Chapter 20
He walked through the farmyard cautiously. He knew enough to go to the back door, not the front. The two sheepdogs who had cursorily examined him earlier in the week shot out of the open porch and circled round, barking and wagging cheerfully. No need to knock, then. He did, regardless and called out, “Anyone home?”
“In here,” Laurie’s voice answered, distantly. “Come in, whoever you are!”
He stepped into the porch, past a downstairs bathroom, and through the scullery with its stone-flagged floor, and pushed the door into the kitchen fully open.
Laurie was washing up. His stick was hooked on the drainer and he was resting against the sink with one hip. He turned as Phil came in, propping the final plate on the pile beside the soapy water and reaching for the tea-towel flung over his shoulder to dry his hands.
“Mr McManus! Phil, I mean,” he corrected himself, “what can I do for you?”
Phil paused. He hadn’t got this far in his head. He had just…walked.