When Anthony arrived at the pub, Chay was already there, sitting at one of the scrubbed wooden tables reading the Sunday Times Review, wearing a startling Liberty print shirt, bright-blue Mordechai Rubenstein braces, grey flannel trousers and black canvas Oxfords. The look was distinctly, expensively New York. A halo of cropped, silvery hair shone on his bean-shaped head as he rose to greet his son.
‘Hi, Dad,’ said Anthony, returning his hug tentatively. They sat down.
‘You look well,’ remarked Anthony.
Chay nodded. ‘I’m good. And you?’
‘Yes, good, thanks. Busy.’
‘Busy.’ Chay nodded again. ‘You lawyers are always busy, I suppose.’
The tone was familiar. Chay had always made plain his disdain for his son’s orthodox choice of career. Not that it had put him above cadging fivers and tenners from Anthony on a regular basis back in the days when he’d been permanently skint.
‘What would you like?’ he asked Anthony. ‘A beer?’
‘Thanks. Pint of Shires, please.’
Chay rose and went to the bar. Barry came in a moment later. He was tall, like his father and brother, but more broadly built, with a cheerful, open face and dark hair cut in a shaggy crop. He was dressed in denims, trainers, a jacket and a T-shirt that read ‘Born To Chill’. He high-fived Anthony, and went over to his father at the bar.
‘Wassup, Dad? Get us a lager, would you?’ He went back and sat down with Anthony.
Chay returned with the drinks. Barry slurped the foam off the top of his pint and nodded at the jacket slung over the back of Chay’s chair. ‘Nice threads, Dad. Versace?’
Chay smiled. ‘Brioni. Seven thousand dollars.’
‘Give over! How can you spend that much on a suit and live with yourself?’
Chay shrugged. ‘It’s all relative. I earn ten times that selling one painting.’
‘Yeah, and that’s a bleeding mystery to all of us.’
Chay gave a thin smile. Although apparently serene in his success, it irked him when his sons chaffed him, as though afraid there might be a grain of truth in their jokes. ‘So,’ he asked Barry, ‘what are you doing with yourself these days?’
Barry sprawled comfortably in his chair. ‘Stand-up.’
‘Stand-up? You mean, like a comedian?’
‘He’s always been one of those,’ said Anthony.
‘Thanks, mate. I’ve seen you in court and I could say the same.’
Anthony smiled and took a sip of his beer. Since dropping out of sixth-form college six years earlier, Barry had had a variety of jobs – pizza delivery man, bouncer, barman, stripogram, cycle courier – and no one was quite sure what to make of this new career departure.
Chay mused, rasping his hand across his bristly skull. ‘Comedy, I always think, has great artistic integrity. Good to see another artist in the family.’
‘I don’t reckon integrity has much to do with it, Dad. Or art. It’s telling jokes to punters.’ Barry picked up the menu. ‘Let’s see what there is to eat. I’m famished.’
They ordered food, and talked. Chay was full of the art world, of glamorous gatherings and people. Barry had good stories from the comedy club circuit. Anthony had a few interesting tales from the law courts. The talk came round eventually to the banking crisis.
‘So much for global capitalism,’ said Barry. ‘Immoral businesses run by greedy people. I’d like to see the entire banking system wiped out.’
‘I’m not sure you would,’ said Anthony.
‘I bloody well object to taxpayers’ money, our money, being used to shore up these rotten institutions.’
‘Since when did you pay tax?’
‘I didn’t say I did. Hey – what do you call twelve investment bankers at the bottom of the ocean?’
‘What?’
‘A good start.’ Barry grinned and polished off the remains of his lager. ‘Seriously, I’d like to see them all out of a job.’
‘A couple of my friends who work in banking have been made redundant.’
‘My heart fairly bleeds.’
‘Well, no doubt you’ll get good material for your comedy routine out of it all.’
Barry turned to Chay. ‘I’ll bet Dad agrees with me – don’t you, you old unreconstructed Marxist? You always used to bang on about the greed and corruption of the markets. I’ll bet you’re delighted at the nationalisation of the banks. Totalitarian government in charge of the economy, right on, eh?’
Chay put his head on one side, and gave a wise smile. ‘I have to confess my views have mellowed over the past few years. I used to be rather naive about money.’