'Having it stolen from outside a pub might not go down too well at work.'
'You're right. Be safer to put it in the garage at the back of the garden centre. You don't want it being crated for the Costa.'
'Don't want it being what?'
His mood changed suddenly. He must have thought I was making fun of him. 'You know what I mean. Do you have to make something of it every time I use a common expression?'
'That wasn't how I meant it. "Crated for the Costa", it's the first time I've heard the term, that's all. Shipped to a villain in Spain... it's a good way of putting it.' Anything I said now would make his mood worse. There had been other instances when he had sulked over a chance remark or some trivial mishap, and hours might pass before his good humour returned. He seemed to become gripped by some deep internal insecurity. Perhaps the difference in our incomes made him feel inferior. To me it hardly mattered; we could enjoy ourselves perfectly well together without needing to squander large amounts of money. His abilities were no less valuable than mine. He could, as if by magic, install an electric light fitting without visible wires in the middle of an internal wall, or cure burst pipes that were damaging people's homes and causing real distress and anxiety. Business executives in the City might be better paid, but their high salaries were more likely to be won through greed and forcefulness than by talent and hard work.
We drove back to the garden centre in silence, both miserable. He moved one of the vans out of the garage to the street to make room for the car, and when it was safely locked inside I put my hand on his arm and said plaintively, 'Oh Tom.'
He turned to look at me, and to my relief his expression lightened. He put his arms around me and hugged me. 'We'll go and see Andrew. Have a quiet drink in the pub together. Don't take no notice of me.'
In the pub Andrew talked so enthusiastically about his latest venture that he made us forget our tiff. He had bought a part share in a horticultural nursery in Buckinghamshire. Discussions and negotiations through solicitors had taken months, but at last the contract had been signed and he had spent the whole day looking over the greenhouses, talking to the staff, and updating himself on sales figures.
While Tom was at the bar I told him about the Mercedes left in his garage at the garden centre and our misunderstanding. 'Just another of his moods. He's had his share of problems, but he always comes round. Congratulations on the Mercedes, puts the Ferns and Foliage vans to shame. You're becoming too important for us, Mark.'