‘No wonder the shop is gone down the tubes. Was it on special offer?’

Roberts gulped down half the pint, said:

‘Well, at least I’m not wearing torn jeans.’

Lame, he knew it was a poor retort. Brant fingered the hole in his jeans, seemed delighted with it, said:

‘Bullet-hole, sir, line of duty and all that.’

There were times Roberts truly hated Brant, wanted to put a fist hard in his mouth and beat on him for an hour. This was one of those times. He said to the barman:

‘Give me a large Bells and another of those Irish things for him.’

Brant was still staring at the suit, said:

‘Don’t worry, sir, the light in here, people won’t see it too well.’

Roberts lashed down the scotch, said:

‘Gee, that’s a real help. What’s with the bloody silver bird on your sweatshirt?’

Brant touched the pin with what appeared to be real affection, said:

‘That’s the laughing kookaburra.’

Roberts was seriously sorry he’d asked, went:

‘Like that is supposed to make sense?’

‘Aussie, sir, gets its name from its call, which sounds like mad laughter, a member of the kingfisher family, lives off snakes, mice, and lizards.”

Roberts thought it was a good description of Brant. They took a seat and Brant immediately put the chat on two women nearby. As always, Roberts was amazed at how women responded to him, couldn’t they see what a pig he was.

Nope.

Next minute they’d joined them and Roberts was sitting beside a fine woman with a see-through blouse. He could never figure out if you were supposed to look or keep your eyes averted. Brant solved the dilemma by saying:

‘Lady you are stacked. Is that the wonders of Wonderbra or just you?’

She was delighted and Roberts knew if he’d ever in his wildest dreams said anything similar, he’d have had a drink flung in his face. The second woman seemed as wild as Brant, which is saying something. She asked what they did. Brant said they were accountants to huge laughter from the women, which encouraged Brant to add: