‘How’re things with you these days?’
Paul, grabbed a grey-looking cloth and unenthusiastically began re-distributing the grease on the counter.
‘Not marvellous,’ he replied, ‘Roxi’s two months pregnant and Kelly’s four.’
There was a stunned silence.
He nodded, despairingly.
‘It’s true,’ he paused from his labours, ‘phoned me up last night, they did – both of ‘em. One after the other.’ He examined the cloth and shook the gathered crumbs out onto the floor. ‘Just as I was thinking of cooling things off too; must be bloody psychic or something.’
Brendan gazed at him in awe.
‘Dunno how it happened either,’ he assured the assembled company, ‘honest. I thought they’d be on the pill or something.’
Owen sipped his tea.
‘So which one of them’s your wife, then?’ he asked innocently.
‘Neither. The wife’s not pregnant.’ A more than usually lugubrious expression crossed his face. ‘At least I hope she’s bloody well not.’