by Ian Edwards
‘This is the one,’ Harry announced as they walked into the room. ‘Madam Mesmero.’
‘Harry,’ Rosie whispered. ‘We’re the only ones in here.’
‘That’s good,’ Harry whispered back. ‘Lack of interest means she’ll be happy to drop her prices.’
A middle aged woman with long black hair dressed in a long black gown stood behind the stall. ‘Can I help you?’ she smiled.
Harry bounded up to the stall. ‘Just looking, thanks,’ he replied while looking over the stall.
Rosie smiled at the woman who she assumed was Madam Mesmero.
‘Are you looking for anything in particular? She asked Rosie.
Rosie smiled sweetly. ‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m with him,’ she said gesturing at Harry.
Madam Mesmero looked at Harry, who was busy picking up items, looking them over and putting them back. ‘Your father?’ She asked.
‘No, Harry’s my friend,’ Rosie giggled.
‘How much do you want for this?’ Harry said, holding a pocket watch on a chain.
‘The price is on the label,’ Madam Mesmero said, adding firmly; ‘No negotiation.’
Harry turned away from the stall, pulling Rosie closer to him. ‘Do you know what this is?’ He asked her.
‘It’s a pocket watch isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but specifically, it’s a hypnotist’s watch.’
Rosie stared blankly at the watch.
‘It’s a Victorian pocket watch used by hypnotists as part of a music hall act,’ he explained.
‘It looks like an ordinary pocket watch. Why is this one so different?’
‘Look at the casing,’ he held the watch out to her. ‘It’s very shiny,’ Harry rubbed the case, trying to lift off the grime and dirt. ‘At least it will be after a good clean. The idea being that it reflected the light, attracting the subject’s attention.’
‘OK,’ Rosie agreed. ‘But why do you want it?’
‘I’ve been thinking about introducing hypnosis into my act.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Rosie frowned. ‘How would it fit in with your act?’
Harry grinned. ‘I’ll speak to Alan about that, he’ll know,’ he said, placing far more faith in her boyfriend that Rosie ever did.
‘Are you going to buy that?’ Madam Mesmero called out. ‘Because if you’re not I have several other interested parties.’
Harry and Rosie looked around the empty room. Rosie pulled a face at Harry who stepped back to the stall.
‘Actually yes, I’d like to buy this please,’ he passed the pocket watch across to Madam Mesmero and lowered his voice. ‘What’s the best price you can do?’
‘I said no negotiation.’
‘What about a price for cash?’ He asked.
‘Same price for cash, cheque or credit card.’
Rosie watched as Harry paid for the watch and Madam Mesmero reluctantly put it into a paper bag for him. She turned to walk through the door and back out into the main hall when Harry called her back.
‘What’s up Harry?’ She asked, turning back into the room.
‘Look at this little beauty,’ Harry said holding up what appeared to be a tiny guillotine.
‘What in heaven’s name is that?’ She asked. ‘It looks like a small version of a guillotine from the French revolution.’
‘It’s a finger guillotine,’ Harry told her. ‘It’s an old trick from the Victorian music halls.’
‘Please be careful with that,’ Madam Mesmero called out. ’It’s dangerous.’
Harry raised his hand. ‘It’s OK, I know how to handle these things.’ Turning back to Rosie he continued; ‘The magician would ask for a volunteer from the audience. The magician would test the blade, placing something like a carrot through this hole.’ Harry poked his finger through the hole and waggled his finger. ‘The volunteer would release the blade and it would cut the carrot in half.’ Harry smiled. ‘This indicated to the audience that the guillotine worked. The magician would then place his own finger in the hole, the volunteer would release the blade and it would appear to slice the magician’s finger off.’
Rosie stared at Harry.
‘Obviously it was a trick. He wouldn’t be much of a magician if he cut a finger off every night. No, he pulled it out the back through this hole, substituting a fake finger.’ Harry pointed at the hole again.
‘You certainly know your subject,’ Madam Mesmero said.
‘How did that work then?’ Rosie asked.
‘I think,’ Harry turned the little guillotine over, ‘there’s a little switch inside which you flick with your finger as it goes in, replacing the real finger with the fake one.
