by Louise Welsh
'You were free of a pernicious influence.'
'Don’t flatter yourself.'
He turned into a close.
'Here we are.'
Johnny’s flat looked big enough to accommodate six students. But any resemblance to the semi-slums we’d once shared stopped there. The hallway was painted a tasteful parchment shade that made the best of its high ceiling, the walls were hung with bright prints and the floor carpeted with pale sea-grass matting. He led me through shouting,
'That’s me back.'
A smartly dressed woman in her sixties stepped briskly into the hallway.
'Wheessht, I’ve just got her down.'
Johnny lowered his voice.
'Whoops, sorry.'
The woman smiled expectantly at me, perhaps imagining I was a scruffy visiting philosopher.
'This is William, an old friend from university.'
The woman’s face lost some of its welcome.
'I think maybe Eilidh mentioned you.'
I nodded.
'All good I hope.'
And the old woman gave me a sharp look that told me not to take her for a fool. She turned to John.
'Grace’s had her feed, so she should sleep for a while yet.'
'Thanks, Margaret.'
'A pleasure as always.' She took down her jacket from the coat stand. 'Sorry to be in such a rush: book group night.'
John handed her a smart leather bag that had been left by the door.
'I remember. Have a good time.'
'Oh, it’s always interesting, even when you don’t like the book.' Margaret finished fastening her coat and gave John a quick peck on the cheek. 'You take good care of my grandchild.' She knotted a small silk scarf round her throat, tucking it into the collar of her coat. 'I’ll see you tomorrow. And goodbye Mr…'
'Wilson.'
'Yes, I thought that was it. I’ll probably not see you again so I hope things go a bit better for you.'
I bent into a slight bow.
'Thank you.'
She gave me a nod that said she’d do for me if she saw me again and I smiled to show that I understood.
John closed the door behind her. 'Sorry ’bout that.'
'You can’t get the staff these days.'
He smiled, relieved I hadn’t taken offence.
'Come on, I’ll get you a beer then I’d best check on the wean.'
The kitchen was large and homely with a scrubbed-pine table at its centre. I sat there nursing the bottle of weak French lager Johnny had given me, trying not to listen to him talking to his sleeping daughter on the baby intercom. When he came back he was smiling.
'How old is she?'
'Ten months.'
'Congratulations. Next thing you know you’ll be getting married.'
'You always had an uncanny knack for prediction. Date’s set for July. Have a seat. My affianced won’t be in for a while yet.' I resolved to be gone before Eilidh came home.
Johnny reached into the fridge, helping himself to a beer. 'What are you up to right now?'
'Nothing much.'
'Nothing much or nothing at all?'
'Why d’you want to know?' I took out my cigarettes then hesitated. 'Is it OK to smoke?'
'Eilidh’s not so keen on it in the house.' I slid them back in my pocket. John looked at me and laughed. 'You’ll get me shot, William.' He reached into a cupboard and selected a saucer. 'Here, use this.'
'Sure?'
He opened the window above the sink.
'Course.'
'Want one?'
'More than my life’s worth mate. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Are you working?'
'Why’re you so interested?'
'Apart from the usual social niceties? I might have a gig for you.'
Johnny leaned back in his kitchen chair and started to tell me what he had in mind.
Berlin
THE SCHALL UND RAUCH’S joiner had made a fine job of the task I’d set him. The box was perfect; a shiny metallic blue, decorated with a zodiac motif of constellations and multi-ringed Saturns that would shine from the stage and draw the audience’s eyes from other distractions.
Sylvie stood on stage in the empty auditorium next to Nixie the hula-hoop girl, while I explained how the trick would work.
'OK ladies, this is a classic illusion, I am going to slice my elegant assistant Sylvie here in half, and you, Nixie, are going to be the legs of the operation.'
Nixie looked bewildered, Sylvie translated and the hula girl’s giggle followed a beat after.
