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There’ll be some back for seconds.’
    â€˜You know that’s not what I mean.’
    And the day’s about to get easier. He’s about to join me in the tail spin. His confidence has risen to foolish heights and he’s about to do the Icarus thing. It’s a semi-regular pattern, and I can pick when it’s going to happen. From Greek mythology, Frank has learned nothing.
    â€˜I can’t believe we could both leave here today without pulling some action,’ he says, totally believing it. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. What’s going on?’
    â€˜The usual. The 70 per cent of the time for you 100 per cent of the time for me usual, dickhead.’
    â€˜Might have to pick up a mag on the way home. Would you be up for that?’
    â€˜What, buying you another porn mag?’
    â€˜No. Go you halves. The usual.’
    â€˜Frank, this is very depressing. No one even wants our food any more.’
    â€˜What is this?’ he says. ‘It’s still only the fucking afternoon. I can’t believe we’re gone already.’
    â€˜Yeah, but it’s too hot. Too hot to eat this stuff.’
    â€˜I don’t care if they eat it or not. We’re not cooking it so people can eat it. Will you stop talking about the fucking food?’
    I’m finding it easier to deal with in terms of the food, but all of a sudden Frank’s finding nothing easy. A shitty kind of silence seems to descend upon us. The three women, now no longer being worked on by Frank’s eye, seem to have noted the substantial semi-circle of space in front of us, and seem to be smirking. He tips a couple of steaks and another tray of sausages onto the barbecue, but half-heartedly and only so that he’s got something to do.
    And I actually like Frank better when he’s depressed, but it’s not as though I don’t feel guilty about it.
    Fat spits and the sausages sizzle and one of them sticks on the hot metal and rips and Frank mutters something that begins with, ‘Can’t even fuckin’ . . . ’
    â€˜It’s okay,’ I tell him. ‘I quite like the crunchy bits. That one can be mine.’
    At the edge of the crowd, one of the three women (the one with the nose) crushes their empty wine cask under her foot and starts to make her way over to the bar. And then the other two start heading our way. They must have seen Frank put the new stuff on. I give him a nudge, and his instincts have kicked in by the time they get to us.
    â€˜Can I tempt either of you ladies with my meat?’ he says, mustering his most seductive patter from somewhere and emphasising the word meat as much as possible.
    â€˜Not really,’ one of them says and smirks again. ‘Not our scene.’
    â€˜Can’t believe you’ve come all this way for Philby’s onions,’ he says, and I could kill him for it, but it’s already too late.
    â€˜No. Listen,’ she says. ‘We were just thinking. You guys, you’re working hard, and you’re not looking too cheery. Specially you.’ Looking at me. Which is bad, since Frank’s still looking pretty glum. ‘We were thinking, you’d be due for a break round about now, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜For sure,’ Frank says, as though all the eye work’s paying off and the day’s finally starting to make sense.
    â€˜Yeah. That’s what we were thinking. And, well . . . ’ she pauses, looks at the one who hasn’t spoken, and gets a nod. ‘We were feeling like a bit of a break from this ourselves, hey Lisa?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    And even Frank is gawking at them, at the possibilities of this, and how easy it’s looking for both of us. Even Frank doesn’t think he’s this good with the eye, and knows it’s the kind of scenario he normally only lies about when we’re driving to uni, not something that actually happens. And even though, in the