There were no urinals in the Gents, just a single toilet and a small washbasin. He locked the door, lowered the lid and sat down. High up on the wall behind him was a small open window through which he could hear Milly’s familiar banshee howling. Dogs weren’t allowed in the dining room, so he’d taken her for a short walk when he’d come down for breakfast and then left her in Sandra’s car.
‘Quite an adventure eh, Milly?’ he said aloud. ‘Bet you never thought it’d turn out like this.’
As if in response, Milly gave a particularly ear-piercing shriek, and Trevor laughed for the first time in days. It gave him a much needed boost, and the conversation he’d just had with Sandra meant that – for now at least – his mind no longer had room for the nausea-inducing thoughts of Imelda, Harry Vincent, Logan, Patterson and all the rest of them.
What was it she’d said about a holiday? Did she mean they should go somewhere together? He closed his eyes and concentrated hard to conjure up the vision of a tropical beach, complete with white sand, palm trees and gently lapping turquoise waves with Sandra lying beside him in an exceptionally skimpy bikini. But try as he might, all he could come up with was a depressingly vivid evocation of the last beach he’d visited about three years ago – a windswept Cleethorpes, complete with a relentless grey drizzle and the fetid stink of seaweed and fried onions. Fortunately, however, he was still able to picture the scantily clad Sandra with impressive clarity even though he wasn’t quite sure why she was leaping up and down on the floor of a bouncy castle with an enormous piece of toast in her mouth.
The image began to fade and then evaporated entirely with the sudden awareness that Milly had stopped howling. Whereas most dog owners would have heaved a sigh of relief at the lull in the mayhem, Milly’s silence instantly pushed all of Trevor’s alarm buttons at once. It could only mean one thing. Frustrated that her baying wolf impersonation had failed to produce any tangibly positive results – particularly the reappearance of her so-called master – she had turned her attention instead to the upholstery of Sandra’s car.
‘Oh bloody Nora,’ he said and sprang to his feet.
Although there was no reason to do so, he automatically grabbed the flush handle of the toilet and pushed it downwards. He had already unlocked the door when he realised that all he had heard was a dull clunking sound from somewhere inside the cistern. Turning back, his hand reached out towards the porcelain lid, but it had travelled no more than two or three inches before he abruptly withdrew it.
‘Uh-uh,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You might have caught me out once, but that’s your lot, pal. You can get yourself a proper plumber this time.’