‘So you’re not really sure?’
‘Here, let me show you,’ Harry said and poked his finger through the hole.
‘Harry, I don’t think you should be doing this,’ Rosie warned him.
‘Can you pass the guillotine back please, I’d rather you didn’t fiddle with the items. And I don’t want to be sued if you chop off your finger,’ Madam Mesmero called out.
‘Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be OK. I know how these things work,’ Harry reassured them again. ‘Rosie, push the blade down will you.’
‘Absolutely not. Give it back to the lady.’
‘Look, I’ve flicked the switch, all I do now is push the blade down and…’
‘If you’ve damaged that you can pay for it,’ Madam Mesmero said sternly.
‘I suppose you want a round of applause?’ Rosie asked.
Harry looked at Rosie and then at Madam Mesmero, swallowed and winced. ‘Rosie, I think I’ve cut the top of my finger off.’
Chapter 4
Alan frowned at the departure board. ‘Five minutes? I thought trains were more frequent than that?’
‘This is South West Trains,’ Sarah said by way of explanation. Adding, ‘They’re not known for their efficiency. In fact the only thing in South West Trains favour is they are not Southern Trains.’
Alan laughed. ‘You should be a comedian.’
‘No thanks. I hear the pay is rubbish,’ Sarah grinned. ‘So, how are things at home?’
‘Awful,’ Alan replied. ‘I’m never allowed out to play. I haven’t seen James in days and I have to keep picking things up that I’ve dropped. It’s like I’m under house arrest, without conjugal rights.’
Sarah laughed. Alan had been living with Rosie for just over a month, despite Rosie’s insistence that Alan move in when he left his job. After several months of digging his heels in, Alan finally succumbed when his redundancy money ran out. And Rosie still hadn’t forgiven him for his reluctance to co-habit.
‘I don’t know why she’s so upset,’ Alan whined. ‘I just wanted to hang out for a while, have a few beers, catch up on some Box Sets and write a new routine.’
‘…and you couldn’t have done that at Rosie’s?’
‘Not a chance. She’s got me tidying up everywhere I go. I mean, who cleans their bathroom?’
‘Pretty much everyone,’ Sarah replied.
Alan stared at her. ‘Really? That can’t be right.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I hope you wash your hands afterward at least.’
‘Of course I wash my hands, the bathroom’s filthy. Someone should clean it up.’
‘I never know when you’re winding me up,’ Sarah admitted.
‘Me neither. At last,’ Alan said as the train slowly emerged and settled to a stop. ‘I much preferred the Northern Line,’ he said in reference to the journey he used to make before moving in with Rosie. ‘And I might be the first person in the history of travel to say those words,’ he said as he stepped aside to let Sarah board the train first, following quickly behind. They found spare seats opposite a couple of twenty somethings and sat down.
‘What’s he going to say next?’ The man said to his girlfriend.
‘He’s so funny. He should be on stage,’ the woman replied.
Alan grinned, thinking the coupl
e had recognized him. He was just about to introduce himself when someone, presumably the driver, spoke from the intercom system.
‘Good evening to anyone who has just joined this train. We are now leaving Wimbledon. That hopefully isn’t a surprise to anyone who’s just boarded the train as you were literally just standing there waiting to leave. Not that I’m saying Wimbledon is bad, it’s not. I mean there’s more to Wimbledon than tennis and identikit glass and chrome bars. Oh no. There’s a Supermarket there too. Though no-one’s ever found it. It’s like a ghostly spectre, many claim to believe in it, but no one has ever captured it on film.’
Alan heard the train driver sigh. The couple opposite giggled. ‘He’s so funny,’ said the woman.
Sarah smiled at the couple opposite. ‘I’ve never heard anything like that before,’ she said.
‘Oh, he does it all the time. He’s getting quite famous,’ the woman replied. ‘People ride these trains hoping he’s driving. We’re actually on a night out, but we thought we’d ride up and down the line a couple of times to listen to him.’
‘That’s not mad at all,’ Alan said. The couple frowned at him.
‘It certainly makes the journey more pleasant,’ Sarah said, trying to placate the couple, who smiled in return.