'OK,' I wheeled out the box and lifted its lid, 'Sylvie this is where you go, head and hands sticking out the wee holes in this end, feet poking out the other.' Sylvie and Nixie looked at the box. 'OK?'
Sylvie nodded.
'OK.'
'Right, Nixie.' I smiled at the blonde girl. 'Unfortunately, you’re not going to get the benefit of the audience’s applause, but you are going to get the satisfaction of knowing you’ve been instrumental in successfully pulling off one of the classic illusions in the conjurer’s calendar.'
I looked at Sylvie. She rolled her eyes and started to translate. Nixie listened, her eyes widening, then collapsed in giggles, putting her hand over her mouth as if scandalised at her own amusement.
I asked, 'What did you say?'
Sylvie’s expression was innocent.
'I just repeated what you said, you’re a very funny man, William.'
There had been no awkwardness between us after our drunken celebrations. Sylvie had simply said, 'Well I guess that got that out of the way.' And I’d agreed, both of us laughing, relieved that the other wasn’t offended.
I’d wanted to ask her about the fat man. He’d called her by the wrong name, but Suze and Sylvie didn’t seem so different to me and I remembered a quick flash of panic in Sylvie’s eyes that could have been surprise, or could have been recognition. I’d kept my thoughts to myself and though I’d pulled the guts out of her at ten fifteen precisely every night for a week since, nothing had passed between us that would have scandalised even the pope’s maiden aunt. Still, the memory of Sylvie’s body stayed with me, making me glance away from her as I went onto the next bit of my explanation.
'OK, let’s go down to the stalls.' The girls followed me, chatting in German. 'So what do you see standing next to Sylvie’s box?'
'You make me sound like a puppet.'
I gave Sylvie a look, she translated my question and Nixie replied.
'Einen Tisch.'
Sylvie singsonged, 'A table.'
'Great, back up on stage.'
The girls groaned but they followed me up to where the props were standing.
'Now what do you see?'
'Ahh,' Nixie’s voice was full of realisation. 'Eine Kiste.'
I looked at Sylvie.
'A box.'
'Correct. Observe.' I opened a flap exposing the compartment in the tabletop that was hidden from the audience by the sharp black angles on its tapered-under edges, revealing that although the table was only an inch thick along its white-painted rim it was deep enough at its centre to hold a slim woman lying flat. 'You lie in here, Nixie, hidden from view. I put the box on the table and help Sylvie into it. She surreptitiously pulls her knees up to her chest and you slide your legs up through the flap on the top of the table, sticking your feet out through the foot holes in the box so the audience think that they belong to Sylvie. Then voilà, I wield my saw,' I grabbed the oversized saw lying on the ground next to me and shook it in the air generating a wobbling sound, 'and cut through the bit of balsa obligingly holding the two parts of the box together,' I started to saw through the balsa, letting them hear the metal rasp against the wood, 'until I’m able to separate the two halves,' I pushed the two ends of the fancy coffin apart, 'to reveal a head in one and wiggling feet in the other, making the crowd go crazy.' I held my arms up to the imaginary audience and grinned at the girls, but Nixie was whispering something to Sylvie, shaking her head. I asked,
'Was ist das problem?'
Sylvie sighed.
'The silly bitch says she can’t do it. She’s claustrophobic.'
Sylvie and I ran through every member of the company, but we already knew that Nixie was the only performer on staff slight enough to fit inside the tabletop.
'So that’s it then, fucked again.'
'Hey William, it’s not my fault.'
I kicked the trolley that the new box was lying on, sending it trundling towards the back of the stage.
'It was a fucking clichéd piece of crap anyway.'
Sylvie caught the trolley and rolled it back down the rake towards me.
'You’ll work it out.'
I slammed the trolley again, sending it hurtling back the way it came, not watching where it went, simply taking relief in the act of hitting something. It juddered, almost losing its load, then against all odds regained its keel, sailing into backstage.
I said, 'Fuck.'
