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like a loud prick usually got you noticed by the right sort of people; who were, of course, the wrong sort of people.
    “Do you want to keep it down, Paul?” Brian said. “At least until the bar fills up a bit and we don’t stick out like sore thumbs?”
    “You scared of these fucking farmers, little bro? I’m just having a laugh.”
    “Yeah, well, we’re getting the hairy eyeball.”
    “That’s just because we’re so fucking handsome.”
    “Watch the language, Paul. There’s kids running about here.”
    “Well, who the fuck takes their fucking kids to the fucking pub, on a fucking Saturday, at three in the fucking afternoon?”
    A barking voice from behind him answered. “I do, dickhead. What of it?”
    Paul swivelled on his stool to see a man of about forty, on his feet and angry. A shock of thinning white hair crowned his square head. His craggy, weather-beaten features were tinted red by burst capillaries. He stood a little shorter than Brian but looked twice as wide. Paul thought his longer, wiry arms would give him the advantage over the walrus-necked man. At the table behind him sat a young boy and a slightly older girl. They shoved crisps into their mouths and slurped on tall glasses of cola with lemon slices floating amongst the ice. They looked as at home in the dingy pub as any of the other barflies present. And cool as cucumbers at the prospect of their da getting into a row.
    “I think that’s a fucking disgrace,” Paul said.
    “And are you an authority on childcare, pretty boy? You’re barely out of nappies yourself.”
    “Well, I have no formal qualifications, but I don’t think I should have to feel guilty about the fact that your kids are listening to my conversation. I should be able to relax with my drink and not worry about impressionable young minds. You’re corrupting your children, you stupid bastard.”
    Brian stood up and stepped away from the table.
    “What are you doing?” Paul asked.
    “Getting a drink in.” Brian looked to the angry local. “Would you like one, mister?”
    “No.” The local shook his head, momentarily distracted. Then he pointed a finger at Paul. “You watch yourself, son. Next time I see you, I mightn’t have the kids with me.”
    “Let’s hope I see you first then.”
    The local beckoned his kids to follow him and stormed out of the pub. Paul watched after him, smiling. Then he turned to Brian. “‘Would you like a drink?’ What the fuck, bro?”
    Brian shrugged.
    “Whatever,” Paul said. “I’ll get the next round in will I? Do you fancy a wee vodka?”
    “It’s just after three in the afternoon. You want to hit the hard stuff already?”
    “I thought you knew how to drink. You sound like a killjoy girlfriend.”
    “I’m sticking to the beer.” Brian raised his empty pint glass to indicate he wanted more of the same.
    Paul half turned on his stool and shouted over his shoulder. “Two double vodkas over here, barman!”
     
    Girls!
     
    The night came fast and the pub filled to the rafters. Brian was relieved to be lost in a crowd. A live band played in a corner. The wall of sound they created prevented Paul’s big mouth from getting them in trouble. Things were looking up. The brothers still sat at the same table and were still drinking vodka.
    The biggest improvement to their situation was that they were accompanied by two well-suited and booted, carefully made-up, young ladies. Paul had met them at the bar and invited them over. Rachel, dressed to nuke, laughed at some stupid thing Brian had just said. She’d just put him on cloud nine. He didn’t even care that Paul was unashamedly eating the face off Rachel’s friend, Karen, in plain sight.
    Since Rachel seemed to be in giddy humour, Brian pushed the boat out and gave her some observational comedy.
    “Ever notice how nobody stands beside each other at the bus stop?”
    She licked her luscious lips. “I don’t really understand you. You’ll have to talk