Page 45 of Glasshouses

He frowned. “Like I said, do you ever do anything for fun?”

“And I said that I run. Anyway, you need to give me a bill for what you’ve done, and an explanation for why you’re so helpful. It’s not every day a stranger turns up on your roof and fixes a problem you didn’t know you had.” He shouldn’t be as mysterious as he was. I suspected he was something to do with MI5 or another intelligence agency, or a white hat, and at some point he’d disappear without warning.

“You’d know about that problem when the rain hits the back of the house from the west in a storm. In fact, if you check the chimney breast in the room at the top back, I’d put money on it being damp.” His arms were still folded. I tried not to look at the strained sleeves of his biceps.

I needed to go on a date. Things with Jalen were dying a death, and I could see too much of myself in Lily to be comfortable. I also needed to return my foster sister’s texts and make plans to see her.

“How did you learn all of this? I thought computer nerds stayed in underground lairs and avoided the sun.”

He chuckled. “My mother didn’t believe in paying for tradesmen when she had six strapping lads at home.”

“That’s why your brothers were here yesterday.”

“Yep. And if we’re fixing someone else’s house, she can’t get us started on the extension she’s managed to get planning permission for.” His hands were now stuffed in his jeans pockets.

“Do you still live at home?”

“Temporarily. Long story.” I got no more than that.

“Why won’t you start her extension?”

“I start a new job soon and won’t have time to finish it. All but one of my brothers are working full-time too, so she’s going to have to pay someone to do it.” He shifted, clearly getting restless. “Want company on your run?”

“Haven’t you done enough physical work today?” I wasn’t sure I did; I fully intended having a very close look at Roselea, Lily’s childhood home, potentially going inside, which would be harder if Atlas was with me.

“I spent the morning reading shit, so no. I wouldn’t mind a run.” He seemed unmovable.

“Maybe I want to run on my own.”

A shrug, nonchalant as if that didn’t matter. I knew then that whatever job he did, he was a manager of people.

“I’d rather not be followed by a strange man.” I added that for good luck.

“Strange?”

“I don’t even know your real name.”

“Fair point. It’s Taz.”

I blinked, folding my own arms, my adventures on the scaffolding well and truly forgotten. “Taz? As in Tasmanian Devil?”

“Yep. I answer to other names as well, but more about those another time.” He stared down at his jeans. “Can I get changed into my running stuff in your house? I mean, I have no problem stripping off in front of your neighbours - ”

One or two of them would have no problem with him stripping off in public at all, but I decided that Taz didn’t need to know that.

“I suppose so. I wouldn’t want you to lose your dignity. Why’ve you got your running stuff with you? That seems very convenient.”

“Boy scout. Always prepared.” He gave me a salute that was nothing like a boy scout.

Because I was a detective, or just nosy, I wandered over to his car, wanting to see what else was in his boot. As I guessed, it was full of bags, mainly neatly folded clothes and toiletries.

“Do you live out of the back of this?”

He grinned. “Sometimes it feels that way. I’ve been working away so a lot of my life is in here. It’s mainly clean, but I don’t advise rummaging through it.” He picked up a sports bag and closed the boot. “Have you done with your investigation, officer?”

“Just about started it. Come in then. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you see the damp on that chimney breast.”

I didn’t think Taz – Atlas – was joking about his renovation skills by the time we’d gone through the house, working our way down from the room with the damp chimney breast, to the cellars, a whistle-stop tour that only underlined how much the money pit was going to swallow.