And moved to retrieve it just as there was a gasp and Ulla came from the wings pushing the trolley away from her. I took a step forward. 'Shit, sorry.'
Ulla rubbed her arm. Her voice was high and annoyed.
'We have to be careful here.'
'Sorry, Ulla, I didn’t mean to push it so hard.'
'The stage is a dangerous place.'
'Yeah, I know, sorry.'
Ulla had a pencil stuck in her hair and a sheaf of invoices tucked under her arm. Her frown made a small crease between her eyebrows. I wondered what she’d do if I reached out to smooth it away.
'I came to see if you had finished with the stage. There are others who would like to rehearse.'
'Yeah, you may as well tell them to go ahead.'
Ulla hesitated, noticing our dejection for the first time.
'Problem?'
Sylvie took a step back and looked her up and down.
'No,' She placed her arm around Ulla’s shoulders and levelled her gaze at me. 'I don’t think so, do you, William?'
My eyes slid down Ulla’s body. But I already knew the proportions of the German girl’s figure well enough to realise that Sylvie just might be right.
Ulla grasped the simple illusion straight away.
'But this is a very old trick, the audience will have seen it many times before.'
'Not the way William’s going to do it.'
Sylvie and I hadn’t discussed the razzle-dazzle surrounding the illusion, but her confidence was inspiring.
'That’s right, it’s going to have that classic Schall und Rauch twist, a super-sexy variation on the theme.'
Ulla looked worried.
'Will I have to wear a costume?'
'No, just something comfortable you can move easily in and,' I felt the back of my neck flush, 'an identical pair of shoes and stockings to the ones Sylvie’s chosen.'
'They’re going to be darling.' Ulla had extricated herself from my assistant’s grasp but Sylvie was determined to hold her attention. 'Bottle-green fishnets with the reddest, highest, shiniest pair of kinky wedges you ever set eyes on.' She glanced at me. 'I’m borrowing them from a fetish shop in return for a mention in the programme.'
'Well done.' I turned to Ulla. 'Will you help us out?'
'I’m not a performer.'
'No performance skills required. All you have to do is lie there, stick your legs through the flap at the right time and wiggle your toes when I ask you to.'
Ulla hesitated.
I took a step forward.
'There’s no one else.'
She sighed.
'If it is necessary for the show.'
Sylvie swept her into a hug.
'I knew you would!'
Ulla freed herself and I made an effort to meet her eyes.
'Thanks, you’re a life-saver.'
I watched as Ulla made her way back down towards the office, and then turned to find Sylvie staring at me. Her voice was full of exaggerated marvel.
'William, you like her.'
I shook my head and started to put our props away, hiding my expression in the task.
'I’ve never gone for bossy women. Anyway, she’s taken. She’s with Kolja.' I tried to keep my voice light. 'A match made in heaven.'
Sylvie grinned.
'Then they’d better watch out. Those heavenly matches are notoriously vulnerable to temptation.'
Glasgow
IT DIDN’T TAKE Johnny long to get to the point.
'I’m organising a benefit and I’d like you to headline.'
I drew on my cigarette, wishing I hadn’t agreed to come back with him. I tipped some ash into the saucer, and smiled to sweeten my refusal.
'Sorry, John, I don’t do that anymore.'
The smile was a mistake. Johnny leant forward, enthusiasm for his new project shining on his face.
'So you said, but I thought you might be able to come out of retirement, just for one night.'
I wondered where he found the time for benefits between lecturing, exams, visits to the gym and a new baby.
'I’ll put up posters, take the tickets, shift props or act as bouncer, but don’t ask me to get up on stage. It’s just not possible.'
Johnny continued as if he hadn’t heard me.
'It’s in the Old Panopticon. It’s not normally open to the public so a lot of people might come along just to see the venue, but I’m finding it harder to get hold of halfway decent acts than I’d anticipated. You’re a godsend, William.'
I remembered this technique from our student days; Johnny’s water torture. It involved a relentless dripping at any objections until it became easier to do what Johnny wanted than to resist. I steeled my voice.