‘I know, and he rarely says the same thing twice. I don’t know how he thinks of it all,’ the woman said.
‘Late at night with a few beers, several hours work for two decent gags. That’s how,’ Alan said, grimly. ‘It’s harder than you’d think.’
‘Well, we think he’s funny, don’t we?’ The woman said to her boyfriend, who nodded in return.
Alan felt the train begin to slow on the approach to the next station. He stared glumly out of the window at the rows of houses sliding past. His ears prickled as the driver’s voice once again bled through the carriage.
‘We will soon be arriving at Earlsfield. For those wanting a good night out, I don’t suggest you get out here, because there’s nothing out there except shoe boxes worth half a million pounds based solely, I assume, on their proximity to a railway station that gets them into Central London.’
The train slowed to a halt at the station, several amused and bemused people stood up to leave, to be replaced by a couple of teenaged boys, dressed identically in heavy metal T shirts and low slung jeans. Slung so low Alan could see their underwear.
‘Bloody hell,’ Alan muttered. ‘Do kids nowadays really need to show off their under crackers? It’s got to be unhygienic.’
Sarah smiled. ‘You’re just jealous because their pants are cleaner than yours.’
‘Ha, that’s not true,’ Alan replied triumphantly. ‘Rosie makes me put all my clothes in the washing machine. These are clean on today.’
‘Wow. Progress. Rosie will make a husband of you yet.’
‘Bloody hell,’ was all Alan could say in response, before the train driver spoke again.
‘For all those who joined this magical mystery tour at Earlsfield, welcome. I presume everything is shut there now. It is six o’clock after all. Take my advice. When looking for a train home…don’t. Run, run for your lives, and keep on running.’
The couple opposite grinned at each other.
‘He is entertaining,’ Sarah said to them. ‘I’ll give him that. What do you think Alan?’ Sarah poked Alan in the ribs.
‘Ow. What? What do I think of what?’ He asked.
‘The train driver. The announcer. Do you think he’s funny?’
‘I guess so,’ Alan grudgingly admitted. ‘Though I guess if I had to ride up and down this line all day I’d end up going slightly bonkers too.’
‘Maybe,’ Sarah admitted. ‘But I like it.’
‘We heard that he was in trouble with his bosses for his commentaries,’ the woman opposite said. ‘The rumour is they want to sack him, but the union has kicked up a stink.’
Sarah nodded, thinking. ‘It would be a shame if he got the sack for having a laugh, wouldn’t it Alan?’ Alan agreed that it would.
‘I suppose they don’t think it’s very professional,’ Alan said. ‘But you’re right, Sarah, he does make a dull journey a bit more entertaining. You should sign him up.’
‘Funny you should say that…’ Sarah was prevented from saying anything more as the driver once again spoke to the passengers.
‘We will soon be reaching Clapham Junction. Ah, good old Clapham. My home town. I remember growing up on the estate just over the road. It’s not the same now of course. In the good old days you could get accosted by a hooligan with a knife. Now you’re more likely to get accosted by a bearded hipster brandishing a personalised coffee cup.’
Alan grinned at the bearded hipster sitting opposite.
‘They were much simpler times,’ the train driver continued. Lavender Hill was full of interesting local shops. Now it’s all artisanal coffee shops where you drink lattes from avocados. I mean, what’s up with that?’
‘He’s got a point,’ admitted the bearded hipster. ‘I don’t understand why you need your artisanal coffee served in an avocado.’
Alan snorted. ‘Yeah, it’s bad enough when someone dips their plums in it.’
‘Alan!’ Sarah nudged him, sounding, he thought, not unlike Rosie.
‘What, I’m only joking. You don’t mind, do you, pal?’
‘Course not. Your boyfriend is a bit of a comedian, isn’t he?’ The hipster said to Sarah.
‘You have no idea…and he’s not my boyfriend…’
‘I’m a very naughty boy, ‘Alan interrupted.
‘He’s my client. Hello, my name’s Sarah. This miserable sod is Alan.’
‘Nice to meet you Sarah, Alan,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Katie, this is my boyfriend, Perry.’
