Gene entered the arena in a flurry of angry motion, quite at odds with Diva's more calculated and calm approach. In his hand he held the mobile Sam had given him. He hadn't figured out how to return Diva's call, and it was pointless to wave about when the broad was right here, but Gene was anything if not theatrical.

"Really, luv?" he called, tossing the sodding device at her feet. It hit her in the ankle, coming to rest next to the basket out of which she was pulling a Party Four. Gene just stared. "And Party Seven, or haven't you been paying attention? The bloody hell you think you're doing?"