'I’m not a performer anymore.'
He shook his head, still smiling, sure that with the right persuasion I’d do it.
'I just don’t believe you, William.'
'You’ll have to because it’s true.'
Perhaps there was something in my voice or maybe Johnny had learnt that it wasn’t always possible to force the unwilling to his will. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand through his hair.
'Well, at least give me a reason.'
I said, 'Maybe one day.' Knowing it was a lie.
Johnny’s face was incredulous, his dark curls stood up in angry little spikes.
'So that’s it? First time in years that I ask you to do me a favour and there’s no apology, no explanation, just no?'
Sunlight cut through the kitchen window, making a pattern of golden squares between us on the wooden table. I turned my head and looked out towards the backcourts where the tops of sycamores moved with the spring breeze. Sometime earlier in the year someone had planted bulbs in the window box; lilac hyacinths shivered in their pots, sending their perfume into the room. The kitchen would be perfect for socialising. The ideal place to share a meal with friends around the big table, knowing that if the baby woke she was only a few steps away.
I shook my head and kept my voice low.
'I’m not abandoning my career just to inconvenience you, and for the record I did apologise.'
We were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the front door. There was a pause while the new arrival took off their coat, and then Eilidh put her head into the kitchen.
Her hair was pulled back into a roll, but it looked as if the wind had caught it and loose tendrils curled softly around her face.
'Hi.' She smiled at Johnny, then noticed me for the first time. 'Oh, William.'
I got to my feet, hoping my stubbed-out cigarette wouldn’t cause a row after I’d gone.
'It’s OK, I’ve got to head.'
Eilidh came into the room, glancing at the saucer, but not mentioning it.
'Are you sure?'
'Positive.'
She looked towards the other end of the table.
'John?'
'Let him go, Eilidh. William’s got things to do.'
The woman looked between us, sensing tension but unsure of its cause.
'How’s G
race?'
John took a drink from his bottle of beer.
'I just looked in on her, she’s sound.'
'Good. I’ll have a wee peek after I’ve walked William to the door.'
John shrugged his shoulders. I lifted my jacket from the back of my chair.
'I’ll be fine.'
But Eilidh accompanied me anyway. She turned to me in the hallway.
'What happened?'
'John wants me to do his gig, I told him I wasn’t able to.'
'Couldn’t or wouldn’t?'
'Can’t.'
She looked up at me then put her hand gently on my arm. Her voice was tender, as if she were seeing me for the first time.
'What happened to you, William?'
Something in her touch and her soft tone forced a pressure behind my eyes. I stepped free of her grip.
'Nothing, I just don’t perform any more.'
'It’s OK.' Eilidh smiled gently and I wondered if she’d always been able to switch between the hard professionalism she’d shown in the cells and this empathy that seemed able to sheer off my emotional armour with one look. 'I’ll speak to John. He’s under a lot of pressure and… well, you know how he is when he gets the bit between his teeth.' She shook her head. 'Every time you meet us there’s a display of bad manners.'
I returned her smile; grateful she’d changed the subject.
'Not the night I met you both in the pub.'
'It seemed to me you were a bit prickly then.'
'Possibly.'
'Anyway, I’m glad I saw you. I wanted to apologise for the other day. I should have been more sympathetic. You’d had a terrible experience and I was…'
'Sure I was guilty?'
'… not as sensitive as I should have been.'
'You’ve a lawyer’s way with words.'
'That’s good, I am a lawyer after all.'
'Will I have to go to court?'
'No, not unless one of them changes his guilty plea.'
'That’s something.' I put a hand in my pocket and took out my cigarettes, turning them over nervously in my hands, remembering that smoking was taboo. 'Eilidh, if…'
I hesitated, not wanting the mother of John’s child anywhere near my quest, but realising she was the only legal counsel I was liable to get. She smiled encouragingly.
'Go on.'
'… if a crime happened a long time ago would old evidence still be any good?'