‘Then perhaps you could forward your card, though I think she’s set for legal representation. Because the chances of you getting into her underwear aren’t even worth considering.’
‘You’re a fucking comedian.’
‘Strange, I thought I was a childminder currently. You know, if someone had suggested to me that you’d be left in charge of a child. Well. I would’ve said that someone must be very stupid.’
‘Rosa’s not stupid. If she was, she wouldn’t be drinking beetroot kvass, while being beaten with fragrant birch, oak and eucalyptus twigs. And I should know because I bought her the voucher for the place for her birthday.’
‘A voucher for a house of pain?’ I sound likeI’min pain. ‘Only you would buy a family member a session with his dominatrix.’
‘For fuck’s sake, I don’t have a dominatrix. I went twice, that’s all. Just to see what it was all about.’
‘How much did it cost you to find out they don’t put out?’ I’d try to temper my smile, but what would be the fun in that?
‘More than I’d have liked,’ he mutters. ‘But the point I was trying to make is that Rosa isn’t stupid. She’s gone to a Russian spa for the full banya experience. Meanwhile, I’m looking after Monty. And speaking of the little shit... ’ Griff twists in his chair, looking for the boy. ‘Oh, fuck. Where’d he go?’ Up from his chair, he swings his head left and right, but before I can join him in the search, he drops into his chair with a heavy sigh. ‘Crisis averted. He’s inside, talking to the bird with big tits.’
‘Do you use that kind of language in the Law Courts?’ As a barrister, Griffin spends some of his time in the Royal Courts of Justice, though much more time in the Crown Courts, defending clients with far worse vocabularies than his. Defending those who cannot defend themselves, as he put it. Or as I see it, poncing about in a white wig.
Griff doesn’t answer as Monty appears by his side. Putting his contraband of Coke and ice cream on the table, he cups his hand around his uncle’s ear.
‘Uncle Griff,’ he whispers sotto voce, ‘that lady’s boobies are really,reallybig.’
‘You didn’t tell her that, did you?’
‘No.’ His gaze is solemn. ‘And I’m using a really quiet voice to tell.’
‘Good lad. Because she mustn’t hear you say that.’
‘Why? Big boobies are nice.’
‘All boobies are nice,’ Griffins answers before his gaze sweeps theatrically left then right. ‘But ladies with big boobies are witches.’
The child narrows his gaze suspiciously. ‘Really, Uncle Griff?’
‘Yep, and she’ll cast a spell on you if she hears you say so.’
‘No. No, she can’t. There’s no such thing as witches. They’re make-believe like the tooth fairy.’
‘Father Christmas is real, isn’t he?’
‘Well, yeah,’ the child answers, though I sense abutcoming.‘But he leaves evidence that he’s real. We get presents,’ he adds, his hands in the air as though holding the proof. ‘So how doyouknow she’s a witch?’
‘Because all ladies with big t—boobs are magical. The bigger their boobs, the more magic they have, because boobs are where they store their magic.’
‘Bigger boobies mean more magic?’ the little boy repeats.
‘Exactly.’
‘But what do they do with their magic?’
‘You mean, apart from using it on little boys who yell rude things?’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ the boy protests. ‘I don’t want to be turned into a toad.’
‘No, you certainly wouldn’t like to become your uncle,’ I mutter.
‘It’s not that kind of magic. They use it to put the men around them under their spell. They make them buy them drinks, and pay for theatre tickets, load the dishwasher, and mow lawns.’
‘That doesn’t sound fun.’ Monty’s expression twists.
