Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (35 page)

“Really?” He frowned, sniffing at the air like a drug search dog. “I can. I don’t like it.”

I had a Baldrick moment and came up with a cunning plan. Clapping a puzzled look on my mush I sniffed again, and then let my face clear. “Actually, Leo, you’re right, there is a slight
off
smell. I think I know what it is. It’s the Christmas tree.”

“The tree?” He looked doubtful.

“It’s starting to decay a bit. I bet the holder is low on water.” I flung myself down on the floor at the base of the tree and manipulated my hand under the lower branches, poking a finger into the metal container. “Yep. Bone dry.” I got to my feet again, surreptitiously wiping my wet finger on my jeans before giving Leo a cheerful smile. “I’ll top up the container with fresh water and give the branches a good spray, that’ll soon freshen it up. A tree this size needs plenty of water to keep it fresh over the holiday.”

“I only topped it up yesterday morning.”

“Central heating makes them dry out faster. It is very warm in here, Leo.”

“I like to keep it warm for Genevieve. I don’t suppose it will do any harm to turn down the hall radiators though. There’s a plant sprayer under the kitchen sink for the branches, give them a good dousing, but turn off the lights first. I don’t want you going up in a flash.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He tapped me on the head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to forage breakfast yourself this morning. I want to start preparing things for this afternoon. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“No problem, Leo. Can I get you something while I’m at it?”

A look of suspicion drifted across his face. “You’re being very solicitous this morning. Have you been sniffing aerosols?”

“Oh, ha-ha.” I pulled a face. “If you want me to be nasty then just say so. It’s no hardship where you’re concerned.”

He gave a throaty chuckle. “Ah, there’s the lippy, snippy Gillibrat I know best.”

He went off to do what he had to do and I headed for the kitchen. Breakfast could wait. I had more pressing things on my mind, like saving my skin. My brain bubbled with a plan of action. I wet a wad of kitchen paper with hot soapy water, put it in a plastic food bag and shoved it in my pocket. I got a plant spray bottle and began to fill it with fresh water.

Such was my tension that I almost soiled my kecks when the cat flap juddered and Genny launched herself into the kitchen, meowing raucous demands. I had no time to feed or pet her. Time was of the essence. People would be up and about soon enough.

I hurried into the hall. Genny followed, grumbling at my lack of attention. I located a bottle of potpourri refresher oil in a sideboard drawer, and was on the verge of unscrewing the spray bottle to pour in the contents, when Genny upped the ante, accompanying her Siamese bawling with a wild scrabbling noise. Shit! She was clawing at the coat cupboard door. She had done what Leo had failed to do. She had sussed the origin of the pong in the hall. Bloody cats and their super sense of smell.

I did what a desperate bad boy had to do. I squirted Genny with water from the bottle. She was less than chuffed, letting out a squawk of indignation, springing away from the door, trying to dodge the water. I chased her into the lounge and closed the door on her, feeling like a complete bastard, and a hypocrite to boot after telling Vince off for being rough with her. Poor Genny. I’d make it up to her later.

Returning to the hall I unscrewed the spray bottle and poured in a good dollop of the potpourri oil, giving the bottle a vigorous shake. I sprayed the tree and the air in general with the perfumed water, hoping it would mask the smell. I also refreshed the potpourri bowls, lavishly sprinkling Frankincense and Myrrh over the contents. The hall smelled holy enough to host a Catholic Mass, but hopefully not a requiem one for yours truly.

Time to deal with the source. I girded my loins, took a deep breath and opened the door to the under stairs cupboard. Jesus! I recoiled as the full impact of the rotting prawn husks assaulted my nostrils. The door had not been opened since I’d done the evil deed and the smell had built up in the confined space like poison gas. One strike of a match and Leo’s fancy palace would be reduced to ashes. You bloody fool. I admonished myself.

Master Ian and Mistress Trina had not brought coats or jackets, not into the house anyway, but other guests surely would. Most of them would be wearing bondage gear covered by coats and jackets, which would need to be stored and the obvious and easiest place for the job was where I was standing. I cupped a hand over my nose. I had to get rid of the stink somehow, or at least the cause of it.

Pulling up the neck of my t-shirt, I covered my nose and mouth with it. Even so, my gag reflex worked overtime as I liberated the decaying shells from their hiding places. I’d known they’d smell bad, but never in a million years had I imagined they’d smell
this
bad. It was vile, unholy and devilish, like something from a horror film. They were back! They had risen from the dead and regenerated. They were prawn again crustaceans, and they wanted revenge for having been torn from the sea.

I put the shell remains in the plastic bag and tied it up. I then used the wad of wet paper to wipe under Vince’s epaulettes and sponge Jak’s pocket in the hope it would remove the smell. It didn’t. It seemed to have bonded and become one with the fabrics. I thought about spraying the jackets with the scented water spray, but dismissed it. It would only confirm an attempt to cover up foul play. Best to leave it.

Slipping out of the cupboard I headed for the great outdoors, gulping in the cold winter air in a bid to rid my nostrils of the sickening, rancid odour. I dumped the paper towels and plastic bag in the wheelie bin and returned to the kitchen, washing my hands with antibacterial soap.

I checked the cupboard again, praying that the odour had at least diminished. Nope. It was as strong and nasty as ever. The prawns had had their revenge, infusing not just leather grain, but seemingly the walls and floor with their noxious putrefaction.

At least the hard, visual evidence had gone. The smell might be traced, but the reason for it would be a mystery. I assuaged my guilt by reminding myself that mysteries were a traditional aspect of Christmas. The age-old mystery of the virgin birth had now been joined by the modern mystery of the phenomenal stench.

Adopting a saintly aspect and a sedate pace, I went to the kitchen. I made a mug of tea and a couple of rounds of toast, taking them into the lounge and settling down at the table where the unfinished jigsaw puzzle was laid out.

