'Pull it down hard so it covers your ears,' Trev commanded. 'Get a move on!'
'Er... pink?' said Nutt doubtfully, holding up the scarf.
'What about it?'
'Well, isn't football a rough man's game? Whereas pink, if you will excuse me, is rather a... female colour?'
Trev grinned. 'Yeah, that's right. Think about it. You are the clever one around here. And you can walk and think at the same time, I know that. Makes you stand out from the crowd in these parts.'
'Ah, I think I have it. The pink proclaims an almost belligerent masculinity, saying as it does: I am so masculine I can afford to tempt you to question it, giving me the opportunity to proclaim it anew by doing violence to you in response. I don't know if you have ever read Ofleberger's Die Wesentlichen Ungewissheiten Zugehörig der Offenkundigen Männlichkeit?'
Trev grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. 'Wot do you fink, Gobbo?' he said, his red face a couple of inches from Nutt's. 'Wot is your problem? Wot are you all about? You come out with ten-dollar words an' you lay 'em down like a man doin' a jigsaw! So how come you're down in the vats, eh, workin' for someone like me? It don't make sense! Are you on the run from the Old Sam? No problem, there, unless you did up an old lady or somethin', but you got to tell me!'
Too dangerous, thought Nutt desperately. Change the subject! 'She's called Juliet!' he gasped. 'The girl you asked about! She lives next door to Glenda! Honestly!'
Trev looked suspicious. 'Glenda told you that?'
'Yes!'
'She was windin' you up. She knew you'd tell me.'
'I don't think she would lie to me, Mister Trev. She is my friend.'
'I kept thinkin' about her all last night,' said Trev.
'Well, she is a wonderful cook,' Nutt agreed.
'I meant Juliet!'
'Um, and Glenda said to tell you that Juliet's other name is Stollop,' said Nutt, hating to be the bearer of worse news.
'What? That girl is a Stollop?'
'Yes. Glenda said I was to see how you liked that, but I know the meaning of irony.'
'But it's like findin' a strawberry in a dogmeat stew, yeah? I mean, the Stollops are buggers, the lot of 'em, biters and cloggers to a man, the kind of bastards who'll kick your family jewels up into your throat.'
'But you don't play football, do you? You just watch.'
'Damn right! But I'm a Face, right? I'm known in all the boroughs. You can ask anyone. Everyone knows Trev Likely. I'm Dave Likely's lad. Every supporter in the city knows about him. Four goals! No one else scored that much in a lifetime! And gave as good as he got, did Dad. One game he picked up the Dolly bastard holding the ball and threw 'im over the line. He gave as good as 'e got, my dad, and then some.'
'So, he was a bugger and a clogger and a biter too, was he?'
'What? Are you pulling my tonker?'
'I would not wish to do so initially, Mister Trev,' said Nutt, so solemnly that Trev had to grin, 'but, you see, if he fought the opposing team with even more force than they used, does that not mean that he - '
'He was my dad,' said Trev. 'That means you don't try any fancy maths, okay?'
'Okay indeed. And you never wanted to follow in his footsteps?'
'What, and get brung home on a stretcher? I got my brains from my ol' mum, not from Dad. He was a good bloke and loved his football, but he wasn't flush with brains to start with an' on that day some of 'em were leakin' out of his ear. The Dollies got 'im in the melee and sorted 'im out good and proper. That's not for me, Gobbo. I'm smart.'
'Yes, Mister Trev, I can see that.'
'Get the gear on and let's go, okay? We don't want to miss anything.'
'Fing,' said Nutt automatically, as he started to wind the huge scarf around his neck.