He unlocked the door to reveal the wide, slotted timber shelves of the foodstore.
‘Anything to do with food, always take immediate action. Don’t want any trouble with the inspectors, not in a place like this. Could ruin business.’
‘It doesn’t scare you, what’s happening? Since this morning it scares me. Beetles, snakes, buildings collapsing..
‘Get out of London if you feel like that.’
‘And leave the house? Oh, I couldn’t.’
‘Right, do me one favour then,’ the landlord snapped irritably as he turned from the shelves clutching a large jar of pickled onions. ‘Don’t talk to the customers like that. They come into a pub to forget their worries for a while, not to have them rammed down their throats. So stay off beetles, d’you hear?’
Tm not daft!’ she retorted. ‘Give me the pickles an’ I’ll get started.’
Customers were already waiting at the food bar when she got back upstairs and from then on she was not given a minute to herself. It was the usual business crowd, including several she’d seen in the Plough before, but the atmosphere seemed both subdued and apprehensive. No relaxed chatter today, no sudden outbursts of laughter, but a definite mood of fear had seized them. A few asked after Janet, but Dorothea merely replied that she was off sick; none pursued the subject any farther. It was as if they would prefer not to know.
From the snatches of conversation she caught, it was only too clear what they were talking about. The words bloodworm, snakes, and beetles occurred again and again, and three times she overheard people discussing whether it wasn’t too much of a risk coming into the
Worth Road district at all, let alone to the Plough, which was an old building. Hadn’t most of the attacks so far involved old buildings?
The crush was already beginning to thin out and only sandwiches were left when, over the shoulder of the customer she was serving, she saw a young, well-dressed man in a business suit push his way in excitedly, shouting something which she didn’t quite hear. He was heading towards people he knew at one of the tables, but others crowded around him, questioning him.
‘What’s all that about?’ she asked the customer. ‘Search me,’ he said. ‘Make it two rounds of ham, then.’
She fixed two rounds of ham sandwiches and cut through them diagonally, then took his money. As she dropped it into the dll Pete came by, dressed as usual in his dark leather blouson and open-necked shirt, looking as though he never did a day’s work.
‘Hear that, Thea? Link Lane station’s closed because of bloodworms. Really big bastards, they say. You can’t get near the place for ambulances, but most o’ the people are still down there. It’s slaughter.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ What else could she say? ‘Oh, my God.’ The customer was still standing there spreading mustard on his sandwiches. ‘It’s not just rumour?’
‘Go an’ ask him,’ Pete said. ‘That feller who’s jus’ come in.’
‘Get me a drink, Pete. Anything. Oh, I just don’t know what to think.’
‘Proves your of man knew what he was on about. Somebody shoulda listened to him.’
‘They wouldn’t believe him. None of us did. We might have been able to prevent it.’ She stood there, too shocked to do anything any more.
‘Drink,’ said Pete, and elbowed his way to the bar.
He brought her a large gin and tonic, and asked in that concerned, sympathetic way of his whether she was feeling all right. She looked pale, he said. Making some excuse about having had a late night, she gulped the gin down. What the hell, she thought, hadn’t it been obvious from the start that the attacks were going to get worse? That was something they’d have to learn to live with. The first essential was to get Brian and Pete to help spray the house, and then perhaps she should take Kath down to her sister’s in Dorset, just to be on the safe side.
‘You must’ve needed that,’ Pete commented cheerfully, picking up her empty glass. ‘Refill?’
‘My turn,’ she objected.
‘Oh, we’ll settle up later! Same again?’ But he didn’t wait for her answer.
The news about the tube station left most customers in the Plough talking in subdued voices. Quite a few slipped away, and none of those who remained showed any more interest in her food, though orders for drinks were still brisk. After a time the landlord instructed her to close up; extracting notes from the till, he paid for her two hours’ work, gruffly thanking her.
‘Did Brian ask you about helping me spray the house?’ she asked Pete, joining him at the bar.
‘No sweat,’ he said easily. ‘For you, darling, I’d do anything.’
‘Idiot!’ she retorted, her mood suddenly lightened. ‘Anyway, I owe you a drink, don’t I?’
‘Two.’
She took one of the notes the landlord had pushed into her hand and bought a round for the three of them, though Brian said he’d drink his later.
‘Have you noticed, sweetie? Practically everyone’s drinking spirits. That’s since we heard about Link Lane, that is. And those ambulances just haven’t stopped!’
Another siren wailed from the road outside. God knew how many that made — she’d hardly noticed them, being so sunk in her own problems.
‘From the glum looks on their faces you’d think it was the end of the world,’ she said, meaning the customers. ‘Maybe it is. Who knows?’
'At the last it bitetb like a serpent and stingeth like an adder,' Brian responded, busily washing glasses as he spoke. ‘From the Bible, sweetie. When I was on remand I shared a cell with this vicar who was in for touching up little boys. Always repeating that, he was.’
‘You were in prison?’ She was both shocked and intrigued.
‘Oh, no need to get your tights in a tangle. Jury found me not guilty. Ask me, the police weren’t even trying to track down the right person. Picked me up because I was handy.’
It was turning into a regular drinking session, she knew; but, hell, would they even be alive tomorrow? Someone else came into the Plough with more news of the Link Lane disaster; simply hearing about it seemed to drain all the will-power out of her. She’d learned more about herself in the past twelve hours than she’d ever thought possible. At breakfast with Guy she’d been so high, it was unbelievable; a nervous reaction, of course — she recognised that; afterwards came the plunge into the depths. Now she didn’t know where she was.
At closing time Pete said he’d check the house over to see what was needed. She retrieved her raincoat, managed to get it on unaided and left the pub with him, having extracted a promise from Brian that he would follow them as soon as he’d finished clearing up. Two fire engines were speeding noisily along Worth Road in the Link Lane direction and a helicopter circled overhead. She found herself wishing she and Pete hadn’t drunk so much. Brian was the only completely sober one of the three.
‘That's a right ravioli, innit?’ Pete observed when he saw the state of the front room. ‘Think o’ the hours we spent paintin’ this room, an’ now look at it! A right ravioli.’
‘I don’t know what he’s sprayed an’ what he hasn’t,’ she declared. ‘Same upstairs in the loft.’
‘Let’s have a peek. But it looks like we’d best do the lot. Not that I’m saying’ anything against your husband’s work.’
She laughed as she caught his grin. ‘Poor Guy, he tries.’
Turning, she stumbled over the spraying equipment, which still lay where Guy had left it in the middle of the floor. Pete’s arm steadied her and, still laughing, she found his face close to hers. Their lips met — at first lightly but then, as her hand slipped behind his shoulder to hold him closer, starting to explore and savour. Sensually.