Page 14 of Glasshouses

Atlas laughed. “That’s not what the evidence points to. You look worse than you did yesterday.”

“Still more handsome than you. I can confirm that we had a fraternal scrap – not the first and I doubt it will be the last – and our mother proceeded to batter us both afterwards for being such dickheads. Speaking of which, I need you to fix my car.” The brother removed his tie. I caught sight of tattoos on his hands but it was too quick to make out what they were.

“I’ll come round in the morning. Watch out for the wrench.”

“Did you hear that threat? Maybe I should report it to the police.” The brother laughed. “Toodles, Sweetcheeks.” Then hung up.

Atlas put his phone back in his pocket. “There you go. You shouldn’t be in any doubt that he’s my brother.”

“I’m not. He’s a smarter version of you.” It was true – the family resemblance was obvious. “But he didn’t even say your real name.”

“I’ve trained him not to. Anyway, how’s things? How’s the house?”

We carried on running, me telling him where things were up to and the issue I was having with part of the roof. He was keen, I’d found out, on fixing houses up and I’d figured he’d done that with a couple and sold them on. His accent was local, very Mancunian, so I knew he was from round here, but in the time I’d known him, he hadn’t always been living locally.

“Let me know if you need to get your drive done,” he volunteered as we approached the spot where he’d usually go his own way. “I know a couple of decent blokes who can do it.” He continued running with me.

“Are you one of those blokes?”

“I have been in the past. I have an interesting work history.”

“I wouldn’t know. You’ve never shared anything about it.” I kept looking ahead but I could tell he was smiling.

“Which is your house?”

Deflection, as normal.

“The one with the skip outside on the right.” It was just coming into view. “I’m surprised you didn’t already know.”

“I did. Just lulling you into a false sense of security. What’s up with the roof?”

I went through it again, pointing out a chimney as we drew closer. He stopped at the end of the driveway studying the roof.

“Don’t tell me you can fix it?”

“I’ve been known to fix roofs and you’ve still got scaffolding up. Want me to have a look?” He rubbed the palm of his hand against his head.

“What if you fall? Do you have insurance?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve not been on your roof.”

“I could tell you that but I’d be lying. It’s my roof though.”

“I won’t fall. I’ll have a look tomorrow.” He folded his arms again.

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

His grin was all white teeth and too much arrogance. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”

“What did you say you did again?”

“I’d give up with that, if I was you. You might not like the answer, being a cop and all that.”

I shook my head, debating asking him in for a coffee, but sometimes success was knowing when to leave it. “Have a good night. I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

“You mean the Tuesday after next?”

“I meant see you next Tuesday.”