Читать книгу The Parent Agency - David Baddiel - Страница 13

As he approached the wall with the posters on it, Barry kept a close eye on Bond and, more importantly, on the Walther PPK with silencer now pinned to his chest. Barry could feel the too-big feet of his onesie dragging across the carpet (BJORNO MASTERLIGN): it was the only familiar feeling about this whole thing.

He walked towards the 007 poster, but James Bond flicked his cold, suspicious eyes to the right, so Barry moved over to where Lionel was smiling at him.

“Eh! Barrito! Me recuerdas al niño en el avión en ese anuncio que hice!”

“Pardon me?”

“He says you remind him of the little boy on the aeroplane in that advert he did,” said James Bond. “You remember, the one with the basketball guy and the ice cream and stuff. God, Lionel, why did you do that? It’s not like you don’t earn a million pounds a minute as it is.”

“Estós celoso!”

“I am not jealous. I do my work for the love of my country. And the ladies, of course.”

“Er… hello?” said Barry. “I think you wanted… to talk… to me…?”

“Si!” said Lionel.

“Oh, speak English for crying out loud, Messi. You’ve played against John Terry. You must have at least learnt some swear words.”

“Culo.”

“That’s not a swear.”

Barry looked at Lionel, who tutted, but then looked back at him and said, in a strong accent, “Barry. Would you mind pleeze to stand in between me and the guy dressed like a waiter?”

“I am not dressed like a waiter! What waiter has a gun?!”

Barry shuffled across. “Here?”

“Yes, nearly. Just a beet to the left,” said Lionel.

Barry shuffled a bit more. Now he was precisely in between the two posters. “Yes, good. Espléndido! Now shut your eyes and say the thing again.”

“What thing?” said Barry. He dug his hands into his pockets (the onesie had quite deep ones), which was something he always did when asked a question he wasn’t sure how to answer. In the corner of his mind he noticed that, crumpled up in the corner of the left-hand pocket, was the list of things that he blamed his parents for.

“Oh, you know the thing. What is it? Is hard for me in English. Remind me, 003 and a half.”

“Seven! You know it’s seven!”

“Yes, but on that poster you are a leetle half-size version of yourself! So 003 and a half! Ha ha ha! You see, Barrito, what I did there! Ees clever, no?”

James Bond raised his eyes to heaven. “Can we please get this over with? In two hours I have to be strapped to the underside of a stealth bomber.”

“What thing?” said Barry again.

“Pardon?”

“What thing am I meant to say?”

“Oh. The thing about your mum and dad. Your wish.”

“Oh right,” said Barry. He shut his eyes.

“Loudly. Like you did last time.”

“OK,” said Barry. “Ahem.” He didn’t know why he said that. It just felt appropriate. “I wish I had better parents.” He opened his eyes. “Why? Why do I have to say tha—”

He was stopped from finishing the question by noticing that both Lionel and James Bond were waving at him. Little waves: like goodbye ones.

Barry frowned.

Then the glow behind the posters got super-strong, and the wall vanished in a huge burst of white light.