Genny came over and nudged my ankles with her head to show she had forgiven me for squirting water at her. I praised and stroked her, fed her a bit of buttery toast and then turned my attention to the puzzle, studying the remaining loose pieces. It would be nice to finish it.

Chapter Eighteen - Breakfast Blitzkrieg

Vince ended my pleasant breakfast solitude. He strolled into the lounge, oozing easeful self-assurance. In my early days with the men folk, it had taken me months to feel anything like at ease when visiting Leo’s luxurious abode. The quasi mansion was grand enough, but Leo’s place was something else. I had crept around like a callow country boy in a city palace, afraid to disturb anything, fearful of causing damage. I still felt a degree of awe. Not Vince though. He seemed quite at home.

He had imbibed liberally on Christmas Day, but showed no sign of a hangover. He looked fresh and alert, wearing expensive purple jeans and a figure hugging sleeveless top, showing off his skin art. He was barefoot, perhaps emulating our host. Leo tends to walk around barefoot at home.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” I returned his greeting.

He came over to the table, standing close to me, all but perching on my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

It was pretty obvious what I was doing, but I confirmed anyway. “A bit more of this puzzle.”

“Do you really like doing jigsaws? They’re boring. I thought you were just humouring the old man, you know sucking up.”

I resented the accusation of ‘sucking up.’ He further annoyed me by reaching over my shoulder, locating, and then pressing home the puzzle piece I’d been scanning for. I resisted a strong urge to slap at his hand. “Leave it alone, then, if it’s boring.”

“Aren’t you possessive.” He pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and plonked his arse on it, grinning. “My father reckons jigsaw puzzles are the province of either the very young, the very old or the socially inept.”

“Expert is he, on jigsaws, as well as zits? I didn’t realise that jigsaw puzzles were an aspect of dermatology, or did he take a separate course at a special Jigsaw Academy?”

My sarcasm was ignored.

“It’s easy to see what category Pat fits into, the sad old guy trying to keep his marbles active and rolling. You seem to be getting along well with him. Play your cards right and you might end up with another Daddy, or in his case,” he gave a snort of laughter, “an old auntie.”

“Why so mean about him? He’s nice.”

“If you like that sort of thing.” He shrugged. “His type gets on my nerves. I like men to be men, like Shane, now there is a man, hardcore. There’s nothing feminine or effete about him.”

It seemed Vince was a misogynist, as well as a dickhead. I picked up my mug of tea. “Why don’t you go and get breakfast.” I raised the mug. “I made a pot of tea not long ago, it’ll still be hot.”

“Plenty of time, and anyway, I prefer coffee on a morning.”

“Tea too feminine for you is it?”

He gave a lazy smile and reached for a puzzle piece, rolling it between his fingers. “I’m enjoying our little chat. We haven’t had much chance to talk so far. You seem to have been avoiding me.”

“Not really.” I drank off my tea and put the mug down on the coaster. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What’s it like being an epileptic? I’ve never met one before. It sounds an ugly condition. Do you fall down, twitch and froth at the mouth? Have you ever choked on your tongue during a fit?”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden onslaught. Talk about a blitzkrieg. And there was me thinking that Shane’s sister Penny held the trophy for cold, calm spite. Vince was a definite contender. I hit back. “What’s it like being a knob head? Do you ejaculate out of your nostrils?”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Hilarious.”

He attacked from another angle, no frills and straight in.

“I think Dick fancies me. He couldn’t get enough of my tats. He even took photos of them. Ask him to show you, if you don’t believe me.”

I followed his lead, casting aside kid gloves. “Look, Vince, I’m busy, so why don’t you eff off. Go up on the roof and jump off, see if those wings on your back help you fly.”

His response was enough to convince me that Penny had had a secret love child, one she’d let go for adoption, and he was it.

“I detest northerners, always have, especially Geordie boys. You all sound the same, common as mud and twice as dense. All swagger and no intellect.”

“Yeah? And I suppose everyone south of the Watford Gap speaks like the queen and is educated to degree standard. I don’t think so,
Vinny
. Like so many other arrogant, insular southerners, you need to brush up on your geography. You all seem incapable of identifying a northern town outside of Newcastle. I don’t come from there, so I can’t be classed as a Geordie, and in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re living in the north.”

“Only on a temporary basis, for work.” He flicked the puzzle piece back onto the table. “I can’t wait to get back to civilisation.”

“What is your problem with me? You seem to have had it in for me since the moment we met. Is it a loyalty thing, peer pressure, you feel obliged to dislike me just because your friend dislikes me?”

“Well, seeing as you asked. I don’t like your type.”

The guy had a fixation on ‘types.’ He must have majored in Typology. I rolled my eyes. “And what
type
is that?”

“The type who does nothing of worth and still manages to land on their feet. I mean, seriously, what do men like Shane and Dick see in you? Yeah, I get that they might employ you as the washer up, but anything else, no way. What’s the appeal is what I want to know. You are so downmarket compared to them, and disabled into the bargain.”

“Disabled? What the hell
are
you on?”

“I’d class epilepsy as a disability. It certainly isn’t normal.”

“Neither are you, making statements like that.”

“Jak said you were touchy about your condition.”

“Jak’s like you, he’s an arsehole.”

“I’d be touchy about it too. I’d hate to be inferior to everyone else. Shane and Dick probably feel sorry for you, too worried to dump you in case you spas out or something.”

“Spas out!” I curled my lip. “What a charmless expression. And your parents spent how much on your education?”

“More than you’ll ever see in your lifetime.” He inspected me thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, you’re not bad looking, even if your skin is repulsive, but I think the main attraction for Shane and Dick has to be your age. You won’t be young forever though.”