Breakfast on Pluto Page #7

Once I thought I was.

He was a lucky man.

I'd pay you.

I'd give you whatever you wanted.

Whatever you wanted, I'd give you.

That's my mammy! That's my mammy!

Excuse me! Excuse me.

Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.

Excuse me. Excuse me, excuse me.

Hello!

Hello, sir. Can I be of assistance?

I don't do anything heavy,

but aside from that I'd be more....

I could have you arrested, you know.

Well, icky-oakie me.

Get in.

This is no life

for a young man like you, Patrick.

Well, cuff me then.

Carry me to my sweet cell.

No.

Oh, wait, you're not an actual punter,

are you? How exciting.

No, it's not.... It's not that either.

It's a lot more serious than that, Patrick.

Well, of course it is, of course it's serious.

Everything's serious.

Oh, you're gonna die out there, Paddy!

I know.

Why don't you try and get a regular job?

Well, to tell you the truth, Inspector,

I'm not that employable.

So I gathered.

F***ing hell.

Come with me.

A group of girls

got themselves off the street, Patrick.

Set up a co-op.

What do you mean, "co-op"?

You know, like.... Sort of like....

A union, you could call it.

Girls?

Hello. Come on.

It's not ideal, but it's safe...

and legal.

Casandra.

Goddess of Destruction.

-Girls? Hello.

-Hello.

This is Patrick.

-Hello, Patrick.

-Hello.

He's a friend of mine, so be gentle.

Hello, Sam.

We're always nice.

Patrick, do you wanna play poker?

Love poker.

-Yeah, we'll put him in.

-Are you all right?

-You'll be working with us?

-I hope so. If you'll have me.

We're a nice bunch here.

-No bitchiness or nothing here.

-Look at his hair.

-So where are you from?

-Cavan.

Very nice. I'm from Dublin.

You'll do well here.

You'll like us girls.

So you'll definitely like it here.

Dear Charlie, sorry I haven't been in touch...

and I hope that everything

is going fine with you.

How's the bump?

Just writing to say

that I've got a new address.

It's Xanadu on Old Compton Street...

and you can reach me there at any time.

I'm saving like mad

to get over to see you when it happens in....

What is it?

Four months, two weeks, and three days.

Hello.

Show me your bazoozums.

-I beg your pardon?

-You know.

What's that?

Now, listen, sir,

we can't all have big bazoozums.

Some of us are what you might call svelte.

-Svelte?

-Yes. That's a Swedish word, I believe.

-There's also a French one.

-Aye, give me the French.

Gamine.

-Gamine?

-Yes, and that's what I am, sir.

A svelte gamine.

How much is that doggy in the window?

The one with the waggly tail

Not "waggly," "waggedy." "Waggedy tail."

Dear sir unseen, I know my music...

and I'm willing to bet you 10 times

whatever pathetic price you paid in here...

that the dog's tail is waggly.

Now I wanna hear you bark.

-Hello.

-Please don't do that.

As you wish, sir.

I don't do this sort of thing often.

That's all right, sir, we've got lots of time.

-I knew a boy like you once.

-Oh, I'm not a boy, sir, I'm a girl.

-Oh, you're a girl.

-Yes.

You can call me Patricia.

That's my name, sir.

Can I tell you a story, Patricia?

Oh, please do. Stories are what I love.

-You love stories?

-Love stories.

Even more than mysteries.

Don't do that, please, please.

Very well, sir, I'm all ears.

Once upon a time, there was a boy

who never knew his father and mother.

Oh, how sad. How unbearably sad.

Was he an unbearably sad little boy?

He didn't seem so.

No, he laughed. He laughed a lot.

Perhaps the kind of laughter

that disguises tears?

Maybe laughter was the only way to...

deal with....

Please go on. To deal with....

To deal with his circumstances.

You seem to understand this boy

quite well, sir.

I knew his father.

And?

And...

though his father loved him very much...

he could never tell the boy how much....

How much?

He could never tell the boy

how much he loved him.

Well, this can't be a true story. It can't be.

Why not?

Why could he not tell the boy

how much he loved him?

Because he didn't know how.

He had the words for many things, you see,

but he didn't have the words for that.

There are only three words for that.

They're easy to say.

Sometimes they are.

Other times, they're not.

Other times, they're....

They're impossible.

And he loved the boy's mother, too,

but that was equally impossible.

So he never told the boy?

He never told him and then the boy left...

and came to England, and the father had...

lots of time to think about all the things...

all the things that might have been,

should have been.

He had all the time in the world to think.

And what did he think about?

He thought, he imagined perhaps,

that the boy had come to England...

Iooking for his mother.

And what was his mother's name?

-Her name was Eily. Eily Bergin.

-Oh, God.

And so the father thought

the one thing he could do...

was tell him where he could find his mother.

-Where to find the Phantom Lady?

-What?

Please, go on.

She married, had two children.

-Probably won't want to see him.

-But where does she live?

'Cause you know what I want,

I want English...

-I want conservative, I want East Finchley...

-Yeah.

...I want powerful.

-You think it works?

-I think you look better than her.

-I do look better than her, don't I?

-You do.

Do you need help, miss?

Yes, I'm doing a survey for British Telecom.

-Do you know where 19 Spencer Rise is?

-That's my house. There.

It's your....

-Can't you read numbers?

-No, yes, I can read numbers.

So, what's the survey?

Well, it's about telephones.

-Do you have a telephone?

-Everyone has a telephone.

No, not everyone, young man.

Some people can't afford one.

Well, we can.

I see.

-And so what is your name?

-My name's Patrick.

Patrick.

Patrick.

And how many phones

do you have, Patrick?

Shouldn't you be asking my mother?

Yes. Yes, of course I should.

And where would I find her?

Mum, there's a nice lady here

doing a survey....

Are you.... Oh, my God!

-You feeling better, love?

-Oh, yes, thank you.

-Some more tea?

-No, thank you.

So, what's this survey about, then?

-It's about phones, Mum.

-Phones? With Telecom?

Yes, British Telecom.

-Are you a multi-phone household?

-Yes. Yes, we've got three.

One in the bedroom, one in the kitchen,

and one in Geoffrey's office.

-Geoffrey....

-Is my husband.

Sorry.

How frequently is your telephone used?

Very. Laura's never off it.

Laura?

My daughter. She's 13.

I see, I see.

You don't have much use for the phone,

though, do you, Patrick?

No, I suppose not.

-Well, Miss....

-Johnson. Delia Johnston.

Johnston.

If you've any other questions,

don't hesitate to call.

No, I think I have more than enough,

thank you.

-Thank you for the tea.

-Oh, you're welcome.

Bye.

Shouldn't you have a uniform?

No, I shouldn't have a uniform.

The men who put the phones in

have a uniform.

Do they, now?

-Aren't they from Telecom?

-Yes, they are.

Then how come Telecom don't know

how many phones we have?

Well, because

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