‘Morning, Reg. What you got there?’
‘Brackets, Davy-me-lad. Putting some shelves up in Nigel’s room.’
‘He’s settling in, then?’
‘Looks like he’ll be with me for some time. His wife’s playing silly buggers.’
I felt obliged to ask for an explanation but did not. I think my eyes betrayed my disinterest because Reg just sighed.
I was about to take my leave of him when he suddenly hissed: ‘Look out! That’s her. Coming up the hill. My God, what a sight. Les alert! Les alert!’
I found speech. ‘She looks all right.’
He put his hands behind his back, and bobbing slightly up and down on his knees like a comedy policeman, began to whistle tunelessly.
‘She looks friendly enough, Reg. I think we’re safe.’
His whistling grew louder as she approached.
‘I know where he is, Reg. And I don’t give a monkey’s arse.’
She wore the same variety of beige anorak I had seen Nigel wearing a few days ago and seemed to be a fan of the same style of short, greasy hair. Although she was obviously angry about something, she seemed benign enough. I can’t say she actually looked like a lesbian. What does one of those look like, anyway? Fat? Tattoos? (That would mean that most women who live in the village are lesbians.) I really have no idea. She did, however, have a face like an underdone suet pudding and an unpleasantly husky voice that sounded like she had ingrowing tonsils.
‘Who the hell are you?’
That scared me.
‘Nobody. I’m just – ‘
‘He’s just . . . leaving. Aren’t you Davy-lad?’
‘Yes. I’m just leaving. Come on, Audrey. Goodbye, Mrs . . . erm . . .’ I nearly said “Lesbian”. ‘Lovely to meet you. Goodbye.’
Turning into Victoria Street, I told my little hairy companion: ‘I think she wanted to fall out with us for some reason, Audrey. Never mind. Let’s get back and have a nice cup of Earl Grey.’
And with that end in mind, we repaired to the house.
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