The Piano Man Project Page 0,81

he had when she’d left him this morning.

‘Yeah, I met Lucille,’ Hal said. ‘Classy lady. She speaks highly of you.’

‘She speaks highly of everyone,’ Honey smiled, warmed by Hal’s admiration of Lucille. ‘Thank you for sorting out Old Don’s party too. Where did you get that cake?’

Hal shrugged. ‘I know people.’

It was no doubt one hell of an understatement, but she knew enough not to expect further elaboration.

‘There’s enough food and soup for everyone to have dinner tonight,’ he said. ‘And we’ve worked out the menu for the next few days.’ He stopped and pushed his bowl away. ‘Steve asked if I’ll come back tomorrow.’

Honey’s spoon stilled halfway to her mouth. ‘And will you?’

Hal ran a hand over his stubble. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Gathering both of their bowls and sliding them into the dishwasher, she turned to leave.

‘I better get back. Billy’s holding the fort, he’ll probably be giving the stock away in exchange for kisses.’

Hal rewarded her with a half smile, one of those that did odd things to her synapses.

‘Sounds like a fair deal to me,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t forget me at home time, Honeysuckle.’

‘I’ll try not to,’ she said, swinging out of the kitchen. Forget him. As if.

Billy was waiting for her when she got back to the shop and, contrary to her concerns, he’d made a magnificent job of holding the fort.

‘We need to talk about the campaign, Honey,’ he said as he placed a china cup and saucer of tea down in front of her ten minutes later. ‘I’m afraid Mimi and Lucille’s fisticuffs has rather put us in a tricky spot.’

Honey couldn’t help but smile at Billy’s choice of phrase, but she knew he was right. Christopher must be rubbing his hands together over at the home; they’d played right into his hands by fighting amongst themselves.

‘Who called the ambulance?’ she said.

Billy glanced out of the window. ‘The finger has to point towards the establishment,’ he said, anarchic, looking down his nose towards the home.

Honey didn’t doubt it. ‘What did he say in his speech?’

‘He mentioned the words regrettable and senile a few times, and then I threw my shoe at him.’

‘Did you really?’

‘I most certainly did, darling.’ Billy waved his red suede, thick crepe-soled shoe in the air. ‘I think he has a suggestion of a black eye.’

Honey sipped her tea thoughtfully.

‘Billy, do you think you could watch the shop for a little longer this afternoon? There’s someone I need to catch up with.’

‘Is it that rather dashing chef in the kitchen, young lady?’ Billy wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. ‘Very enigmatic, with those dark glasses.’

‘He’s blind, Billy.’

It was a rare thing for Billy to look surprised, and even rarer for him to be serious. Nevertheless, he pulled off both emotions simultaneously at Honey’s revelation.

‘Well I never, I missed that. My brother was blinded as a boy,’ he said, his gaze distant. ‘Can’t have been more than fourteen. Nasty business.’

‘Is he still alive?’ Honey spoke without thinking. Billy had never mentioned a brother.

‘Died about ten years back. If you think I’m trouble, you should have met our Len. Or Leonard, as my mother would have preferred.’ Billy’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘Leonard and William. Billy and Len. He was always getting me into bother.’ Billy’s eyes sparkled with nostalgic wickedness. ‘Quite the ladies’ man, he was, too.’

‘Unlike you,’ Honey laughed. ‘But no, I’m not off to see the chef.’ She glanced up at the clock. Three o’clock. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour so you can go over to Old Don’s party.’

‘Good girl,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘You know me, never one to miss a good knees-up.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was well after seven by the time Honey and Hal sat beside each other on the bus home.

‘I haven’t caught a bus since I was sixteen,’ he’d said when they’d boarded the bus that morning, and he looked no less outlandish and uncomfortable on the return journey.

‘Of course you haven’t.’

She completely believed him. People on the bus mostly blended in. Not Hal. Even aiming hard for anonymity he seemed to stand out, or maybe she was just hyper-aware of him. She was just glad it was after the rush hour and the bus was relatively quiet.

‘Can you drive?’ he asked.

‘Technically, yes,’ she said, ‘although I haven’t really driven much since I passed my test.’

Hal turned his face towards the window while he considered her words. Before the accident, driving had been one of his pleasures. Cars. Motorbikes. The