‘Urgh,please...’
‘If it helps, you can imagine Susan smearing me all over with factor twenty?’
No. No, it did not helpat all.
A wee brown bird landed on the van’s bonnet, hopping up onto a windscreen wiper to peer in through the window as if the occupants were a bunch of dafties.
Maybe it had a point?
Stuck in here, wilting in the stifling warmth of a stuffy police van. Half the team were half asleep, and the other half were on their way to the full snooze. All except for one.
Tufty sat forward in his seat, eager as a spaniel. ‘You know, there’sonething the Americans got right.’
At which, everyone woke up enough to groan.
A sigh from Barrett. ‘Come on then.’
Steel pulled down the driver’s sun visor and tapped the sign mounted on the back: ‘DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!’ Scowling in the rear-view. ‘You know the rules.’
Lund twisted around, so she was facing the daft wee spud. ‘Tell us, oh Guru of the Tremulous Wingwang, what have Americans “got right”?’
‘Oh, in the name of the hairy...spudge.’
‘Pants.’ Tufty nodded, as if that was the most insightful thing anyone had ever said. ‘They’re right about pants.’ Reaching into his overalls to ping his own elastic. ‘I mean these are underpants, right? They gounderpants. They’re not undertrousers, are they.’
‘Thank youverymuch.’ Steel massaged her forehead, rearranging the wrinkles. ‘What part of “don’t encourage him” do you scrunkfudgers not get?’
Harmsworth shrugged. ‘Don’t look at me: I remember what happened last time.’
‘Yeah,’ Barrett turned around too, ‘but maybe they’repantsthat gounderyourtrousers. Ergo: underpants. Pants that go under.’
Tufty’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Ooh, good point!’
Logan hissed the words out the side of his mouth: ‘Is it always like this?’
Steel just poked the sign, face creased in pain.
Harmsworth shrugged again. ‘That’s why we usually have the radio on.’
‘Noradio.’ Logan checked the dashboard clock again – nearly quarter to five and still no shout. ‘What the hell’s the hold-up?’
‘Aha! Now,’ Lund wagged a finger, ‘did you know “trousers” is Scottish? Comes from the Gaelic “triubhas”, AKA: trews. Something else we invented.’
Steel banged the flat of her palm against the sign.
Barrett nodded. ‘And it’s apairof trousers, cos you used to have one for each leg. Separate, like.’
There was a moment’s silence, as everyone contemplated that. Then Tufty spread his hands, laying down the wisdom of the ancients: ‘Like assless chaps, only without the built-in belt, and Y.M.C.A. disco vibes.’
Steel’s face scrunched like a baby’s fist. ‘AAAAAAARGH!’
Yeah...
Maybe Harmsworth had a point.
Logan switched the radio back on.
A happy song burbled out of the van’s speakers, as the six-person team sat and steamed in their four-wheeled microwave oven.