Page 13 of Better the Devil

‘He’s floundering,’Logan declared the moment the car doors closed around them. ‘Nerves are getting to him.’

‘He’ll be fine. He’s great. He can handle it,’ Shona said.

Logan looked ahead through the windscreen. Hamza was trying to get the attention of a uniformed sergeant, hanging back while the other man finished his conversation.

‘I know he can. That’s why I put him forward for the job in the first place,’ Logan replied. ‘I believe he’s up to it. I’m just not convinced that he does.’

‘So, what’re you going to do? One of your big shouty pep talks?’ Shona adopted a gruff voice. ‘“Pull your finger out of your arse, son. Get your bloody act together.”’

‘Was that meant to be me?’

‘It was pretty spot-on, I thought.’

Logan let out a singlehmmpfof laughter. ‘Aye, well. Tempting. It could do the job.’

He slid his seatbelt into the catch, clicking it into place.

‘But I think I might have a better idea.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘Toblerone?’

Dave Davidson reached across the kitchen table for the offered triangle of chocolate. The old man holding the wrapper—Joe—nodded encouragingly.

‘Cheers,’ Dave told him. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

On the other side of the table, sitting beside the man, a sixty-something woman, who had clearly enjoyed a number of Toblerones over the years, watched Dave like he was a magician doing a trick.

‘Can you eat that OK, aye?’ she asked.

Dave hesitated with the chocolate halfway to his mouth. ‘Can I eat a bit of Toblerone?’

‘I mean, you know, in your’—her eyes flitted up and down, taking him in—‘condition?’

‘Jesus Christ, Maureen,’ the old man whispered.

‘What condition’s that?’ Dave asked. ‘Sitting down? I mean, I hear that it’s better for digestion if you eat standing up, but that presents a few challenges.’

He shoved the chunk of chocolate in his mouth and grinned back at her.

‘Still, I reckon I can handle it. Seriously, you should see me setting about a Curly Wurly.’

‘Sorry about that,’ Joe said. ‘She’s…’

He carefully wrapped the chocolate in its silver foil while he considered his next word.

‘Thick.’

‘Oi!’ Maureen gave her husband a shove. ‘Cheeky bastard!’

It was said in such a way that Dave couldn’t quite tell if there was humour behind it, or if she was genuinely annoyed. Either way, she got up and clicked the kettle on for them, so her feelings didn’t seem to have been too badly hurt.

‘I’ll leave youse to it,’ she told them. ‘Emmerdale’s on.’

Joe blew out his cheeks and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He waited until the kitchen door was closed before apologising again.

‘She doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just got no filter. She says what she thinks and, unfortunately, what she thinks is often a load of shite.’