacker, though both eyes were scrunching as he scrubbed at them furiously. ‘What thefuck?’ As he hopped back, Honor, followinggrimly, reached up and posted her steaming battered fish down the V-neck of his T-shirt.
Frog yelped in a whole new octave. ‘Ow, ow-OW! That’s fucking hot!’ He beat blindly at his T-shirt and fish began to slither in smashed handfuls out of the bottom of the shirt and into the slung-low waistband of his jeans. ‘Shit!’ he howled, delving into his waistband to prevent hot fish from encroaching further.
Satisfied that Frog was safely occupied removing salt from his eyes and fish from his shorts, Honor turned her attention to the Tadpoles. Like most sidekicks, their bravado depended on their ringleader. Now that he was temporarily incapacitated their grins had turned to idiotic dismay. Utilising all the advantages of surprise, Honor stalked towards them with what she hoped was the manic light of battle in her eye, digging her fingers into her remaining chips. ‘Let him go, morons.’
Like children caught with their fingers in the cookie jar, they jumped back and whipped their hands behind their backs.
Ru pushed free. ‘Watch out for Frog.’
Honor swung around to see Frog advancing. Realising, with a heart sink, that the first instant of surprise had gone and that she’d put herself right in the middle of Frog and the Tadpoles, she lifted her bag of chips threateningly. ‘Hold it, fuckhead.’
He scraped to an uncertain halt. But his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you think you’re going to do with a bag of soggy chips, Yankee Doodle?’ He reached out and swatted the bedraggled remains of her meal from her hand.
‘That’s enough,’ rapped a voice from above their heads.
With a flood of relief Honor watched the tall figure of Martyn Mayfair jog gently down his metal staircase. His eyes were fixed on Frog. ‘Wind your neck in,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve tried to rough one younger kid up three-to-one and instead you’ve been madeto look stupid by a titchy woman armed with a bag of chips. So piss off.’
‘I’m not titchy,’ Honor protested.
The Tadpoles began to shuffle towards the street, as if hoping Martyn wouldn’t spot them. Frog glared, but was obviously inhibited by no longer dealing mob-handed with someone smaller and younger than himself in a quiet corner where nobody could see.
