"I'm just saying, reality is not her friend."
"A hundred bucks a head? No one will pay that for some crap spumante, limp sandwiches and the honour of meeting an ageing footballer and his bit of stuff; I don't care if it is for charity."
"Yeah. Shame that."
Tim put down the dish he was drying and looked at Rob.
"Do you even have a clue what I just said to you?"
Rob's mouth worked as he struggled to respond.
Twisting the tea towel, Tim flicked him across the back of the leg. "Doesn't work for you, either."