Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 by JL Merrow Page B

Reverend Greg was actually good for her.  

Chapter Eight
    Thursday night, Cherry rang me again. The land line probably thought my mobile had done a runner. I was home on my own—I hadn’t seen Phil since the night before last, and even the cats had buggered off somewhere.
    Not that I was moping or anything. I made sure my tone was nice and cheery as I said, “Hello?”
    “Tom?”
    “Yeah, it’s me. You all right?”
    “Fine.”
    “Is the do still on for tomorrow?” God, I hoped she hadn’t gone and got unengaged in the twenty-four hours since we’d last spoken. I couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be ringing me so soon after I’d seen her.
    “Of course. Actually, I’ve spoken to Mr. Morangie again.” Oh yes. That reason. There was a frustrating pause. Had Mr. M taken out a restraining order banning me from getting within five miles of his precious house? Set up barbed wire and a minefield? “He’s agreed to allow you into his home. We need to have a serious chat about how you’re going to do this.”
    “Oh. Right. Nice one, Sis—how’d you manage that?”
    “I spoke to his solicitor. A Mr. Wood. He was very reasonable about it all, especially when I explained how your, um, thing works, and that you wouldn’t have to rummage through the whole place. Actually, he said he’d quite like to see you in action.”
    It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her, sorry, only Phil gets to see my thing in action these days , but that might just have been a quip too far for dear old Sis. “Tell you what, why don’t we put up a poster and sell tickets? We can donate the proceeds towards Mr. M’s legal fees. Or buy you a really nice engagement present. Matter of fact, you got any ideas on that? Any fish slices or toasting racks you’ve got your eye on, or would Greg be just as happy with a nice bit of roadkill? I saw a fox out by Brock’s Hollow only this morning, looked in pretty good nick.”
    There was a pause. God, I hoped she wasn’t seriously considering it. It hadn’t been in that good nick, and I didn’t much fancy having it oozing maggoty innards all over the back of my van.
    “That’s very kind, but we’re not having engagement presents. We’re asking anyone who feels moved to do so to contribute to the Cathedral’s mission fund instead. Anyway, you’ve made me lose track. Mr. Wood suggested a few times that would be convenient for Mr. Morangie.” She started to rattle off a list.
    “Hang on a sec, let me get my work diary.” We eventually settled on a date and time—there were a couple I could have done, but I worked on the principle the sooner the better before he changed his mind again, and plumped for next Monday at ten a.m. I wondered if the solicitor really would be coming along to spectate, and if I’d be able to stop myself from greeting him with a cheery “Morning, Wood!”
     
     
    Friday night, Phil came round to mine before Cherry’s do so we could share a pizza before we went. There was no telling how much food would be on offer tonight, and I wasn’t going to take any chances. If the cathedral ladies were doing the catering, that could mean anything from a couple of cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off to several truckloads of homemade quiche.
    “Are your mum and dad going to be there tonight?” Phil took a bite of Americano.
    “Doubt it. Dad’s been feeling his age.” Ever since I’d been born, as I recalled, although he’d only been in his late forties then. “Doesn’t like parties and stuff. Mum might go on her own, but I doubt it. Richard might be there, though.” I chased a bit of coleslaw around my plate.
    “That’s your brother, right?” The last of his slice of pizza disappeared. I was going to have to get a move on if I wanted to get my fair share.
    “Yeah. God, I haven’t seen him in ages. He’s two years older than Cherry, so we were never exactly close.”
    “You must have seen him at Christmas.”
    I put my fork down. “There