He'd showed up half an hour late, grumpy as ever.
Robert put off explaining why he'd called right away, and with no better way to do so, he bought time by taking Pete with him to Waitrose. Whilst they shopped, he distracted him by quizzing him on his latest escapades, tuning out his replies about haunted pubs and skirmishes with the police (Or as Pete more colourfully named them: "The feckin' pigs").
All the while he desperately tried to think of how he could phrase...well...his worries about Betty. As they traipsed through the aisles, Robert skittishly adding a bunch of organic Garlic to the trolley as a precaution, they quite startled the other shoppers. Pete was loud, with an appearance as scathing as his tone. They were quite the pair- one in his casual M & S wear, and the other tall in a long black coat with heavy duty boots. It didn't help that if anyone as much as bumped into him, Pete essentially growled at them.
(There was no blaming him- he'd lived most of his adult life shopping amongst the frequenters of strip-lighted polish supermarkets in seedy neighbourhoods. He had never learnt middle-class supermarket etiquette.)
All the while, Robert worried. No matter how long he'd known Pete, he had no way to be sure that he'd believe him about his wife. His friend was an avid believer in conspiracy theories and the afterlife- but if Robert had to be told by of all people Pete that maybe he should see a psychiatrist, it would kill him.
He'd claimed his free coffee and Pete had downed it in one, so they'd got two more (One black, one Cappucino) and sat in the car sipping their drinks.
"So, you finally going to explain why you called? You've been lost up your own arse the whole time I've been talking to you."
Robert sighed. Best to explain in a way Pete'd understand- blunt and forcefully.
"I think my wife's a vampire."