He looked at her. ‘Worked what out?’
‘That you’re a private detective.’
‘Me?’ He pointed to his chest, shaking his head in amused disbelief. ‘Is that what you think? I’m not a private detective.’
Luckily there was a lull at the tills; no other customers were waiting to be served.
‘Ah,’ said Lola, ‘but you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose so. But I’m still not one.’
‘Except that could be you covering your tracks, like any good private detective would.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘So if I was, which I promise I’m not, who would I be spying on?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know Anyone in this shop.’ Lola shrugged playfully. ‘Me, perhaps.’
‘You. And why would a private detective be tailing you?’ Another brief pause. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
‘Not at all.’ She’d only said it on the spur of the moment – nothing ventured, nothing gained –
but Lola knew now that this man was no more than a charming stranger, albeit a slightly bemused one, thanks to her interrogation. ‘OK, you’re not a private detective. I believe you.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Thank you.’
Out of nowhere a queue for the tills had materialised. Lola said, ‘Enjoy your book.’
The man left, clutching his dark blue Kingsley’s carrier bag and wearing the kind of expression that people have when they think they’ve handed over a ten pound note and been given change for twenty.
Chapter 11
Weren’t Toastabags the greatest invention in the whole world ever?
The toaster popped up and Lola hooked out the bag, tipping the gorgeous crispy toasted cheese and tomato sandwich onto a plate. Possibly her favourite food, and to think that when she’d first clapped eyes on a Toastabag she hadn’t believed it could work, because how could a plasticky baggy-type thing go into an electric toaster and not melt?
OK, toasted sandwich: check.
DVD in DVD player: check. She’d treated herself to the latest release starring Tom Dutton, one of her favourite actors.
Box of tissues: check. When she’d dragged Gabe along to the cinema to see the film she’d honked like a big goose during the weepy bits and shown herself right up.
Remote control for DVD player: check.
Remote control for TV ... bum, where was it? Oh, under the sofa cushions. Check.
Now she was all ready to go .. .
The doorbell rang as she was about to take the first heavenly bite of toasted sandwich. Someone had a sense of humour.
Lola looked at her make-up-free reflection in the kitchen window, teamed with dripping wet hair and lime-green towelling dressing gown, and really hoped Tom Dutton hadn’t chosen this moment to pitch up on her doorstep.
She pressed the intercom. ‘Yes?’
‘Lola?’
A female voice. ‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s me! Sally Tennant!’
Good grief. Sally. Doug’s sister. As Lola pressed the buzzer, her stomach gave a little squiggle of excitement. ‘Come on up.’
Sally, wrapped in a glamorous cream coat and black patent high-heeled boots, was looking glossy and stylish. She would have looked even more stylish if there hadn’t been a pair of sparkly red plastic antlers flashing away on top of her head.
‘Oh sorry.’ She pulled a face when she saw Lola’s hair and dressing gown. ‘Bad time?’
‘Of course not. I can’t believe you’re here.’ Lola ushered her into the living room, switched off the TV. ‘Is this something to do with Doug?’
‘Doug.’ Sally looked blank. ‘No. Haven’t seen him. Why, have you?’
No’ Lola swallowed her disappointment.
‘I asked Philip for your address. I’m here about that flat you told me about.’
The flat. Lola hadn’t thought for a moment that Sally would take her up on the offer — she hadn’t appeared to be even listening when she’d mentioned it. And now she was actually here.
Talk about cutting it fine. But at the same time, how brilliant.
‘You’re really interested? That’s fantastic. Gabe’s off to Australia tomorrow ... he’s out saying goodbye to his friends tonight, God only knows what time he’ll be back. But I’ve got a key. I can show you the flat now’ Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Lola said, ‘You’ll love it, I promise!’
’Gabe? Can you hear me?’ At the other end of the phone Lola could make out yet more noisy celebrations. ‘I’ve just found someone for your flat. Remember I told you about Sally, Doug’s sister? Well, she’s here and she’s had a look round, and it’s just what—’
‘What?’ hissed Sally when Lola abruptly stopped and listened. ‘Doesn’t he want me to move in?
Why, what’s wrong with me? Tell him he won’t find a better tenant anywhere. Look, I can pay the deposit now, money isn’t a problem ... Lola, tell him how much I want this flat!’
Lola said slowly, ‘Yes ... OK, right ... no, of course I understand.’ She finished listening to Gabe then hung up.
‘What?’ wailed Sally. ‘Why can’t I have it? I want it!’
Lola felt a twinge of guilt; she was the one who’d begged Gabe not to take on Terry-the-abbatoir-worker.
‘It’s not you. Gabe registered the flat this morning with a lettings agency. He’s signed a contract with them. And they rang him a couple of hours ago to tell him they were bringing a client round tonight. If this guy says he wants it, there’s nothing we can do. He’s got first refusal,’ she explained. ‘And he’s keen to find somewhere fast.’
‘Oh’ Sally looked crestfallen. ‘Well, maybe he won’t like it.’
‘Everyone likes Gabe’s flat. Damn it,’ Lola said frustratedly, ‘I want you to be my neighbour, I don’t want some smelly boy moving in next door ..
‘What?’ Sally eyed her with curiousity as Lola’s voice trailed off. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Gabe says they’re due round at eight.’ Lola checked her watch. ‘I’m just wondering what time the corner shop shuts.’
With a glimmer of a smile Sally said, ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bit weird?’
‘Excuse me.’ Lola raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re the one with the flashing antlers on your head.’
The corner shop was still open. If Sanjeev wondered why his best customer when it came to magazines, chocolate and ice cream was all of a sudden buying up cabbages, he didn’t ask. By ten to eight the evil stench of boiled cabbage was thick in both Lola’s flat and Gabe’s. When the saucepans had been removed from Gabe’s kitchen Lola found a music channel on the TV in her own flat and turned the volume up to maximum. Eminem blared out and Sally took off her antlers, shaking out her hair and kicking off her shoes.
At three minutes past eight they heard the front door being opened downstairs, then two people entering Gabe’s flat. Lola gave it a few seconds then crossed the landing and thumped on the door.
It was opened by a man in a suit. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi there, is he in?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The Angel Gabriel.’ Lola raised her voice to be heard above the sound of the music. ‘Mr Let’s-Complain-About-Everything.’
The letting agent said frostily, ‘If you mean Mr Adams, he isn’t here.’
‘No? Best news I’ve heard all day.’ Grinning at the potential tenant behind him – gangling, thirties, spectacles, accountantylooking – Lola said, ‘Well, can you just pass on a message from Lola and Sal across the hall, tell him we’re having a few friendsround tonight. They’ll be turning up after the pub and we’d appreciate it if he didn’t give us the usual grief, seeing as this time we’re warning him in advance.’ Leaning forward conspiratorially, she added, ‘To be honest, the police are fed up with him calling them and whingeing about us. I mean, talk about a Neddy No-Mates! If you can’t have a party and a laugh with your friends, what’s the point of living, eh?’