Alan snorted. ‘Katie Perry? Seriously?’
Katie grinned. ‘Yeah, we get that a lot,’ she clutched on to Perry’s arm and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Is he always like this?’ Katie nodded to Alan.
‘Pretty much,’ Sarah admitted. ‘But he’s psyching himself up. He’s got a gig tonight.’
‘Oh, how exciting,’ Katie said. ‘Is he a musician?’
‘I am here, you know,’ Alan said, annoyed at being spoken about and not to.
‘Are you a musician?’ Katie repeated.
‘Comedian.’
‘Oh. Is he funny?’ This to Sarah.
‘No, not really,’ Sarah poked her tongue out at Alan, who pouted in return. ‘I’m Alan’s agent. I’m allowed to say that. No one else is. In fact, Alan is beginning to get some recognition. It’s all very exciting…’
The train slowly pulled in to Vauxhall station, the doors opening after it ground to a halt. The driver was, Alan noted, silent. However, as the doors closed and the train moved forward, the driver’s voice echoed across the carriage.
‘We are now leaving the paradise that is Vauxhall. If you would like to look to your left if you are seated facing forward, or to your right right if facing behind, you will most definitely not see the MI6 building. Because it’s not there. Officially. Bit silly really. But it makes you wonder how good our spies are that they can’t even keep their own building a secret. You’ll note it looks very much like the monstrosity next door, presumably to blend in. Except it sticks out like Pinocchio’s nose when he’s playing Three Card Brag.
‘Look at all these cranes,’ the driver continued. ‘Expensive homes for the wealthy. No doubt all bought with daddy’s money. They’re probably empty at the weekend when they all go shooting on Daddy’s estate in Norfolk. Let me tell you, when there was a shooting on my Dad’s estate, we all knew about it. Babylon everywhere.’
Alan had to admit that was funny. He told Sarah as much. ‘You could do a lot worse. He’s funnier than some of your acts.’ Sarah nodded in agreement.
Katie Perry opposite also agreed. ‘You should speak to him. We’d definitely see him do a stand up show, wouldn’t we, Perry?’ Perry nodded in agreement. The foursome lapsed in to silence as the train made its way to Wate
rloo, its final destination.
‘We will shortly be arriving at Waterloo,’ the driver said eventually. ‘You may not be aware that the station was actually named after the old Abba song. I suppose we should be grateful it’s not called Fernando. Or Dancing Queen. Interestingly, Dancing Queen is the name of a gay bar my cousin owns…’ The driver sighed. ‘…I didn’t want to be a train driver you know. I just followed in my dad’s footsteps. He came over from Jamaica in the early sixties and ended up working for British Rail ‘cos no one else wanted to. Why couldn’t my dad have been an astronaut? Or Bob Marley. I could have coped with that. But no, I’m stuck here all day going up and down, up and down the same old bit of land, never getting anywhere. The perfect analogy for life,’ the driver sighed. ‘Well, we’re here,’ he said as the train ground to a halt. ‘I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us, please come again. My name’s Mario, goodnight…’
‘Come on,’ Sarah pulled at Alan’s arm, rushing him away. ‘I want to see if I can catch the driver. Katie, Perry, it was lovely to meet you. Here, have my card. It’s got my agency’s website details on it. If you fancy a night out to see any of my clients, drop me a line. See you…’ Sarah skipped off the train the moment the doors opened and, tugging on Alan’s arm, she sped toward the front of the train.
‘You go on,’ Alan said, wrestling his arm free. ‘I won’t make it. I’ll only slow you down. Save yourself,’ he mimed exhaustion.
‘Idiot!’ Sarah exclaimed and rushed to the front of the platform.
‘Where’s she off to?’ Frankie said, appearing at Alan’s side, startling him for moment.
‘Sarah wants to speak to the train driver. Offer him the chance of a shot at comedy.’
‘Too right,’ Frankie replied. ‘He’s hilarious.’
‘What, you heard him?’
‘Of course. I was sitting next to him all the way. It’s like I was driving the train. It’s a childhood dream come true.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Alan replied. ‘Come on you silly sod, let’s catch her up. I don’t want to be late.’